From the spot where they stood, his Highness and his attendant heard the tumult and the heavy tramp of the crowd on the staircase of the Town-hall. The noise thereupon sounded through the windows of the hall, on the balcony of which Mynheers Bowelt and D’Asperen had presented themselves. These two gentlemen had retired into the building, very likely from fear of being forced over the balustrade by the pressure of the crowd. After this, fluctuating shadows in tumultuous confusion were seen flitting to and fro across the windows: the council hall was filling. Suddenly the noise subsided, and as suddenly again it rose with redoubled intensity, and at last reached such a pitch that the old building shook to the very roof. At length, the living stream poured back through the galleries and stairs to the arched gateway, from which it was seen issuing like waters from a spout. At the head of the first group, man was flying rather than running, his face hideously distorted with satanic glee: this man was the surgeon Tyckelaer. “We have it! we have it!” he cried, brandishing a paper in the air. “They have got the order!” muttered the officer in amazement. “Well, then,” his Highness quietly remarked, “now I know what to believe with regard to Mynheer Bowelt’s honesty and courage: he has neither the one nor the other.” Then, looking with a steady glance after the crowd which was rushing along before him, he continued,-- “Let us now go to the Buytenhof, Captain; I expect we shall see a very strange sight there.” The officer bowed, and, without making any reply, followed in the steps of his master. There was an immense crowd in the square and about the neighbourhood of the prison. But the dragoons of Tilly still kept it in check with the same success and with the same firmness. It was not long before the Count heard the increasing din of the approaching multitude, the first ranks of which rushed on with the rapidity of a cataract. At the same time he observed the paper, which was waving above the surface of clenched fists and glittering arms. “Halloa!” he said, rising in his stirrups, and touching his lieutenant with the knob of his sword; “I really believe those rascals have got the order.” “Dastardly ruffians they are,” cried the lieutenant. It was indeed the order, which the burgher guard received with a roar of triumph. They immediately sallied forth, with lowered arms and fierce shouts, to meet Count Tilly’s dragoons. But the Count was not the man to allow them to approach within an inconvenient distance. “Stop!” he cried, “stop, and keep off from my horse, or I shall give the word of command to advance.” “Here is the order!” a hundred insolent voices answered at once. He took it in amazement, cast a rapid glance on it, and said quite aloud,-- “Those who have signed this order are the real murderers of Cornelius de Witt. I would rather have my two hands cut off than have written one single letter of this infamous order.”