"Bon! he has the eyes of a mole."
The charcoal, with the addition of some dried branches, was soon glowing in the iron brazier, and it shed an uncertain glow on the patched and parti-coloured garments, the rusty weapons, the pieces of battered armour, the squalid and dirty visages of the ruffians who crouched together, waiting for the coming prey, with watchful ears and stealthy eyes, that had became bloodshot, haggard, and wild in expression, with years of cruelty, lust, debauchery, and rapine; and which brightened only as Carl's long jar of French brandy came round to each in turn.
"Herr Count, there are the lights now, in the cathedral spire," exclaimed Carl, who descended from the top of the grassy bank, whither he had crawled to listen.
"Then the gates of Bommel are being closed; der Teufels braden! where tarries our lover? he should be here by this time!" muttered Ludwig, thrusting the fatal iron deeper in the charcoal, and playing nervously with the haft of his dagger; "is the old mare from the tan-yard ready?"
"All ready for her rider," replied Carl, with a cruel grin; "Gustaf Vlierbeke," he added in a husky whisper, "hear you aught on the roadway?"
"Nothing, but the wind and the tossing leaves."
Mutterings of impatience followed this reply.
"Gustaf has only one eye," said a Brabancione.
"The other was knocked out by the boll of a crossbow at Briel."
"Then, why the devil make him scout?" said a third lurker, in a growling tone.