He hears the voice of the Countess de Pariza in the salesroom just off the little counting room where he is holding converse with the merchant. This voice he has always before considered harsh, unpleasant and uninviting, but now it seems to him as sweet as an angel’s, as it says: “I have called to price and buy some white French muslin for my charge, Doña de Alva. You need not measure many yards, the lady Hermoine soon goes to Spain to enter a religious house.” “Shall I deliver the goods at the Citadel for your ladyship?” asks the obsequious clerk. “No, I’ll take them with me. The weather has been so pleasant that Doña Hermoine and I are now located for the summer at the country house near Sandvliet. Be quick, young man, the State barge is waiting.” These words knock all thought of Alva’s treasure out of Guy’s mind. “Give me some further details,” whispers the merchant, “about the house of the Spanish woman.” “I’ve told you where it is. To-morrow I’ll talk with you. Which is the quickest way to Sandvliet?” “The quickest way is on horseback, but it is not the safest.” “I go the quickest way.” “Past the sentries of Lillo? You will be questioned! You must have a passport!” Then the merchant whispers in warning tones: “Are you going as Captain Andrea Blanco or as Colonel Guido Amati, or as—the other man?” Bodé Volcker’s face is white as he makes this last remark. “As—My God! I must go as Colonel Guido Amati!” “Do you think you’ll pass the fort at Lillo with a passport for Colonel Guido Amati, who has been marked dead upon the army rolls three or four months?” says Bodé Volcker, bringing the common sense of the merchant to bear upon the romance of the sailor. “A year ago you might have passed Lillo as Captain Guido Amati, but as Colonel Guido Amati, a man of mark, a man who rode at the head of his regiment, a man who has been mentioned in general orders as dead—no, no, you’ll throw away your life and not gain the girl. You’ll throw away the treasure and sacrifice my life.” “You’re right,” says Chester moodily, “but see her I must.” “Then go by boat, that’s your only way,” returns Niklaas. “Very well, I’ll take the Esperanza’s gig; it is a quick pulling boat, and I’ll take every care of myself—for her sake most of all,” answers Chester. “It wouldn’t do for her to again mourn for Guido Amati. Meantime do what you can up here. I’ll meet you to-morrow morning.” With these words Captain Andrea Blanco strides out of the counting room of the merchant Bodé Volcker and going on board the Esperanza gives himself the appearance of Colonel Guido Amati as much as he can; for his wounds have made him pale, and desperate exertions and desperate anxiety have brought lines of care upon his brow. Notwithstanding this, as his boat, propelled by six stalwart rowers, catching the ebb tide, goes down the Schelde, there is a gleam of intense happiness and expectant joy, upon the face of the dashing young man.