The knives and the forks fell from the hands of Myndert and his guest, as it were by a simultaneous paralysis. The latter involuntarily arose; while the former planted his solid person still more firmly in its seat, like one who was preparing to meet some severe and expected shock, with all the physical resolution he could muster. “—What of my niece!—What of my geldings?—You have called upon Dinah?” “Sans doute, Monsieur!” “—And you kept the keys of the stable?” “I nebber let him go, at all!” “—And you bade her call her mistress?” “She no make answair, de tout.” “—The animals were fed and watered, as I ordered?” “’Em nebber take he food, better!” “—You entered the chamber of my niece, yourself, to awake her?” “Monsieur a raison.” “What the devil has befallen the innocent?” “He lose he stomach quite, and I t’ink it great time ’fore it ebber come back.” “—Mister Francis, I desire to know the answer of Monsieur Barbérie’s daughter.” “Mam’selle no répond, Monsieur; pas un syllabe!” “—Drenchers and fleams! The beauty should have been drenched and blooded—” “He’m too late for dat, Masser, on honor.” “—The obstinate hussy! This comes of her Huguenot breed, a race that would quit house and lands rather than change its place of worship!” “La famille de Barbérie est honorable, Monsieur mais le Grand Monarque fut un peu trop exigeant. Vraiment, la dragonade était mal avisée, pour faire des chrétiens!” “Apoplexies and hurry! you should have sent for the farrier to administer to the sufferer, thou black hound!” “’Em go for a butcher, Masser, to save he skin; for he war’ too soon dead.” The word dead produced a sudden pause. The preceding dialogue had been so rapid, and question and answer, no less than the ideas of the principal speaker, had got so confused, that, for a moment, he was actually at a loss to understand, whether the last great debt of nature had been paid by la belle Barbérie, or one of the Flemish geldings. Until now, consternation, as well as the confusion of the interview, had constrained the Patroon to be silent, but he profited by the breathing-time to interpose. “It is evident, Mr. Van Beverout,” he said, speaking with a tremor in the voice, which betrayed his own uneasiness, “that some untoward event has occurred. Perhaps the negro and I had better retire, that you may question Francis concerning that which hath befallen Mademoiselle Barbérie, more at your leisure.” The Alderman was recalled from a profound stupor, by this gentlemanlike and considerate proposal. He bowed his acknowledgments, and permitted Mr. Van Staats to quit the room; but when Euclid would have followed, he signed to the negro to remain. “I may have occasion to question thee farther,” he said, in a voice that had lost most of that compass and depth for which it was so remarkable. “Stand there, sirrah, and be in readiness to answer. And now, Mr. Francis, I desire to know why my niece declines taking the breakfast with myself and my guest?”