'Many of them girls of the first rank.'
'Thousand duyvels!' said the Heer with a mocking laugh.
'Is it not enough that these Scots—the Bulwark of the Republic as they boast themselves——'
'And have done so since the old siege of Bois-le-Duc—well?' asked the Heer.
'Is it not enough, I say, that they should assume our glory in war, and win our guilders in peace, but they must carry off our prettiest girls too?'
'They do not assume your glory, but win their own,' said the Heer, who had some contempt for his companion; 'their guilders have been hardly won on many a Dutch and Flemish battlefield; and if the pretty girls of Haarlem and the Hague prefer them to Walloons, they are right.'
Morganstjern's brow grew black.
'I am no Walloon,' said he, huskily.
'I did not say so,' said Van Schrekhorn; then he added, 'I have some news for you, and a hint to make thereon. Dolores van Renslaer is to be at the ridotto given by the wife of the Sixe van Otterbeck, the Minister of State, on the night after next.'
'That I know, and of course this pestilent Scot will be there too.'