The Commandant, more confused than ever, hardly knew how to act.  At last he bowed to Philip, and begged that he would consider himself at liberty; and, continued he to Krantz, “I shall be most happy at an immediate explanation of this affair, for everything appears so contradictory.”

“And must, until it is explained.  I will follow you into your own room; a courtesy you must not expect from my noble friend, who is not a little indignant at your treatment of him.”

The Commandant went out, leaving the door open.  Philip and Krantz followed:  the former retiring to his own apartment; the latter, bending his steps after the Commandant to his sitting-room.  The confusion which whirled in the brain of the Commandant, made him appear most ridiculous.  He hardly knew whether to be imperative or civil; whether he was really speaking to the first mate of the vessel, or to another party; or whether he had insulted a noble, or been cajoled by a captain of a vessel:  he threw himself down on his sofa, and Krantz, taking his seat in a chair, stated as follows: 

“You have been partly deceived and partly not, Commandant.  When we first came here, not knowing what treatment we might receive, we concealed our rank; afterwards I made known to you the rank of my friend on shore; but did not think it worth while to say anything about his situation on board of the vessel.  The fact is, as you may well suppose of a person of his dignity, he was owner of the fine ship which was lost through the intervention of that one-eyed wretch; but of that by-and-bye.  Now for the story.

“About ten years ago there was a great miser in Amsterdam; he lived in the most miserable way that a man could live in; wore nothing but rags; and having been formerly a seaman, his attire was generally of the description common to his class.  He had one son, to whom he denied the necessaries of life, and whom he treated most cruelly.  After vain attempts to possess a portion of his father’s wealth, the devil instigated the son to murder the old man, who was one day found dead in his bed; but as there were no marks of violence which could be sworn to, although suspicion fell upon the son, the affair was hushed up, and the young man took possession of his father’s wealth.  It was fully expected that there would now be rioting and squandering on the part of the heir, as is usually the case; but, on the contrary, he never spent anything, but appeared to be as poor—­even poorer—­than he ever was.  Instead of being gay and merry, he was, in appearance, the most miserable, downcast person in the world; and he wandered about, seeking a crust of bread wherever he could find it.  Some said that he had been inoculated by his father, and was as great a miser as his father had been; others shook their heads, and said that all was not right.  At last, after pining away for six or seven years, the young man died at an early age, without confession or absolution; in fact, he was found dead in his bed.