ll I get to the Beggars?"
"You?" asked the captain in astonishment.
"Yes, I!" replied the Junker eagerly. "I shall soon be seventeen, and
when I am--Wait, just wait--you'll hear of me yet."
"Right, Nicolas, right," replied the other. "Let us be Holland nobles
and noble Hollanders."
Three hours later, Junker Matanesse Van Wibisma rode into the Hague with
Belotti, whom he had loved from childhood. He brought his father nothing
but a carefully-folded and sealed letter, which Janus Dousa, with a
mischievous smile, had given him on behalf of the citizens of Leyden
for General Valdez, and which contained, daintily inscribed on a large
sheet, the following lines from Dionysius Cato:
"Fistula dulce canit volucrem dum decipit auceps."
["Sweet are the notes of the flute, when the fowler lures the bird
to his nest."]
CHAPTER XXVII.
The first week in June and half the second had passed, the beautiful
sunny days had drawn to a close, and numerous guests sought the
"Angulus" in Aquarius's tavern during the evening hours. It was so cosy
there when the sea-breeze whistled, the rain poured, and the water fell
plashing on the pavements. The Spanish besieging army encompassed
the city like an iron wall. Each individual felt that he was a
fellow-prisoner of his neighbor, and drew closer to companions of his
own rank and opinions. Business was stagnant, idleness and anxiety
weighed like lead on the minds of all, and whoever wished to make time
pass rapidly and relieve his oppressed soul, went to the tavern to give
utterance to his own hopes and fears, and hear what others were thinking
and feeling in the common distress.
All the tables in the Angulus were occupied, and whoever wanted to be
understood by a distant neighbor was forced to raise his voice very
loud, for special conversations were being carried on at every table.
Here, there, and everywhere, people were shouting to the busy bar-maid,
glasses clinked together, and pewter lids fell on the tops of hard
stone-ware jugs.
The talk at a round table in the end of the long room was louder than
anywhere else. Six officers had seated themselves at it, among them
Georg von Dornburg. Captain Van der Laen, his superior officer, whose
past career had been a truly heroic one, was loudly relating in his deep
voice, strange and amusing tales of his travels by sea and land, Colonel
Mulder often interrupted him, and at every somewhat incredible story,
smiling
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