w cunning he was,--that he was deep and all
that; and when he saw that we were all wonder and amazement about his
shrewdness, then he 'd have gone to business."

"Not a bit of it, Master Grog; that fellow's wide awake, I tell you."

"So much the worse for you, then, that's all."

"Why so?"

"Because you're a going to dine with him on Sunday next, all alone. I
heard it, though you did n't think I was listening, and I saw the look
that passed, too, as much as to say, 'We 'll not have that fellow;' and
that's the reason I say, 'So much the worse for you.'"

"Why, what can he do, with all his craft? He can't make me put my name
to paper; and if he did, much good would it do him."

"_You_ can't make running against the like of him," said Grog,
contemptuously. "He has an eye in his head like a dog-fox. _You_ 've
no chance with him. He could n't double on me,--he 'd not try it; but he
'll play _you_ like a trout in a fish-pond."

"What if I send him an excuse, then,--shall I do that?"

"No. You must go, if it was only to show that you suspect nothing; but
keep your eyes open, watch the ropes, and come over to me when the 'heat
is run.'"

And with this counsel they parted.

CHAPTER XVII. THE "PENSIONNAT GODARDE."

Let us ask our reader to turn for a brief space from these scenes and
these actors, and accompany us to that rich plain which stretches to
the northwest of Brussels, and where, on the slope of the gentle hill,
beneath the royal palace of Lacken, stands a most picturesque old house,
known as the Chateau of the Three Fountains. The very type of a chateau
of the Low Countries, from its gabled fronts, all covered with festooned
rhododendron, to its trim gardens, peopled with leaden deities and
ornamented by the three fountains to which it owes its name, nothing
was wanting. From the plump little figure who blew his trumpet on the
weather-vane, to the gaudily gilded pleasure-boat that peeped from
amidst the tall water-lilies of the fish-pond, all proclaimed the
peculiar taste of a people who loved to make nature artificial, and see
the instincts of their own quaint natures reproduced in every copse and
hedgerow around them.

All the little queer contrivances of Dutch ingenuity were there,--mock
shrubs, which blossomed as you touched a spring; jets, that spurted out
as you trod on a certain spot; wooden figures, worked by mechanisms,
lowered the drawbridge to let you pass; nor was the toll-keeper
forgot