At the same time he observed the paper, which was waving above the surface of clenched fists and glittering arms.
“Halloa!” he said, rising in his stirrups, and touching his lieutenant with the knob of his sword; “I really believe those rascals have got the order.”
“Dastardly ruffians they are,” cried the lieutenant.
It was indeed the order, which the burgher guard received with a roar of triumph. They immediately sallied forth, with lowered arms and fierce shouts, to meet Count Tilly’s dragoons.
But the Count was not the man to allow them to approach within an inconvenient distance.
“Stop!” he cried, “stop, and keep off from my horse, or I shall give the word of command to advance.”
“Here is the order!” a hundred insolent voices answered at once.
He took it in amazement, cast a rapid glance on it, and said quite aloud,—
“Those who have signed this order are the real murderers of Cornelius de Witt. I would rather have my two hands cut off than have written one single letter of this infamous order.”
And, pushing back with the hilt of his sword the man who wanted to take it from him, he added,—