ught desperately for the property and lives of their
families;--but all was vain. Vargas's troopers had stifled even the last
breath of resistance.

The streets ran blood, corpses lay in heaps before the doors and on the
pavement--among them the bodies of the Margrave of Antwerp, Verreyck,
Burgomaster van der Mere, and many senators and nobles. Conflagration
after conflagration crimsoned the heavens, the superb city-hall was
blazing, and from a thousand windows echoed the screams of the assailed,
plundered, bleeding citizens, women and children.

The smith hastily ate a few mouthfuls to restore his strength, then
raised his head, saying: "No one has touched our house. The door and
shutters of neighbor Ykens' are shattered."

"A miracle!" cried old Rahel, raising her staff. "The generation of
vipers scent richer booty than iron at the silversmith's."

Just at that moment the knocker sounded. Adam started up, put on his coat
of mail again, motioned to his journeymen and went to the door.

Rahel shrieked loudly: "To the cellar, Ruth. Oh, God, oh, God, have mercy
upon us! Quick--where's my shawl?--They are attacking us!--Come, come!
Oh, I am caught, I can go no farther!"

Mortal terror had seized the old woman; she did not want to die. To the
girl death was welcome, and she did not stir.

Voices were now audible in the vestibule, but they sounded neither noisy
nor threatening; yet Rahel shrieked in despair as a lansquenet, fully
armed, entered the workshop with the armorer.

Hans Eitelfritz had come to look for Ulrich's father. In his arms lay the
dog Lelaps, which, bleeding from the wound made by a bullet, that grazed
its neck, nestled trembling against its master.

Bowing courteously to Ruth, the soldier said:

"Take pity on this poor creature, fair maiden, and wash its wound with a
little wine. It deserves it. I could tell you such tales of its
cleverness! It came from distant India, where a pirate. . . . But you shall
hear the story some other time. Thanks, thanks! As to your son, Meister,
it's a thousand pities about him. He was a splendid fellow, and we were
like two brothers. He himself gave me the safeguard for you and the
artist, Moor. I fastened them on the doors with my own hands, as soon as
the fray began. My swordbearer got the paste, and now may the writing
stick there as an honorable memento till the end of the world. Navarrete
was a faithful fellow, who never forgot his friends! How much good that