she had struggled for days, would
conquer her.

CHAPTER IX.

On the evening of the third day after Wilhelm's interview with Henrica,
his way led him through Nobelstrasse past the Hoogstraten mansion.

Ere reaching it, he saw two gentlemen, preceded by a servant carrying a
lantern, cross the causeway towards it.

Wilhelm's attention was attracted. The servant now seized the knocker,
and the light of his lantern fell on the men's faces. Neither was
unfamiliar to him.

The small, delicate old man, with the peaked hat and short black velvet
cloak, was Abbe Picard, a gay Parisian, who had come to Leyden ten years
before and gave French lessons in the wealthy families of the city.
He had been Wilhelm's teacher too, but the musician's father, the
Receiver-General, would have nothing to do with the witty abbe; for he
was said to have left his beloved France on account of some questionable
transactions, and Herr Cornelius scented in him a Spanish spy. The other
gentleman, a grey-haired, unusually stout man, of middle height, who
required a great deal of cloth for his fur-bordered cloak, was Signor
Lamperi, the representative of the great Italian mercantile house of
Bonvisi in Antwerp, who was in the habit of annually coming to Leyden on
business for a few weeks with the storks and swallows, and was a welcome
guest in every tap-room as the inexhaustible narrator of funny stories.
Before these two men entered the house, they were joined by a third,
preceded by two servants carrying lanterns. A wide cloak enveloped
his tall figure; he too stood on the threshold of old age and was no
stranger to Wilhelm, for the Catholic Monseigneur Gloria, who often came
to Leyden from Haarlem, was a patron of the noble art of music, and when
the young man set out on his journey to Italy had provided him, spite of
his heretical faith, with valuable letters of introduction.

Wilhelm, as the door closed behind the three gentlemen, continued his
way. Belotti had told him the day before that the young lady seemed
very ill, but since her aunt was receiving guests, Henrica was doubtless
better.

The first story in the Hoogstraten mansion was brightly lighted, but in
the second a faint, steady glow streamed into Nobelstrasse from a single
window, while she for whom the lamp burned sat beside a table, her eyes
sparkling with a feverish glitter, as she pressed her forehead against
the marble top. Henrica was entirely alone in the wide, lofty