A meaning look, that passed between Ghysbrecht and Dierich, aided the brothers' comprehension. They changed colour, and lost all zeal for the business.
“No! no! we don't hate our brother. We won't get ourselves hanged to spite him,” said Sybrandt; “that would be a fool's trick.”
“Hanged!” cried Ghysbrecht. “Am I not the burgomaster? How can ye be hanged? I see how 'tis ye fear to tackle one man, being two: hearts of hare, that ye are! Oh! why cannot I be young again? I'd do it single-handed.”
The old man now threw off all disguise, and showed them his heart was in this deed. He then flattered and besought, and jeered them alternately, but he found no eloquence could move them to an action, however dishonourable, which was attended with danger. At last he opened a drawer, and showed them a pile of silver coins.
“Change but those letters for me,” he said, “and each of you shall thrust one hand into this drawer, and take away as many of them as you can hold.”
The effect was magical. Their eyes glittered with desire. Their whole bodies seemed to swell, and rise into male energy.
“Swear it, then,” said Sybrandt.
“I swear it.”
“No; on the crucifix.”
Ghysbrecht swore upon the crucifix.