whose fair round belly, like
a battering ram, "did shake the press before him," and who, whispering
caution to his neighbour, said in a tone of rebuke, "You forget, good
colleague, the place is too open--the seignior will retire to your house
or mine, and drink a glass of Rhenish and sugar, and then we shall
hear more of our good friend and ally, whom we love with all our honest
Flemish hearts."

"I have no news for any of you," said Quentin, impatiently, "I will
drink no Rhenish, and I only desire of you, as men of account and
respectability, to disperse this idle crowd, and allow a stranger to
leave your town as quietly as he came into it."

"Nay, then, sir," said Rouslaer, "since you stand so much on your
incognito, and with us, too, who are men of confidence, let me ask
you roundly, wherefore wear you the badge of your company if you would
remain unknown in Liege."

"What badge, and what order?" said Quentin, "you look like reverend men
and grave citizens, yet, on my soul you are either mad yourselves, or
desire to drive me so."

"Sapperment!" said the other burgher, "this youth would make Saint
Lambert swear! Why, who wear bonnets with the Saint Andrew's cross and
fleur de lys, save the Scottish Archers of King Louis's Guards?"

"And supposing I am an Archer of the Scottish Guard, why should you
make a wonder of my wearing the badge of my company?" said Quentin
impatiently.

"He has avowed it, he has avowed it!" said Rouslaer and Pavillon,
turning to the assembled burghers in attitudes of congratulation, with
waving arms, extended palms, and large round faces radiating with
glee. "He hath avowed himself an Archer of Louis's Guard--of Louis, the
guardian of the liberties of Liege!"

A general shout and cry now arose from the multitude, in which were
mingled the various sounds of "Long live Louis of France! Long live
the Scottish Guard! Long live the valiant Archer! Our liberties,
our privileges, or death! No imposts! Long live the valiant Boar of
Ardennes! Down with Charles of Burgundy! and confusion to Bourbon and
his bishopric!" Half stunned by the noise, which began anew in one
quarter so soon as it ceased in another, rising and falling like the
billows of the sea, and augmented by thousands of voices which roared in
chorus from distant streets and market places, Quentin had yet time to
form a conjecture concerning the meaning of the tumult, and a plan for
regulating his own conduct:

He had forgotten