mastery. Again the girl lifted him up to the right, then again to the left. But each time he regained his foothold as alertly as a roebuck.
"He is artful," cried some. "He is waiting till she is tired, and then he will begin!"
"On, on, Dunja!" cried all her kinsmen with one accord,
"Come, Luka, our champion. Do not disgrace us!" cried the Lipova men.
"Stop, Dunja!"
"Stop, Luka!"
"Stop, stop!"
He pressed her to him as hard as he could, with the intention of letting her go, or else to confuse her. But at the same moment she sprang alertly sideways, waved her arms and fell to the ground on top of him.
You can imagine what now took place. Such din and laughter arose, that not a word could be understood. The Lipova men made the best of a bad bargain and joined in the laughter. Dunja's relatives embraced and kissed one another. But the Latin boy, pale in the face, walked up to the assembly and eyed them narrowly in turn. The serdar was afraid that it might lead to something awkward, and so he took up the gusla and drew the bow once or twice across the strings. In an instant there was complete silence, for everybody understood what the old man's object was in so doing.
