“Oh, I’ve dismissed Achille for the day. He is down stairs with his family,” says Oliver. “But what brings you here? Mademoiselle Hermoine?” “She is here—in Antwerp?” cries Guy excitedly, his heart beating wildly and a lover’s joy in his eye. “No, fortunately she is in Brussels.” “Fortunately?” “Yes, because I can see you would take desperate chances to have an interview with her, and with five thousand crowns on your head.” “Five thousand?” “Yes—you’ve gone up in the market lately. Alva has heard how you sent the Gueux against him laden with powder and ball to fight for their breakfasts. No provisions, no water, but plenty of powder, eh? That was a glorious stroke. But Queen Elizabeth has disowned you once more, and Alva has proclaimed that your caput is worth five thousand crowns. Parbleu! how he hates you now. If he only knew”—and the painter bursts into laughter, then says very seriously: “What makes you take this awful risk again, my Guido?” “Bar the door and listen,” whispers the English captain. This being done, he says under his voice: “On my last visit here I won the love of Alva’s daughter. On this visit I shall win all Alva’s tenth penny gold.” “Diable! you’re crazy!” “Harken to my story and see if I am,” and sitting down Chester tells his strange tale of Paciotto’s revelation and post-mortem vengeance upon the dictator of the Netherlands. This wondrous story is listened to with exclamations of astonishment. As he closes Guy exhibits the drawings of the keys and tracings of the subterranean passage under the bastion, saying: “Now, do you believe?” “Yes,” replies the painter slowly, “I do! Alva has made the troops think the pedestal of his statue is his treasure house. Alva did know that Flushing would be captured three days before it fell. Therefore he must have sent Paciotto there with design. I believe you.” “Then,” says Guy, “take a third of Alva’s gold and help me get it.” “With all my soul!” answers Oliver enthusiastically. “My share shall be devoted not to myself, but to my country. I’ll make war upon Alva with his own tenth penny tax. But you’re hungry.” “No, I dined on board ship.” “Oho! a lover’s appetite.” “Yes. How is she? You have been in Brussels—how is she?” “Yes, I returned from there but two days ago,” replies the painter, sighing. “I wanted to have a last go at my altar piece before I ran away to the war.” “You’re going to fight?” “I must. With all the Netherlands rising up in arms, could I keep from the field? Besides, the hand is getting closer to me. Soon I shall have to fly. Nom de Dieu! that last was a narrow squeak,” continues Oliver, “the day the news came of the taking of Briel by the Sea Beggars.” “How? Were you in danger?”