“They probably didn’t want to spoil them, and so found a place of safety as soon as possible, the windy cowards,” cried the wife of Church-warden de Haes, whose sharp tongue was well known. “You seem to have looked at them very closely, Frau Margret.”
“From the wind-mill at the gate,” replied the other. “The envoy stopped on the bridge directly under us. A handsome man on a stately horse. His trumpeter too was mounted, and the velvet cloth on his trumpet bristled with beautiful embroidery in gold thread and jewels. They earnestly entreated admittance, but the gate remained closed.”
“Right, right!” cried Frau Heemskerk. “I don’t like the Prince’s commissioner, Van Bronkhorst. What does he care for us, if only the Queen doesn’t get angry and withdraw the subsidies? I’ve heard he wants to accommodate Chester and grant him admission.”
“He would like to do so,” added Frau Van Hout. “But your husband, Frau Maria, and mine—I was talking with him on the way here—will make every effort to prevent it. The two Seigneurs of Nordwyk are of their opinion, so perhaps the commissioner will be out-voted.”
“May God grant it!” cried the resolute voice of Wilhelm’s mother. “By to-morrow or the day after, not even a cat will be allowed to leave the gates, and my husband says we must begin to save provisions at once.”
“Five hundred more consumers in the city, to lessen our children’s morsels; that would be fine business!” cried Frau de Haes, throwing herself back in her chair so violently, that it creaked, and beating her knees with her hands.
“And they are Englishmen, Frau Margret, Englishmen,” said the Receiver-General’s wife. “They don’t eat, they don’t consume, they devour. We supply our troops; but Herr von Nordwyk—I mean the younger one, who has been at the Queen’s court as the Prince’s ambassador, told my Wilhelm what a British glutton can gobble. They’ll clear off your beef like cheese, and our beer is dish-water compared with their black malt brew.”
“All that might be borne,” replied Barbara, “if they were stout soldiers. We needn’t mind a hundred head of cattle more or less, and the glutton becomes temperate, when a niggard rules the house. But I wouldn’t take one of our Adrian’s grey rabbits for these runaways.”
“It would be a pity,” said Frau de Haes. “I shall go home now, and if I find my husband, he’ll learn what sensible people think of the Englishmen.”
“Gently, my friend, gently,” said Burgomaster Van Swieten’s wife, who had hitherto been playing quietly with the cat. “Believe me, it will be just the same on the whole, whether we admit the auxiliaries or not, for before the gooseberries in our gardens are ripe, all resistance will be over.”