soldier, and exclaimed: "Lift him; we'll
take him with us; a corner can be found in the wagon."

The vehicle, of which the traveller spoke, was slow in coming. It was a
long four-wheeled equipage, over which, as a protection against wind and
storm, arched a round, sail-cloth cover. The driver crouched among the
straw in a basket behind the horses, like a brooding hen.

Under the sheltering canopy, among the luggage of the fur-clad
gentleman, sat and reclined four travellers, whom the owner of the
vehicle had gradually picked up, and who formed a motley company.

The two Dominican friars, Magisters Sutor and Stubenrauch, had entered
at Cologne, for the wagon came straight from Holland, and belonged
to the artist Antonio Moor of Utrecht, who was going to King Philip's
court. The beautiful fur border on the black cap and velvet cloak showed
that he had no occasion to practise economy; he preferred the back of a
good horse to a seat in a jolting vehicle.

The ecclesiastics had taken possession of the best places in the back
of the wagon. They were inseparable brothers, and formed as it were one
person, for they behaved like two bodies with one soul. In this
double life, fat Magister Sutor represented the will, lean Stubenrauch
reflection and execution. If the former proposed to be down or sit, eat
or drink, sleep or talk, the latter instantly carried the suggestion
into execution, rarely neglecting to establish, by wise words, for what
reason the act in question should be performed precisely at that time.

Farther towards the front, with his back resting against a chest, lay a
fine-looking young Lansquenet. He was undoubtedly a gay, active fellow,
but now sat mute and melancholy, supporting with his right hand his
wounded left arm, as if it were some brittle vessel.

Opposite to him rose a heap of loose straw, beneath which something
stirred from time to time, and from which at short intervals a slight
cough was heard.

As soon as the door in the back of the vehicle opened, and the cold
snowy air entered the dark, damp space under the tilt, Magister Sutor's
lips parted in a long-drawn "Ugh!" to which his lean companion instantly
added a torrent of reproachful words about the delay, the draught, the
danger of taking cold.

When the artist's head appeared in the opening, the priest paused, for
Moor paid the travelling expenses; but when his companion Sutor drew
his cloak around him with every token of discomfort and