Nicolas, in his excitement, shame, and indignation, could find no coherent words, but Adrian came forward saying: “We wrestled together. Don’t be too much vexed with us, Herr Janus.” Nicolas cast a friendly glance at his foe. Herr von Nordwyk, Jan Van der Does, or as a learned man he preferred to call himself, Janus Dousa, was by no means satisfied with this information, but exclaimed: “Patience, patience! You look suspicious enough, Meister Adrian; come here and tell me, ‘atrekeos,’ according to the truth, what has been going on.” The boy obeyed the command and told his story honestly, without concealing or palliating anything that had occurred. “Hm,” said Dousa, after the lad had finished his report. “A difficult case. No one is to be acquitted. Your cause would be the better one, had it not been for the knife, my fine young nobleman, but you, Adrian, and you, you chubby-cheeked rascals, who--There comes the rector--If he catches you, you’ll certainly see nothing but four walls the rest of this beautiful day. I should be sorry for that.” The chubby-cheeked rascals, and Adrian also, understood this hint, and without stopping to take leave scampered around the corner of the church like a flock of doves pursued by a hawk. As soon as they had vanished, the commander approached young Nicolas, saying: “Vexatious business! What was right to them is just to you. Go to your home. Are you visiting your aunt?” “Yes, my lord,” replied the young noble. “Is your father in the city too?” Nicolas was silent. “He doesn’t wish to be seen?” Nicolas nodded assent, and Dousa continued: “Leyden stands open to every Netherlander, even to you. To be sure, if you go about like King Philip’s page, and show contempt to your equals, you must endure the consequences yourself. There lies the dagger, my young friend, and there is your hat. Pick them up, and remember that such a weapon is no toy. Many a man has spoiled his whole life, by thoughtlessly using one a single moment. The superior numbers that pressed upon you may excuse you. But how will you get to your aunt’s house in that tattered doublet?” “My cloak is in the church,” said the musician, “I’ll give it to the young gentleman.” “Bravo, Meister Wilhelm!” replied Dousa. “Wait here, my little master, and then go home. I wish the time, when your father would value my greeting, might come again. Do you know why it is no longer pleasant to him?” “No, my lord.” “Then I’ll tell you. Because he is fond of Spain, and I cling to the Netherlands.” “We are Netherlanders as well as you,” replied Nicolas with glowing cheeks. “Scarcely,” answered Dousa calmly, putting his hand up to his thin chin, and intending to add a kinder word to the sharp one, when the youth vehemently exclaimed: “Take back that ‘scarcely,’ Herr von Nordwyk.” Dousa gazed at the bold lad in surprise, and again an expression of amusement hovered about his lips. Then he said kindly: