At the savage yells of the mob, the window of the Town-hall opened, and a man came forth to address the people.
“Who is that on the balcony?” asked the young man, glancing at the orator.
“It is the Deputy Bowelt,” replied the officer.
“What sort of a man is he? Do you know anything of him?”
“An honest man; at least I believe so, Monseigneur.”
Hearing this character given of Bowelt, the young man showed signs of such a strange disappointment and evident dissatisfaction that the officer could not but remark it, and therefore added,—
“At least people say so, Monseigneur. I cannot say anything about it myself, as I have no personal acquaintance with Mynheer Bowelt.”
“An honest man,” repeated he who was addressed as Monseigneur; “do you mean to say that he is an honest man (brave homme), or a brave one (homme brave)?”
“Ah, Monseigneur must excuse me; I would not presume to draw such a fine distinction in the case of a man whom, I assure your Highness once more, I know only by sight.”
“If this Bowelt is an honest man,” his Highness continued, “he will give to the demand of these furibund petitioners a very queer reception.”