d up a large silver goblet, and carried it off
declaring it should atone for his loss of the share of the feast.
The leader laughed till his sides shook at a jest so congenial to the
character of the company, but when another, less renowned, it would
seem, for audacity in battle, ventured on using the same freedom, De la
Marck instantly put a check to a jocular practice, which would soon have
cleared his table of all the more valuable decorations.

"Ho! by the spirit of the thunder!" he exclaimed, "those who dare not be
men when they face the enemy, must not pretend to be thieves among their
friends. What! thou frontless dastard, thou--thou who didst wait for
opened gate and lowered bridge, when Conrade Horst forced his way over
moat and wall, must thou be malapert?--Knit him up to the stanchions of
the hall window!--He shall beat time with his feet, while we drink a cup
to his safe passage to the devil."

The doom was scarce sooner pronounced than accomplished, and in a moment
the wretch wrestled out his last agonies, suspended from the iron bars.
His body still hung there when Quentin and the others entered the
hall, and, intercepting the pale moonbeam, threw on the castle floor an
uncertain shadow, which dubiously, yet fearfully, intimated the nature
of the substance that produced it.

When the Syndic Pavillon was announced from mouth to mouth in this
tumultuous meeting, he endeavoured to assume, in right of his authority
and influence, an air of importance and equality, which a glance at the
fearful object at the window, and at the wild scene around him, rendered
it very difficult for him to sustain, notwithstanding the exhortations
of Peter, who whispered in his ear with some perturbation, "Up heart,
master, or we are but gone men!"

The Syndic maintained his dignity, however, as well as he could, in
a short address, in which he complimented the company upon the great
victory gained by the soldiers of De la Marck and the good citizens of
Liege.

"Ay," answered De la Marck, sarcastically, "we have brought down the
game at last, quoth my lady's brach to the wolf hound. But ho! Sir
Burgomaster, you come like Mars, with Beauty by your side. Who is this
fair one?--Unveil, unveil--no woman calls her beauty her own tonight."

"It is my daughter, noble leader," answered Pavillon, "and I am to pray
your forgiveness for her wearing a veil. She has a vow for that effect
to the Three Blessed Kings."

"I will absolve he