The evening was at hand now--one of the soft calm evenings which, in the Netherlands, in fine weather, are at times almost as soft and calm as the nights of more southern lands; nights when here, through all this marshy country, made fertile and rich by centuries of toil, the fireflies dance in the dusk as in far off Italy; when the sun sinks a globe of flame into the bosom of the German Ocean, and when as it does so, the stars begin to stud the skies. Such a night, such a twilight as this was no time for indoors: and Bevill, recognising that for two hours at least it would be folly to seek his bed with any hope of sleeping, went forth after his supper to take the air. Or rather, since his ride had given him sufficient of that, to observe what might be doing in the little town. Of French troops he observed that there were few about, though some men of the Régiment de Monsieur (the Duc d'Orléans) and some others of the Artillery were drinking outside an inn while being regarded with lowering looks by groups of the inhabitants. "French--French always!" he heard one man say to the other. "French always and everywhere! When will the English or our own troops come?" "Have patience," another said. "Already, a month ago, even before the war was declared, was not Kaiserswörth besieged by the English general Athlone? The city will soon fall now." "English? Dutch--our countryman--you should say. Is not the Lord Athlone a Dutchman? Is he not Ginkell?" "What matters, so that one or the other does it? Soon Marlborough will be here. Then we shall see." "Meanwhile, he is not here, and the French are; and they eat us out of house and home, and do not pay too well." "They will pay with their skins ere long." But Bevill knew as much as this himself, so, continuing his walk, he soon returned towards the inns in which, he on the one side the _place_ and the Comtesse de Valorme on the other, they were to rest for the night. But when on the _place_ he could not refrain from letting his eyes wander to the "Duc de Brabant," while speculating idly as to where his companion might be installed in it. He soon knew, however, since on the first floor of the house he observed that the long wooden shutters were open, and the windows thrown back, doubtless to admit the cool air of the coming night, while he also saw that Jeanne passed once or twice before them. As he did so he could not prevent his thoughts from turning once more to the mystery in which the Comtesse seemed to be enveloped, or from wondering again and again why she should testify such interest in him, a stranger. Could he have gazed into one of those rooms in the "Duc de Brabant"; could he have seen the Comtesse seated in a deep _fauteuil_ wrapped in meditation; above all, could he have caught the occasional expressions that fell from her lips; or, gazing into her mind, have probed her innermost thoughts, he would have wondered no longer.