“Hold—hold—hold a minute,” said Pavillon, “my mind misgives me!—This De la Marck is a fury, a perfect boar in his nature as in his name, what if the young lady be one of those of Croye?—and what if he discover her, and be addicted to wrath?”
“And if I were one of those unfortunate women,” said Isabelle, again attempting to throw herself at his feet, “could you for that reject me in this moment of despair? Oh, that I had been indeed your daughter, or the daughter of the poorest burgher!”
“Not so poor—not so poor neither, young lady—we pay as we go,” said the citizen.
“Forgive me, noble sir,” again began the unfortunate maiden.
“Not noble, nor sir, neither,” said the Syndic, “a plain burgher of Liege, that pays bills of exchange in ready guilders.—But that is nothing to the purpose.—Well, say you be a countess, I will protect you nevertheless.”
“You are bound to protect her, were she a duchess,” said Peter, “having once passed your word.”
“Right, Peter, very right,” said the Syndic “it is our old Low Dutch fashion, ein wort, ein man “Were you not better, since you have a force together, to make for the gate and force the guard?” said Quentin.
But with united voice, Pavillon and his adviser exclaimed against the propriety of such an attack upon their ally's soldiers, with some hints concerning its rashness, which satisfied Quentin that it was not a risk to be hazarded with such associates.
They resolved, therefore, to repair boldly to the great hall of the castle, where, as they understood, the Wild Boar of Ardennes held his feast, and demand free egress for the Syndic of Liege and his company, a request too reasonable, as it seemed, to be denied. Still the good burgomaster groaned when he looked on his companions, and exclaimed to his faithful Peter, “See what it is to have too bold and too tender a heart! Alas! Peterkin, how much have courage and humanity cost me! and how much may I yet have to pay for my virtues, before Heaven makes us free of this damned Castle of Schonwaldt!”