Then followed more visits to other military posts in the town, and with each visit a further explanation. All this while the Count Montalvo uttered no word beyond those of ordinary compliment, and ventured on no act of familiarity; his conversation and demeanour indeed remaining perfectly courteous and respectful. So far as it went this was satisfactory, but at length there came a moment when Lysbeth felt that she could bear the position no longer.
“Señor,” she said briefly, “take me home; I grow faint.”
“With hunger doubtless,” he interrupted; “well, by heaven! so do I. But, my dear lady, as you are aware, duty must be attended to, and, after all, you may have found some interest in accompanying me on a tour of the pickets at night. I know your people speak roughly of us Spanish soldiers, but I hope that after this you will be able to bear testimony to their discipline. Although it is a fete day you will be my witness that we have not found a man off duty or the worse for drink. Here, you,” he called to a soldier who stood up to salute him, “follow me to the house of the Jufvrouw Lysbeth van Hout, where I sup, and lead this sledge back to my quarters.”
CHAPTER III
MONTALVO WINS A TRICK
Turning up the Bree Straat, then as now perhaps the finest in the town of Leyden, Montalvo halted his horse before a substantial house fronted with three round-headed gables, of which the largest—that over the entrance in the middle—was shaped into two windows with balconies. This was Lysbeth’s house which had been left to her by her father, where, until such time as she should please to marry, she dwelt with her aunt, Clara van Ziel. The soldier whom he had summoned having run to the horse’s head, Montalvo leapt from his driver’s seat to assist the lady to alight. At the moment Lysbeth was occupied with wild ideas of swift escape, but even if she could make up her mind to try it there was an obstacle which her thoughtful cavalier had foreseen.
“Jufvrouw van Hout,” he said as he pulled up, “do you remember that you are still wearing skates?”
It was true, though in her agitation she had forgotten all about them, and the fact put sudden flight out of the question. She could not struggle into her own house walking on the sides of her feet like the tame seal which old fisherman Hans had brought from northern seas. It would be too ridiculous, and the servants would certainly tell the story all about the town. Better for a while longer to put up with the company of this odious Spaniard than to become a laughing stock in an attempt to fly. Besides, even if she found herself on the other side of it, could she shut the door in his face? Would her promise let her, and would he consent?
“Yes,” she answered briefly, “I will call my servant.”
Then for the first time the Count became complimentary in a dignified Spanish manner.
“Let no base-born menial hold the foot which it is an honour for an hidalgo of Spain to touch. I am your servant,” he said, and resting one knee on the snow-covered step he waited.