“Next she said nonchalantly: ‘I shall be at the house of the burgher Bodé Volcker at three o’clock this day. My duenna, the Countess de Pariza, thinks she would like to see the merchant’s daughter dance again.’ ”
“Anything else?” mutters Guy, discontentedly.
“Oh, yes, she also remarked that her duenna would probably spend some of her time, as she usually did, cheapening the silks, laces and velvets in the merchant’s stock, while she would remain in the burgomaster’s house and enjoy herself with the arts and graces of Señorita Wilhelmina. ‘Where you will be, too, I suppose?’ [[76]]she laughed, ‘Señor Oliver, and, perchance, the gentleman whose messenger and envoy you are. Have you transferred your service from my father to the Capitan Guido?’ At this,” says Oliver, with a slight chuckle, “I had the audacity to remark, ‘Perhaps it may be all in the family,’ and left her as red as the ruby ring she was holding in her hand.”
This makes Chester flush with delight, and the room which had been dark and gloomy to him at the painter’s first words, is very sunny and bright.
A moment after it is brighter still, as Oliver remarks: “I never saw Hermoine de Alva blush at the mention of a human being before. Neither do I think, my audacious gallant, there is a man in this world, saving her own father, to whom she would accord a meeting. But you’d better stop drinking,” he adds, “or you’ll be considered one of the Drunkards of Brussels yourself, and we’ve something more than a drinking bout on hand. Come, they are going in, I see my enemy and know he has my fate in his hands.” He looks anxiously across the room, for there stands Vasco, surrounded by his five fellow topers, all bearing the arms of Brussels on their doublets.
As De Guerra’s eyes meet those of Oliver a smile of cruel triumph lights them up, and, with one quick, perchance unconscious, gesture, his hand goes to his bosom, as if to reassure himself that something very precious to him is still safe and ready.
“See that movement?” whispers Guy to Antony. “That’s to be certain of the letters that are your ruin if you don’t get them now!”
“And will,” gasps the painter, though his hand trembles slightly, as he feels to make sure on his part that he has the poison of the Antilles.
With this the two join the surging throng that is now squeezing into the great painted room at the rear of the inn, in which the grand weddings of Antwerp are celebrated. This is now set apart for the banquet which is to test the drinking powers of Antwerp’s genius and the Brussels’ society for the prevention of intemperance—by drinking up all the liquor in the world themselves. [[77]]
A minute later there is a wild cry—“He has come!” the people turning from the dining-room and rushing toward the entrance of the house to see De Vriendt, the artist, riding up upon his white horse, followed by six of his pupils.