Zorka grew tired of the sad, melancholy song, and began to dance wildly and passionately.  Perhaps her natural feminine vanity was roused within her, and she wanted to show off at her best before the handsome soldier.  Her eyes sparkled; a flush spread from time to time over her face; with her sweet voice she animated the little bear, crying, “Mariska, Mariska, jump!” But after a while she seemed to forget the growling little creature altogether, and went on dancing a kind of graceful fandango of her own invention.  As she swayed, it seemed as if the motion and excitement caused every fiber of her body to flash out a sort of electric glow.  By the time the girl flung herself, quite exhausted, in the dust at his feet, Captain Winter was absolutely beside himself.  Such a morsel of heavenly daintiness did not often drop in his path now that he was fasting in this purgatory of a village.  His stay there had been one long Lent, during which joys and pleasures had been rare indeed.

It began to grow dark.  At the other end of the market-place several officers were on their way to supper at the village inn where they always messed.  The Captain turned to the man and woman in possession of the bears and ordered them in no friendly tone to go with him to the inn as his guests.  Joco bowed humbly like a culprit, and gloomily led on his comrade Ibrahim.  Zorka, on the contrary, looked gay as she walked along beside the light-colored bear.

The Captain looked again and again at the bear-leader walking in front of him.  “Where have I seen this fellow before?” he kept asking himself.  His uncertainty did not last long.  His face brightened.  “Oh, yes; I remember!” he inwardly exclaimed.  Now he felt sure that this black cherry of Bosnia, this girl with the waist of a dragonfly, was his.

The inn, once a gentleman’s country-house, was built of stone.  The bears were lodged in a little room which used to serve the former owner of the house as pantry, and were chained to the strong iron lattice of the window.  In one corner of this little room the landlord ordered one of his servants to make a good bed of straw.  “The Captain will pay for it,” he said.

When everything was ready in the little room, the Captain called Joco and took him there.  He knew that what he was going to do was not chivalrous; but he had already worked himself up to a blaze of excitement over the game he meant to play, and this fellow was too stupid to understand what a hazardous piece of play it was.  When they were alone he stood erect before the bear-leader and looked fixedly into his eyes.

“You are Joco Hics,” he said; “two years ago you deserted from my regiment.”

The strong, tall, young peasant began to tremble so that his knees knocked together, but could not answer a single word.  Fritz Winter, Ritter von Wallishausen, whispered into Joco’s ear, his speech agitated and stuttering:  “You have a woman with you,” he said, “who surely is not your wife.  Set her free.  I will buy her from you for any price you ask.  You can go away with your bears and pluck yourself another such flower where you found this one.”