t the roles are becoming nicely reversed.
Thou forgivest thine enemies, and in Amsterdam 'tis the Jews who are
going to the Christians to borrow money for this synagogue of theirs!"

"How is the young _juffrouw_?" asked Spinoza at last.

"Klaartje! She blooms like a Jan de Heem flowerpiece. This rude air
has made a rose of my lily. Her cheeks might have convinced the
imbeciles who took away their practice from poor old Dr. Harvey. One
can _see_ her blood circulating. By the way, thy old crony, Dr. Ludwig
Meyer, bade me give thee his love."

"Dost think she will remember me?"

"Remember thee, Benedict? Did she not send me to thee to-day? Thy name
is ever on those rosy lips of hers--to lash dull pupils withal. How
thou didst acquire half the tongues of Europe in less time that they
master +tupto+." Spinoza allowed his standing desire to cough to find
satisfaction. He turned his head aside and held his hand before his
mouth. "We quarrel about thy _Tractatus_--she and I--for of course she
recognized thine olden argumentations just as I recognized my tricks
of style."

"She reads me then?"

"As a Lutheran his Bible. 'Twas partially her hope of threshing out
certain difficulties with thee that decided us on Scheveningen. I do
not say that the forest which poor Paul Potter painted was not a rival
attraction."

A joy beyond the bounds of Reason was swelling the philosopher's
breast. Unconsciously his step quickened. He encouraged his companion
to chatter more about his daughter, how van Ter Borch had made of her
one of his masterpieces in white satin, how she herself dabbled
daintily in all the fine arts, but the old man diverged irrevocably
into politics, breathed fire and fury against the French, spoke of his
near visit to Paris on a diplomatic errand, and, growing more
confidential, hinted of a great scheme, an insurrection in Normandy,
Admiral Tromp to swoop down on Quilleboeuf, a Platonic republic to be
reared on the ruins of the French monarchy. Had Spinoza seen the
shadow of a shameful death hovering over the spirited veteran, had he
foreknown that the poor old gentleman--tool of two desperate _roues_
and a _femme galante_,--was to be executed in Paris for this very
conspiracy, the words that sounded so tediously in his ear would have
taken on a tragic dignity.

They approached the village, whose huts loomed solemnly between the
woods and the dunes in the softening twilight. The van den Endes were
lodged with