* * * * *
Travelling from Abradbanya up towards Bucsum, one might have seen two
riders toiling up the mountain along the stream overshadowed by dark
alders; one of them was a grey-haired, gigantic Roumanian, the other a
proud-looking young woman. The old man wore a lambskin mantle, on his
head he carried a tall pointed cap, also of lambs' wool, drawn down over
his eyebrows, his body was carelessly girdled with a golden girdle. His
rich grey locks were plaited into two thick pig-tails which reached down
to his broad shoulders, and his snow-white moustache hung down from his
mouth like two seamew's wings. A coarse sack lay in front of him across
his saddle, both ends of which appeared to be full of something heavy;
across the sack lay his fowling-piece.
The fair cavalier was sitting on a small, wild, shaggy horse, which
constantly evinced a praiseworthy endeavour to overtake the rider in
front of him; his mistress with difficulty held him in. She was one of
those famous Roumanian beauties. Her features, the cut of her lips, her
full chin could have stood as a model beside any antique statue. And
then those sparkling eyes, that vividly red complexion, those coal-black
eyebrows--they made an ideal beauty of her. And the picturesque
Roumanian costume enhanced her charms. Her black hair, twisted into a
double plait, was bound round with a flaming-red scarf, and on her head
she wore a round hat, trimmed with pearls and garnished in front with a
row of gold pieces which reached down to her marble-white forehead.
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