While this is being brought Mendez exclaims: “Caramba! there are no more pigeons in this pie,” withdrawing a knife with which he has been exploring the open pasty before him, and licking his fingers regretfully in the absence of a napkin. “You only gave us six pigeons, Captain Vasco.” “That was all I shot with my cross-bow,” answers De Guerra. “You shot pigeons with your cross-bow?” jeers Conrad de Ryk. “Certainly!—to-day—here!” “Bah! your hand trembles, Vasco, as if you were paying over the five hundred guilders we have wagered against the painter!” sneers De la Noel. “Notwithstanding, I shot them,” returns Vasco, a strange light coming into his fishy eyes; “and I not only killed the six pigeons, but I shall kill—another! We’ll have a banquet when I get my reward for his head!” He grinds his teeth at these words. “His head?” cries one. “The reward of three thousand caroli for the Englishman’s caput?” shouts another, pointing to the placard, and making Guy’s hand involuntarily seek his sword. “Bah!” chuckles Vasco. “Do you think I am going on the briny deep to get seasick and have that English pirate cut my throat? No, there are rewards nearer home, when I kill my seventh pigeon we’ll have more pigeon pie and a carouse with a little of the money.” This rather equivocal promise is greeted with cheers and a clattering of beakers and flagons. The Six Drunkards of Brussels seem to like pigeon-pie as well as the little son of the surgeon and blood-letter, Jacques Touraine. But Guy’s attention is called from the scene of conviviality. The host, bowing before him, says humbly: “Señor capitan, your bed is ready, the sheets are clean, nobody has slept in them for three days!” Following Van Oncle, who carries a wax candle, Chester is escorted to a loft over the stable, which is at least airy and well ventilated, as it has several open windows which nobody has taken the trouble to close. A moment after he finds himself practically alone—the only occupant of the neighboring cots being in a drunken sleep, the others have not yet come in. Securing his valuables (and most carefully of all that which he deems the most valuable—the miniature of the lady whose name he does not know, but whom he now knows he loves heart and soul), Captain Guy Chester looks carefully to his arms, then goes to bed. Then taking a last dreamy look at the fair, delicate face and glorious eyes and red lips that he has kissed once, but swears to kiss again, he goes to sleep calmly and peacefully in the city of his enemies, under the flag of Spain and Alva, while in the room below, the streets about him, and on the walls of every guard-house in Brabant and Flanders, are placards offering three thousand carolus guilders for the head of the “First of the English.” CHAPTER IV. THE PATRIOT PAINTER.