The burgomaster rose, and drew Jorian aside into the embrasure of his deep window, and then the brothers heard them converse in low but eager tones. It ended by Ghysbrecht sending Jorian out to saddle his mule. He then addressed the black sheep with a sudden coldness that amazed them—
“I prize the peace of households; but this is not a thing to be done in a hurry: we will see about it, we will see.”
“But, burgomaster, the man will be gone. It will be too late.”
“Where is he?”
“At the hostelry, drinking.”
“Well, keep him drinking! We will see, we will see.” And he sent them off discomfited.
To explain all this we must retrograde a step. This very morning then, Margaret Brandt had met Jorian Ketel near her own door. He passed her with a scowl. This struck her, and she remembered him.
“Stay,” said she. “Yes! it is the good man who saved him. Oh! why have you not been near me since? And why have you not come for the parchments? Was it not true about the hundred crowns?”
Jorian gave a snort; but, seeing her face that looked so candid, began to think there might be some mistake. He told her he had come, and how he had been received.
“Alas!” said she, “I knew nought of this. I lay at Death's door. She then invited him to follow her, and took him into the garden and showed him the spot where the parchments were buried. Martin was for taking them up, but I would not let him. He put them there; and I said none should move them but you, who had earned them so well of him and me.”