ly, and the eyes of each who added to
it were eagerly directed to Quentin with a stare which expressed much
interest and curiosity, mingled with a certain degree of respect.

At length he now formed the centre of a considerable crowd, which yet
yielded before him while he continued to move forward, while those who
followed or kept pace with him studiously avoided pressing on him, or
impeding his motions. Yet his situation was too embarrassing to be long
endured, without making some attempt to extricate himself and to obtain
some explanation.

Quentin looked around him, and fixing upon a jolly, stout made,
respectable man, whom, by his velvet cloak and gold chain, he concluded
to be a burgher of eminence, and perhaps a magistrate, he asked him
whether he saw anything particular in his appearance, to attract public
attention in a degree so unusual? or whether it was the ordinary custom
of the people of Liege thus to throng around strangers who chanced to
visit their city?

"Surely not, good seignior," answered the burgher, "the Liegeois are
neither so idly curious as to practise such a custom, nor is there
anything in your dress or appearance saving that which is most welcome
to this city, and which our townsmen are both delighted to see and
desirous to honour."

"This sounds very polite, worthy sir," said Quentin, "but, by the Cross
of Saint Andrew, I cannot even guess at your meaning."

"Your oath," answered the merchant of Liege, "as well as your accent,
convinces me that we are right in our conjecture."

"By my patron Saint Quentin!" said Durward, "I am farther off from your
meaning than ever."

"There again now," rejoined the Liegeois, looking, as he spoke, most
provokingly, yet most civilly, politic and intelligent.

"It is surely not for us to see that which you, worthy seignior, deem it
proper to conceal: But why swear by Saint Quentin, if you would not have
me construe your meaning?--We know the good Count of Saint Paul, who
lies there at present, wishes well to our cause."

"On my life," said Quentin, "you are under some delusion.--I know
nothing of Saint Paul."

"Nay, we question you not," said the burgher, "although, hark ye--I say,
hark in your ear--my name is Pavillon."

"And what is my business with that, Seignior Pavillon?" said Quentin.

"Nay, nothing--only methinks it might satisfy you that I am
trustworthy.--Here is my colleague Rouslaer, too."

Rouslaer advanced, a corpulent dignitary,