While I was gathering the above information piecemeal from the subdued conversation about me in the coffee-room, my acquaintance, Pierre, had roused himself occasionally, swallowed another draught of rum, and then relapsed into sleepy unconsciousness. The group in the room was continually changing, but the people composing it had ceased to point me out as an object of interest. Two or three men had latterly come in who wore upon their arms a band of red cloth like what I had seen on the sailors I had fought against in company with the sheriff’s men. But these fellows took no notice of me, nor did I recognize them as belonging to the band we had fought with. Before long a sudden lull in the conversation greeted the appearance of two men. Heretofore I had examined the face of every visitor as he came in, wondering if he were Van Volkenberg. I now scanned these two with like attention. The older looking of the two was a large man, powerful but spare in build, with a sharp passionate eye. He returned cordially the numerous greetings with which he was welcomed. Then, for everyone in the room stood silent as if in expectation of a speech, he struck his ebony cane with decision on the floor and began to speak. “Friends, we have suffered a severe defeat and to-day the Assembly goes into session that will unmake our laws. But the race is not to the swift nor the battle to the strong. We are not yet dead. Power shall return to us. Hush——” He raised his cane and made a motion to cut short a slight attempt to cheer. “Our enemies have triumphed through the vote of the Frenchmen. But you must not let this turn you against them. They are led by the black Lady Marmaduke. We must bring them back to our support. They are willing to come, but we must not drive them sharply. There is one thing I have to tell you that will make you glad at heart. To-day I have been at the governor’s council board. He is at heart our friend. To be sure, he has restored the confiscated property to the family of the traitor Leisler. That strikes home against us, but he could not help himself. The attainder was removed in England and he was bound to carry it out whether he liked to do so or not. This victory has been won in his name, but it is not of his heart. Do not the two traitors still lie at the foot of the gallows?” A sullen murmur of dissatisfaction followed this appeal. “Ay, they have lain there these eight years,” cried one. “May they rot in their graves forever,” said another. For a moment the air was full of sharp, savage curses directed against the memory of the two leaders of the people. “And now,” continued the speaker, as Kirstoffel handed him a cup, “let us drink to the health of our stout friend, Colonel Benjamin Fletcher.”