With what enthusiasm these words, so new to Quiquendonian ears, were greeted, may be surmised, but cannot be told. All the auditors rose, and with extended arms demanded war with loud cries. Never had the Advocate Schut achieved such a success, and it must be avowed that his triumphs were not few. The burgomaster, the counsellor, all the notabilities present at this memorable meeting, would have vainly attempted to resist the popular outburst. Besides, they had no desire to do so, and cried as loud, if not louder, than the rest,— “To the frontier! To the frontier!” As the frontier was but three kilometers from the walls of Quiquendone, it is certain that the Virgamenians ran a real danger, for they might easily be invaded without having had time to look about them. Meanwhile, Josse Liefrinck, the worthy chemist, who alone had preserved his senses on this grave occasion, tried to make his fellow-citizens comprehend that guns, cannon, and generals were equally wanting to their design. They replied to him, not without many impatient gestures, that these generals, cannons, and guns would be improvised; that the right and love of country sufficed, and rendered a people irresistible. Hereupon the burgomaster himself came forward, and in a sublime harangue made short work of those pusillanimous people who disguise their fear under a veil of prudence, which veil he tore off with a patriotic hand. At this sally it seemed as if the hall would fall in under the applause. The vote was eagerly demanded, and was taken amid acclamations. The cries of “To Virgamen! to Virgamen!” redoubled. [Illustration: “To Virgamen! to Virgamen!”] The burgomaster then took it upon himself to put the armies in motion, and in the name of the town he promised the honours of a triumph, such as was given in the times of the Romans to that one of its generals who should return victorious. Meanwhile, Josse Liefrinck, who was an obstinate fellow, and did not regard himself as beaten, though he really had been, insisted on making another observation. He wished to remark that the triumph was only accorded at Rome to those victorious generals who had killed five thousand of the enemy. “Well, well!” cried the meeting deliriously. “And as the population of the town of Virgamen consists of but three thousand five hundred and seventy-five inhabitants, it would be difficult, unless the same person was killed several times—” But they did not let the luckless logician finish, and he was turned out, hustled and bruised. “Citizens,” said Pulmacher the grocer, who usually sold groceries by retail, “whatever this cowardly apothecary may have said, I engage by myself to kill five thousand Virgamenians, if you will accept my services!” “Five thousand five hundred!” cried a yet more resolute patriot. “Six thousand six hundred!” retorted the grocer.