“Perfectly; but please stop a moment with me now. The doves are fluttering so violently; they want air.” The fencing-master stopped his steed, and while Wilhelm was removing the dripping cloth from the little cage that rested between him and his horse’s neck, said:
“How can a man trouble himself about such gentle little creatures? If you want to diminish, in behalf of feathered folk, the time given to music, tame falcons, that’s a knightly craft, and I can teach you.”
“Let my doves alone,” replied Wilhelm. “They are not so harmless as people suppose, and have done good service in many a war, which is certainly chivalrous pastime. Remember Haarlem. There, it’s beginning to pour again. If my cloak were only not so short; I would like to cover the doves with it.”
“You certainly look like Goliath in David’s garments.”
“It’s my scholar’s cloak; I put my other on young Wibisma’s shoulders yesterday.”
“The Spanish green-finch?”
“I told you about the boys’ brawl.”
“Yes, yes. And the monkey kept your cloak?”
“You came for me and wouldn’t wait. They probably sent it back soon after our departure.”
“And their lordships expect thanks because the young nobleman accepted it!”