"Then what is the pother about, sirrah?" queried the Spaniard with well-studied insolence.
"Only that..." murmured the unfortunate High-Bailiff diffidently, "only that..."
"There are only two women in charge of the tavern at this hour," broke in Mark quietly, "two young girls, whose father was arrested this morning for attending a camp-meeting outside the city. The girls are timid and unprotected, therefore we entreat that you, señor, do put a stop to the soldiers' brawling and allow the tavern to be closed at this late hour of the night."
Don Ramon threw back his head and burst into loud and affected laughter.
"By the Mass, Messire!" he said, "I find you vastly amusing to be thus pleading for a pair of heretics. Did you perchance not know that to attend camp meetings is punishable by death? If people want to hear a sermon they should go to church where the true doctrine is preached. Nothing but rebellion and high-treason are preached at those meetings."
"We were pleading for two defenceless girls," rejoined Laurence, whose voice shook with suppressed passion. Even he dared not say anything more on the dangerous subject of religious controversy which Don Ramon had obviously brought forward with the wish to provoke a discussion--lest an unguarded word brought disaster upon his house.
"Pshaw!" retorted don Ramon roughly, "surely you would not begrudge those fine soldiers a little sport? Two pretty girls--did you not say they were pretty?--are not to be found in every street of this confounded city: and by the Mass! I feel the desire to go and have a look at the wenches myself."
He rose, yawned and stretched. Laurence was white with passion: there was a glow of deadly hate in his eyes--of fury that was almost maniacal: with a mechanical gesture he tore at the ruff at his throat. Don Ramon looked on him with contempt in his eyes and a malicious smile round his full lips. He shrugged his shoulders and laughed softly--ironically to himself. The next moment Laurence, unable to control himself, had sprung to his feet: he would have been at the other's throat, but that Mark who had been quietly watching him was just in time to seize him round the shoulders and thus to prevent murder from being done.
Don Ramon had not failed to notice Laurence's unreasoning rage, nor the gesture which for one instant had threatened his own life, but he showed not the slightest sign of fear. The sarcastic laugh did not wholly die down on his lips, nor did the look of contempt fade out of his eyes. He looked on--quite unmoved--whilst Mark succeeded, if not in pacifying his brother, at least in forcing him back to his seat and regaining some semblance of control over himself. The High-Bailiff, white as a sheet, was holding out his hands in a pathetic and futile appeal to his son and to the Spaniard. Then as Laurence overcome with the shame of his own impotence threw himself half across the table and buried his face in his hands, don Ramon said coldly:
"Your senseless rage has done you no good, my friend. After half a century, you Netherlanders have, it seems, yet to learn that it is not wise to threaten a Spanish gentleman either by word or gesture. Perhaps I would have protected the two females in the tavern yonder from the brutality of my soldiery--perhaps I wouldn't--I don't know! But now, since you chose to raise an insolent hand against me I certainly will not raise a finger to save them from any outrage--I'll even countenance my men's behaviour by my presence in the tavern. Understand? That is what you have gained by your impudence--both you and your brother--for with him too I have a score to settle for impudence that literally passes belief. If your father were not so well-accredited as a good Catholic and a loyal subject of the King, I would ... But enough of this. Let the lesson be a fruitful one: and you Messire High-Bailiff--an you are wise--will inculcate into your sons a clearer notion of respect, duty and obedience toward their superiors."