ds. He sank into the nearest chair:

"Dondersteen! Dondersteen!" he exclaimed between the several outbursts
of irrepressible laughter which shook his powerful frame and brought the
tears to his eyes, "Gods in Olympia! have you ever seen the like? Verrek
jezelf, my good Hals, you should go straight to Paradise when you die
for having brought about this heaven-born situation. Dondersteen!
Dondersteen! I had promised myself two or three hours' sleep, but we
must have a bottle of Beek's famous wine on this first!"

And Frans Hals could not for the life of him understand what there was
in this fine situation that should so arouse Diogenes' mirth.

But then Diogenes had always been an irresponsible creature, who was
wont to laugh even at the most serious crisis of his life.

CHAPTER XXIII

A SPY FROM THE CAMP

"Come to my lodgings, Nicolaes. I have good news for you, and you do no
good by cooling your temper here in the open."

Stoutenburg, coming out of his lodgings half an hour later to look for
his friend, had found Beresteyn in the Hout Straat walking up and down
like a caged beast in a fury.

"The vervloekte Keerl! the plepshurk! the smeerlap!" he ejaculated
between his clenched teeth. "I'll not rest till I have struck him in the
face first and killed him after!"

But he allowed Stoutenburg to lead him down the street to the narrow
gabled house where he lodged. Neither of them spoke, however; fury
apparently beset them both equally, the kind of fury which is dumb, and
all the more fierce because it finds no outlet in words.

Stoutenburg led the way up the wooden stairs to a small room at the back
of the house. There was no light visible anywhere inside the building,
and Nicolaes, not knowing his way about, stumbled upwards in the dark
keeping close to the heels of his friend. The latter had pushed open the
door of his room. Here a tallow candle placed in a pewter sconce upon a
table shed a feeble, flickering light around. The room by this scanty
glimmer looked to be poorly but cleanly furnished; there was a curtained
bed in the panelling of the wall, and a table in the middle of the room
with a few chairs placed in a circle round it.

On one of these sat a man who appeared to be in the last stages of
weariness. His elbows rested on the table and his head was buried in his
folded arms. His clothes looked damp and travel-stained; an empty mug of
ale and a couple of empty plates stood in front of him, be