“Ah!” assents Guy, the corners of his mouth drooping at these words, for it is this Oliver he has braved so much to see, and he dares not remain long in Antwerp. Then he asks anxiously: “Do you know when he will return?” “To-morrow. He will come with his master, the Duke of Alva, to-morrow. He is herald and under-secretary to the Viceroy.” “Yes!” cries the little boy, “I’m so glad of it, because when Monsieur Oliver comes we have so much pigeon pie. I like pigeon pie—don’t you?” “Desperately,” laughs Guy, relieved at the knowledge of the painter’s quick return. “Then I hope you won’t ask Monsieur Oliver for my share of pigeon pie,” babbles the child. “Perhaps, though, we won’t get any—a man carried so many pigeons away to-day.” “Well, here’s a stiver to buy pigeon pie for yourself, my little man,” laughs Chester, giving the child a coin. Then he says to the father: “You are sure about your information?” “Oh, I think so. You can make absolutely sure by asking his great friends, the Bodé Volckers. They will certainly know. He is a nice man, this Oliver, and a great painter—at least, he thinks himself a great painter. He has my son Achille as his student—my youngest is the little Maredie, the one who likes pigeon pie,” babbles the Frenchman, who has apparently been relieved from fear of the flood and pleased by Guy’s douceur to his child. Then he queries suddenly: “Haven’t I seen you before? You came to visit Monsieur Antony six months ago.” “Yes,” answers the Englishman shortly, and to prevent further interrogation queries: “Can you tell me where the Bodé Volckers’ live?” “Oh, every one knows that; he is our ex-Burgomaster, the merchant prince, Niklaas Bodé Volcker, who lives on the Place de Meir.” “Ah, the Place de Meir, thank you, señor,” answers Guy. He turns away, and calling the link boy again, says: “Bodé Volcker’s!” “That means two stivers more,” cries the urchin; “anyone that would visit a burgomaster’s could afford two stivers.” “Four, if you take me there quickly.” “Four? Pots dit en dat! you must be a count,” cries the delighted child, and, skipping vivaciously before his patron, he soon guides him back past the cathedral to the magnificent residence where old Bodé Volcker, merchant prince of that day, whose argosies sailed to the Indies, the Baltic and the Mediterranean, lived in great state and pomp and wealth, but for all that was still only a merchant, trader and burgher; and to the haughty nobles of that day nothing more than the dust of the earth—unless they wanted to borrow his money. But as has always been the case, great financial success has prompted social ambition. Niklaas Bodé Volcker’s family is even now knocking at noble and aristocratic doors. Evidences of this comes to Guy almost as he reaches the portals of the merchant.