German fiction -- Translations into English; Netherlands -- History -- Eighty Years' War, 1568-1648 -- Fiction
"First hear what a great service we ask of you. You must prepare
yourself to hear a short story. I am still weak and have put my strength
to a severe test to-day, Maria must speak for me."
The young wife fulfilled this task quietly and clearly, closing with the
words:
"The messenger we need, I have found myself. You must be he, Junker
Georg."
Henrica had not interrupted the burgomaster's wife; but now said warmly
"I have only made your acquaintance to-day, but I trust you entirely.
A few hours ago, black would have been my color, but if you will be my
knight, I'll choose cheerful green, for I now begin to hope again. Will
you venture to take the ride for me?"
Hitherto Georg had gazed silently at the floor. Now he raised his head,
saying:
"If I can obtain leave of absence, I will place myself at your disposal;
--but my lady's color is blue, and I am permitted to wear no other."
Henrica's lips quivered slightly, but the young nobleman continued:
"Captain Van der Laen is my superior officer. I'll speak to him at
once."
"And if he says no?" asked Maria.
Henrica interrupted her and answered haughtily: "Then I beg you to send
me Herr Wilhelm, the musician."
Georg bowed and went to the tavern.
As soon as the ladies were alone, the young girl asked:
"Do you know Herr von Dornburg's lady?"
"How should I?" replied Maria. "Give yourself a little rest, Fraulein.
As soon as the Junker comes back, I'll bring him to you."
The young wife left the room and seated herself at the spinning-wheel
with Barbara. Georg kept them waiting a long time, but at midnight again
appeared, accompanied by two companions. It was not within the limits of
the captain's authority to grant him a leave of absence for several
weeks--the journey to Italy would have required that length of time--but
the Junker had consulted the musician, and the latter had found the right
man, with whom Wilhelm speedily made the necessary arrangements, and
brought him without delay: it was the old steward, Belotti.
CHAPTER XXVI.
On the morning of the following day the spacious shooting-grounds,
situated not far from the White Gate, between the Rapenburg and the city-
wall, presented a busy scene, for by a decree of the council the citizens
and inhabitants, without exception, no matter whether they were poor or
rich, of noble or plebeian birth, were to take a solemn oath to be loyal
to the Prince and the good cause.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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