The little sofa was fortunately like its build, strong as a cob, or it never could have borne the weight of two such lovers as the widow Vandersloosh and the Corporal Van Spitter; there they sat, she radiant with love and beer, he with ditto; their sides met, for the sofa exactly took them both in, without an inch to spare; their hands met, their eyes met, and whenever one raised the glass, the other was on the alert, and their glasses met and jingled—­a more practical specimen of hob and nob was never witnessed.  There was but one thing wanting to complete their happiness, which, unlike other people’s, did not hang upon a thread, but something much stronger, it hung upon a cord; the cord which was to hang Mr Vanslyperken.

And now the widow, like the three fates rolled into one, is weaving the woof, and, in good Dutch, is pouring into the attentive ear of the corporal her hopes and fears, her surmises, her wishes, her anticipations, and her desires—­and he imbibes them all greedily, washing them down with the beer of the widow’s own brewing.

“He has not been to the house opposite these two last arrivals,” said the widow, “that is certain; for Babette and I have been on the watch.  There was hanging matter there.  Now I won’t believe but that he must go somewhere; he carries his letters, and takes his gold as before, depend upon it.  Yes, and I will find it out.  Yes, yes, Mr Vanslyperken, we will see who is the ’cutest—­you, or the widow Vandersloosh.”

“Mein Gott, yes!” replied the corporal.

“Now he landed a passenger last time, which he called a king’s messenger, and I am as sure as I sit here that he was no king’s messenger, unless he was one of King James’s as was; for look you, Corporal Van Spitter, do you suppose that King William would employ an Englishman, as you say he was, for a messenger, when a Dutchman was to be had for love or money?”

“No, no, we must find out where he goes to.  I will have some one on the look out when you come again, and then set Babette on the watch; she shall track him up to the den of his treachery.  Yes, yes, Mr Vanslyperken, we will see who gains the day, you or the widow Vandersloosh.”

“Mein Gott! yes,” replied the corporal.

“And now, corporal, I’ve been thinking over all this ever since your absence, and all you have told me about his cowardly attempts upon that poor boy’s life, and his still greater cowardice in believing such stuff as you have made him believe about the lad not being injured by mortal man.  Stuff and nonsense! the lad is but a lad.”

“Mein Gott! yes,” said the corporal.

“And now, corporal, I’ll tell you something else, which is, that you and the Yungfraus are just as great fools as Mynheer Vanslyperken, in believing all that stuff and nonsense about the dog.  The dog is but a dog.”

This was rather a trial to the corporal’s politeness; to deny what the widow said, might displease, and, as he firmly believed otherwise, he was put to a nonplus; but the widow looked him full in the face, expecting assent, so at last the corporal drawled out, “Mein Gott! yes a tog is but a tog.”