he name of art-patronage--he knew that the old
man was not far wrong in his estimate of his fellow-countrymen in these
recent prosperous times.

It was the impulsive, artistic nature in him which caused him to see
what he merely imagined--chivalry, romance, primeval notions of bravery
and of honour.

He looked round the room--now almost deserted--somewhat at a loss for
words that would soothe Beresteyn's bitter spirit of resentment, and
casually his glance fell on the broad figure of his friend Diogenes,
who, leaning back in his chair, his plumed hat tilted rakishly across
his brow, had listened to the conversation between the two men with an
expression of infinite amusement literally dancing in his eyes. And it
was that same artistic, impulsive nature which caused Frans Hals then to
exclaim suddenly:

"Well, mynheer! since you call upon me and on my knowledge of this city,
I can give you answer forthwith. Yes! I do know a man, now in Haarlem,
who hath no thought of commerce or affairs, who possesses that spirit of
chivalry which you say is dead among the men of Holland. He would stand
up boldly before you, hat in hand and say to you: 'Mynheer, I am ready
to do you service, and by God do I swear that I will bring your daughter
back to you, safe and in good health!' I know such a man, mynheer!"

"Bah! you talk at random, my good Hals!" said Beresteyn with a shrug of
the shoulders.

"May I not present him to you, mynheer?"

"Present him? Whom?... What nonsense is this?" asked the old man, more
dazed and bewildered than before by the artist's voluble talk. "Whom do
you wish to present to me?"

"The man who I firmly believe would out of pure chivalry and the sheer
love of adventure do more toward bringing the jongejuffrouw speedily
back to you than all the burgomaster's levies of guards and punitive
expeditions."

"You don't mean that, Hals?--'twere a cruel jest to raise without due
cause the hopes of a grief-stricken old man."

"'Tis no jest, mynheer!" said the artist, "there sits the man!"

And with a theatrical gesture--for Mynheer Hals had drunk some very good
wine after having worked at high pressure all day, and his excitement
had gained the better of him--he pointed to Diogenes, who had heard
every word spoken by his friend, and at this denouement burst into a
long, delighted, ringing laugh.

"Ye gods!" he exclaimed, "your Olympian sense of humour is even greater
than your might."

At an urgent appeal