rs,"
said the wife of the magistrate Heemskerk. "High boots, doublets of fine
leather, gay plumes in their morions and hats, large coats of mail,
halberds that would kill half a dozen--and all like new."

"They probably didn't want to spoil them, and so found a place of safety
as soon as possible, the windy cowards," cried the wife of Church-warden
de Haes, whose sharp tongue was well known. "You seem to have looked at
them very closely, Frau Margret."

"From the wind-mill at the gate," replied the other. "The envoy stopped
on the bridge directly under us. A handsome man on a stately horse. His
trumpeter too was mounted, and the velvet cloth on his trumpet bristled
with beautiful embroidery in gold thread and jewels. They earnestly
entreated admittance, but the gate remained closed."

"Right, right!" cried Frau Heemskerk. "I don't like the Prince's
commissioner, Van Bronkhorst. What does he care for us, if only the Queen
doesn't get angry and withdraw the subsidies? I've heard he wants to
accommodate Chester and grant him admission."

"He would like to do so," added Frau Van Hout. "But your husband, Frau
Maria, and mine--I was talking with him on the way here--will make every
effort to prevent it. The two Seigneurs of Nordwyk are of their opinion,
so perhaps the commissioner will be out-voted."

"May God grant it!" cried the resolute voice of Wilhelm's mother. "By
to-morrow or the day after, not even a cat will be allowed to leave the
gates, and my husband says we must begin to save provisions at once."

"Five hundred more consumers in the city, to lessen our children's
morsels; that would be fine business!" cried Frau de Haes, throwing
herself back in her chair so violently, that it creaked, and beating her
knees with her hands.

"And they are Englishmen, Frau Margret, Englishmen," said the
Receiver-General's wife. "They don't eat, they don't consume, they
devour. We supply our troops; but Herr von Nordwyk--I mean the younger
one, who has been at the Queen's court as the Prince's ambassador, told
my Wilhelm what a British glutton can gobble. They'll clear off your beef
like cheese, and our beer is dish-water compared with their black malt
brew."

"All that might be borne," replied Barbara, "if they were stout soldiers.
We needn't mind a hundred head of cattle more or less, and the glutton
becomes temperate, when a niggard rules the house. But I wouldn't take
one of our Adrian's grey rabbits for these runaways.