“More than three thousand burghers hastened to join him, and the rest soon followed. Hans Roth, the Burgomaster, placed himself at the head of this valorous band, each of whom had stuck a wisp of straw in his belt as a badge, and away they marched through the Saint Alban’s Gate to attack the foe. Anxiously the magistrates and remaining citizens watched their departure, for none were left within the walls that could wield a weapon or had courage enough to look the enemy in the face. Who was there to protect the town in case of sudden attack? Scarcely a quarter of an hour had passed, when one of the Councillors galloped madly after the champions, with word that an assault had been made on the city and an ambuscade laid for them by the enemy. Thereupon they turned back, only to learn, when too late, that the faint-hearted Council had deceived them. Truly it was no great honor in those days to be a Councillor in the good city of Basle, and it is only within a few years that they have earned the right to be held in respect once more.” “Shame on them!” exclaimed Walter. “Father, if the French should come now, I do not believe _you_ would hold the burghers back. You would let me go with them.” “Aye, and go myself withal,” said Hans Irmy. “We have that within us which time cannot destroy or change. They thought to tear away a portion of our Confederation, and not the worst part either; but we kept faith with the German Empire and held fast to the soil from which we sprung. No Frenchman shall take that from us, not even our language, which like ourselves has been German from the beginning.” [Illustration: _The Battle of Saint Jacob_ (_After Holbein_)] “Do not be too hard upon the French,” interposed Iseli; “the French language is by no means to be despised, while French wines and manufactures suit us very well. Nor should we scorn the profit that comes to us therefrom.” “That may all be,” said Irmy; “everything in its proper place and manner; but as to your liking for the French, it does not please me. We are still citizens of the German Empire; and deeply as the house of Austria has injured us, we should not forget from what stock we spring, and that cat and dog will sooner be friends than a German and a Frenchman. In individual cases it might happen,—there are good men in both countries,—but in our hearts and in our politics we shall never be one with France.” “Something may be said on that point also,” replied Iseli. “What of the Duchy of Burgundy? Are not French and Germans united there under one rule?” “True, my friend; but if you think it is a voluntary union you greatly err. Nothing but the iron hand of Charles the Bold holds them together. They would separate in an instant, should the powerful Duke chance to close his eyes.” “Well—at least,” said Iseli, “I am glad to find you are an admirer of this great man, who appears to me like a rising star in the firmament of the world’s history.”