On this day, the “Angulus,” as the beautiful taproom was called, was but thinly occupied, for the sun had just set, though the lamps were already lighted.  These rested in three-branched iron chandeliers, every portion of which, from the slender central shaft to the intricately-carved and twisted ornaments, had been carefully wrought by Aquanus with his own hand.

Several elderly gentlemen were at one table enjoying their wine, while at another were Captain Van der Laen, a brave Hollander, who was receiving English pay and had come to the city with the other defenders of Alfen, the Musician Wilhelm, Junker Georg, and the landlord.

“It’s a pleasure to meet people like you, Junker,” said Aquanus.  “You’ve travelled with your eyes open, and what you tell me about Brescia excites my curiosity.  I Should have liked to see the inscription.”

“I’ll get it for you,” replied the young man; “for if the Spaniards don’t send me into another world, I shall certainly cross the Alps again.  Did you find any of these Roman antiquities in your own country?”

“Yes.  At the Roomburg Canal, perhaps the site of the old Praetorium, and at Katwyk.  The forum Hadriani was probably located near Voorburg.  The coat of mail, I showed you, came from there.”

“An old, green, half-corroded thing,” cried Georg.  And yet!  What memories the sight of it awakens!  Did not some Roman armorer forge it for the wandering emperor?  When I look at this coat of mail, Rome and her legions appear before my eyes.  Who would not, like you, Herr Wilhelna, go to the Tiber to increase the short span of the present by the long centuries of the past!”

“I should be glad to go to Italy once more with you,” replied Wilhelm.

“And I with you.”

“Let us first secure our liberty,” said the musician.  “When that is accomplished, each individual will belong to himself, and then:  why should I conceal it, nothing will keep me in Leyden.”

“And the organ?  Your father?” asked Aquanus.

“My brothers will remain here, snug in their own nest,” answered Wilhelm.  “But something urges, impels me—­”

“There are still waters and rivers on earth,” interrupted Georg, “and in the sky the fixed stars remain quiet and the planets cannot cease from wandering.  So among human beings, there are contented persons, who like their own places, and birds of passage like us.  To be sure, you needn’t go to Italy to hear fine singing.  I just heard a voice, a voice—­”

“Where?  You make me eager.”

“In the court-yard of Herr Van der Werff’s house.”

“That was his wife.”

“Oh, no!  Her voice sounds differently.”

During this conversation, Captain Van der Laen had risen and examined the landlord’s singular treasures.  He was now standing before a board, on which the head of an ox was sketched in charcoal, freely, boldly and with perfect fidelity to nature.