Blanka laughed with delight as she mounted her horse.

At first she found it strange enough to sit astride like a man, but when she saw the stately Wallachian maiden thus mounted, she overcame her scruples and even thought it great fun.

The little mountain horses were so steady and sure-footed that it was like being rocked in a cradle to ride one of them.
The two young women rode ahead, while the men lingered behind a moment to drink a stirrup-cup with their host, who would not let them go without observing this ceremony.

Entering the forest, Blanka accosted her companion.
"Zenobia, call me 'Blanka,' and speak Hungarian with me.

You spoke it well enough in your sleep last night." The Wallachian girl drew rein abruptly and crossed herself.