"Here is de paper," he said, handing it to Harry. "Make him sign it; he may be a count or marquis or someding of de sort, and I trust none of dem."
Harry laughed. "Put not your trust in princes" seemed to be the prime motto of his host's business career.
"Very well, Mynheer," he said.
"And here is a packet I wish you to deliver. Not for de army, dis; no; it is for a vrient of mine dat live a few miles dis side of Helmund. I promised her a tulip bulb; dis is it."
He handed to Harry a small packet, on which the address was written.
"The Comtesse de Vaudrey," he read aloud. "That is a French name?"
"Ja! De lady is French, a widow, of a family dat had to leave France because of the persecutions. She is French, but a vrient alzo. If you need help, she will give it."
"I hope she is not a very great lady. I have met no lady here higher in rank than a burgomaster's vrouw, and I thought she rather looked down on me."
"The comtesse is mine vrient," repeated Grootz in a tone that implied there was no more to be said.
A few minutes afterwards they left the breakfast-room. At the outer door ten empty wagons were already waiting with their drivers, and as Harry prepared to mount to his place on the foremost, Sherebiah came up with the remains of his breakfast in his hand. Grootz repeated his warnings; Harry smiled and waved his good-bye to Gretel the housekeeper, who stood at the door with her hands folded in front of her ample person, and the line of carts moved off.