Georg gazed at the brave boy in delight, and asked gently: 

“Is your mother living?”

“No.”

“Then come.  We shall probably both find what we seek with the Beggars.”

Nicolas clasped the hand Georg offered, but Wilhelm approached the Junker, saying: 

“I expected this from you, after what I saw at St. Peter’s church and Quatgelat’s tavern.”

“You first opened my eyes,” replied Nicolas.  “Now come, we’ll go directly through the camp; they all know me.”

In the road the boy pressed close to Georg, and in answer to his remark that he would be in a hard position towards his father, replied: 

“I know it, and it causes me such pain—­such pain.—­But I can’t help it.  I won’t suffer the word ‘traitor’ to cling to our name.”

“Your cousin Matanesse, Herr von Riviere, is also devoted to the good cause.”

“But my father thinks differently.  He has the courage to expect good deeds from the Spaniards.  From the Spaniards!  I’ve learned to know them during the last few months.  A brave lad from Leyden, you knew him probably by his nickname, Lowing, which he really deserved, was captured by them in fair fight, and then—­it makes me shudder even now when I think of it—­they hung him up head downward, and tortured him to death.  I was present, and not one word of theirs escaped my ears.  Such ought to be the fate of all Holland, country and people, that was what they wanted.  And remarks like these can be heard every day.  No abuse of us is too bad for them, and the King thinks like his soldiers.  Let some one else endure to be the slave of a master, who tortures and despises us!  My holy religion is eternal and indestructible.  Even if it is hateful to many of the Beggars, that shall not trouble me—­if only they will help break the Spanish chains.”  Amid such conversation they walked through the Castilian camp, where all lay buried in sleep.  Then they reached that of the German troops, and here gay carousing was going on under many a tent.  At the end of the encampment a sutler and his wife were collecting together the wares that remained unsold.

Wilhelm had walked silently behind the other two, for his heart was deeply stirred, joy and sorrow were striving for the mastery.  He felt intoxicated with lofty, pure emotions, but suddenly checked his steps before the sutler’s stand and pointed to the pastry gradually disappearing in a chest.

Hunger had become a serious, nay only too serious and mighty power, in the city beyond, and it was not at all surprising that Wilhelm approached the venders, and with sparkling eyes bought their last ham and as much bread as they had left.

Nicolas laughed at the bundle he carried under his arm, but Georg said: