This had occurred early this morning; it was now late in the afternoon, and Laurence had not returned. The levie at the Town Hall was timed for eight o’clock, and the High-Bailiff had just come home in order to don his robes for the solemn occasion. Clémence van Rycke had made an excuse not to see him yet: like all weak, indecisive natures she was hoping against hope that something would occur even now to break Laurence’s obstinacy and induce him to bow to that will against which it was so useless to rebel. But the minutes sped on, and Laurence did not return, and from a room close by came the sound of Messire van Rycke’s heavy footstep and his gruff voice giving orders to the serving man who was helping him with his clothes. Another hour, or perhaps two at most, and she would have to tell her husband what had happened--and the awful catastrophe would have to be faced. As she sat in the high-backed chair, Clémence van Rycke felt as if an icy chill had crept into her bones. "Put another log on the fire, Jeanne," she said, "this autumn weather hath chilled me to the marrow." Jeanne, capable, buxom and busy, did as she was bid. She did more. She ran nimbly out of the room and in a trice had returned with Madame’s chaufferette--well filled with glowing charcoal--and had put it to her mistress’ feet: then she lit the candles in the tall candelabra which stood on a heavy sideboard at the further end of the room, and drew the heavy curtains across the window. The room certainly looked more cosy now: Madame only gave one slight, final shiver, and drew her shawl closer round her shoulders. "Is Messire Mark dressed yet, Jeanne?" she asked wistfully. "Messire came in about ten minutes ago," replied the woman. "Let him know that I wish to speak with him as soon as he can come to me.’ "Yes, Madame." "You have seen to the soldiers’ supper?" "They have had one supper, Madame. They are on duty at the Town Hall till eleven o’clock; then they are coming home for a second supper." "Then will don Ramon de Linea sup with us, think you?" "He didn’t say." "In any case lay his place ready in case he wants to sup. He’ll be on duty quite late too, and it will anger him if his supper is not to his taste." "Whatever I do will never be to the commandant’s taste: he didn’t like his room and he didn’t like the dinner I had cooked for him. When he heard in whose house he was he swore and blasphemed, as I never heard any one blaspheme before. I worked my fingers to the bone last night and this morning to mend his linen and starch his ruff, but even then he was not satisfied."