The Scarlet Pimpernel Series – All 35 Titles in One Edition. Emma Orczy
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and Stoutenburg could only guess what was passing in the narrow corridor of the house opposite. The one moment there was a heart-rending howl, which suggested that the landlord's obduracy had lasted a few moments too long for the impatient temper of a philosopher; but the howl was not repeated and soon Diogenes' clear voice rang out lustily again:
"There! I knew that gentle persuasion would prevail. Dearly beloved landlord, now I pray thee guide the jongejuffrouw and mynheer her father to my sleeping chamber. It is at thy disposal, wench, for three nights," he added airily, "make the most of it; and if thou hast aught to complain of my friend the landlord, let me know. I am always to be found at certain hours of the day within the congenial four walls of the 'Lame Cow.' Good-night then and pleasant dreams."
What went on after that the watchers could, of course, not see. The wench and the old man had disappeared inside the house, where, if they had a spark of gratitude in them, they would undoubtedly be kneeling even now at the feet of their whimsical benefactor.
The next moment the interested spectators of this stirring little scene beheld the three philosophers once more standing together at the corner of the street under the feebly flickering lamp and the slowly falling snow; the door of the lodging-house had been slammed to behind them and the muffled heads had disappeared from out the framework of the windows above.
"And now, perhaps you will tell us what you are going to do," said Pythagoras in flute-like tones.
"There is not a bed vacant in the dormitory where I sleep," said Socrates.
"Nor would I desire to sleep in one of those kennels fit only for dogs which I cannot imagine how you both can stomach," quoth Diogenes lightly; "the close proximity of Pythagoras and yourself and of all those who are most like you in the world would chase pleasing sleep from mine eyelids. I prefer the Canal."
"You cannot sleep out of doors in this h —— l of a cold night," growled Socrates.
"And I cannot go back to the 'Lame Cow' for I have not a kreutzer left in my wallet wherewith to pay for a sip."
"Then what the d —— l are you going to do?" reiterated Pythagoras plaintively.
"I have a friend," said Diogenes after a slight pause.
"Hm?" was the somewhat dubious comment on this fairly simple statement.
"He will give me breakfast early in the morning."
"Hm!"
"'Tis but a few hours to spend in lonely communion with nature."
"Hm!"
"The cathedral clock has struck three, at seven my good Hals will ply me with hot ale and half his hunk of bread and cheese."
"Hals?" queried Socrates.
"Frans Hals," replied Diogenes; "he paints pictures and contrives to live on the proceeds. If his wife does not happen to throw me out, he will console me for the discomforts of this night."
"Bah!" ejaculated Pythagoras in disgust, "a painter of pictures!"
"And a brave man when he is sober."
"With a scold for a wife! Ugh! what about your playing the part of a gentleman now?"
"The play was short, O wise Pythagoras," retorted Diogenes with imperturbable good humour, "the curtain has already come down upon the last act. I am once more a knave, a merchant ready to flatter the customer who will buy his wares: Hech there, sir, my lord! what are your needs? My sword, my skin, they are yours to command! so many guilders, sir, and I will kill your enemy for you, fight your battles, abduct the wench that pleases you. So many guilders! and when they are safely in my pocket I can throw my glove in your face lest you think I have further need of your patronage."
"'Tis well to brag," muttered Pythagoras, "but you'll starve with cold this night."
"But at dawn I'll eat a hearty breakfast offered me by my friend Frans Hals for the privilege of painting my portrait."
"Doth he really paint thy portrait, O handsome Diogenes?" said Pythagoras unctuously.
"Aye! thou ugly old toad. He has begun a new one, for which I have promised to sit. I'll pay for the breakfast he gives me, by donning a gorgeous gold embroidered doubtlet which he once stole from somewhere, by putting my hand on my hip, tilting my hat at a becoming angle, and winking at him by the hour whilst he paints away."
"Hm! after a night of wandering by the canal in the fog and snow and sharing the meagre breakfast of a half-starved painter, methinks the portrait will be that of a knight of the rueful countenance."
"Indeed not, old compeer," said Diogenes with a hearty laugh, "it shall be the portrait of a Laughing Cavalier."
CHAPTER IX
THE PAINTER OF PICTURES
After this episode Chance had little to do with the further events of this veracious chronicle.
Men took their destiny in their own hands and laughed at Fate and at the links of the chain which she had been forging so carefully and so patiently ever since she began the business on the steps of the Stadhuis a few short hours ago.
Beresteyn and Stoutenburg walking home together in the small hours of New Year's morning spoke very little together at first. They strode along side by side, each buried in his own thoughts, and only a few curt remarks passed at intervals between them.
But something lay on the minds of both — something of which each desired to speak to the other, yet neither of them seemed willing to be the first to broach the absorbing topic.
It was Stoutenburg who at last broke the silence.
"A curious personality, that knave," he said carelessly after awhile, "an unscrupulous devil as daring as he is reckless of consequences I should say ... yet trustworthy withal ... what think you?"
"A curious personality as you say," replied Beresteyn vaguely.
"He might have been useful to us had we cared to pay for his services ... but now 'tis too late to think of further accomplices ... new men won or bought for our cause only mean more victims for the gallows."
"You take a gloomy view of the situation," said Beresteyn sombrely.
"No! only a fatalistic one. With our secret in a woman's keeping ... and that woman free and even anxious to impart it to one of my most bitter enemies ... I can see nought that can ward off the inevitable."
"Except...."
"Yes, of course," rejoined Stoutenburg earnestly, "if you, Nicolaes, are ready to make the sacrifice which alone could save us all."
"It is a sacrifice which will involve my honour, my sister's love for me, my father's trust...."
"If you act wisely and circumspectly, my friend," retorted Stoutenburg dryly, "neither your father nor Gilda herself need ever know that you had a share in ... in what you propose to do."
Beresteyn made no reply and he and his friend walked on in silence until they reached the small house close to the "Lame Cow" where Stoutenburg had his lodgings. Here they shook hands before parting and Stoutenburg held his friend's hand in his tightly grasped for a moment or two while he said earnestly:
"It is only for a few days, Nicolaes, a few days during which I swear to you that — though absent and engaged in the greatest task that any man can undertake on this earth — I swear to you that I will keep watch over Gilda and defend her honour with my life. If you will make the sacrifice for me and for our cause, Heaven and your country will reward you beyond your dreams. With the death of the Stadtholder my power in the Netherlands will be supreme, and herewith, with my hand in yours, I solemnly plight my troth to Gilda. She was the first woman I ever loved, and I have never ceased to love her. Now she fills my heart and soul even — at times — to the exclusion of my most ambitious hopes. Nicolaes —