garden of flowers. The great Gothic windows
are decorated with sculpture and painted glass. Up the steep cliff is
a well-kept, winding path, with mossy stone benches at every turn; at
its summit is a parapet and the pointed turrets of the castle are
painted red and topped with fantastic weather-vanes.

The road to Kronstadt through the Boza Pass leads to this little
castle in a few hours, and at the very time when John Kemeny had
abandoned himself utterly to pleasure in Hermanstadt, a long line of
horsemen was moving out of the castle; there might have been two
thousand Turkish riders, recognizable from afar by their red turbans
and their snow-white caftans; with them were a few hundred Wallachian
howitzers in charge of men in brown woolen cloaks and black turbans.
The way was so narrow here that the horsemen could ride only two by
two, and those in the rear had hardly emerged from the mountain pass
when the first riders were already in Tatrang. Their leader was a
medium sized, sunburned man, with eyes like an eagle's; there was a
long scar across his forehead; the sharp upward turn of his moustache
indicated an unusually hot temper, an impression confirmed by the
short, crisp speech, the proud turn of the head, and the abrupt
movements. Beyond the village he called a halt to await the rear; at
the very end rumbled two baggage-wagons and a melon-shaped caleche,
the entire baggage of the Turk. A child followed, whose serious
expression and gleaming short sword seemed hardly appropriate to the
full round face; he might have been twelve years old. Within the
carriage, the curtains of which had been thrown wide open to give free
play to the evening breeze, sat a young woman of possibly two and
thirty, whose dress was partly Turkish, partly Christian; for she wore
the loose silk trousers and short blue caftan of Turkish women, but
had taken off her turban. Her face, contrary to Turkish custom, was
unveiled, and she looked calmly out of the window at the country and
the passing peasants.

Beyond the village the Turkish leader marshaled his troops, evidently
accustomed to some discipline. At the head of the left wing was the
young boy; the right was led by a strong man.

"My brave men," said the Pasha to his troops, "you will encamp here.
Let every man keep his place beside his horse and not lay down his
arms. Ferhad Aga with twelve men will go to the village and say to the
justiciary most respectfully that he is to send fo