“Hush, hush, for God’s sake say nothing about the first sally!” cried the captain. “A well-planned enterprise, which was shamefully frustrated, because the leader lay down like a mole to sleep! Where has such a thing happened a second time?” “But the other ended more fortunately,” said the host. “Three hundred hams, one hundred casks of beer, butter, ammunition, and the most worthless of all spies into the bargain; always an excellent prize.” “And yet a failure!” cried Captain Van der Laen, “We ought to have captured and brought in all the provision ships on the Leyden Lake! And the Kaag! To think that this fort on the island should be in the hands of the enemy.” “But the people have held out bravely,” said von Warmond. “There are real devils among them,” replied Van der Laen, laughing. “One struck a Spaniard down and, in the midst of the battle, took off his red breeches and pulled them on his own legs.” “I know the man,” added the landlord, “his name is Van Keulen; there he sits yonder over his beer, telling the people all sorts of queer stories. A fellow with a face like a satyr. We have no lack of comfort yet! Remember Chevraux’ defeat, and the Beggars’ victory at Vlissingen on the Scheldt.” “To brave Admiral Boisot and the gallant Beggar troops!” cried Captain Van der Laen, touching glasses with Colonel Mulder. The latter turned with upraised beaker towards the Thuringian and, as the Junker who had relapsed into his reverie, did not notice the movement, irritably exclaimed: “Well, Herr Dornburg, you require a long time to pledge a man.” Georg started and answered hastily: “Pledge? Oh! yes. Pledge. I pledge you, Colonel!” With these words he raised the goblet, drained it at a single draught, made the nail test and replaced it on the table. “Well done!” cried the old man; and Herr Aquanus said: “He learned that at the University; studying makes people thirsty.” As he uttered the words, he cast a friendly glance of anxiety at the young German, and then looked towards the door, through which Wilhelm had just entered the Angulus. The landlord went to meet him and whispered: “I don’t like the German nobleman’s appearance. The singing lark has become a mousing night-bird. What ails him?” “Home-sickness, no news from his family, and the snare into which the war has drawn him in his pursuit of glory and honor. He’ll soon be his old self again.” “I hope so,” replied the host. “Such a succulent little tree will quickly rebound, when it is pressed to the earth; help the fine young fellow.” A guest summoned the landlord, but the musician joined the officers and began a low conversation with Georg, which was drowned by the confused mingling of loud voices.