“Hey! by Saint-Bavon, monsieur, I am a Fleming; I don’t know a soul in this place; the chains are up in the streets, and I shall be put in prison.  However,” he added, frightened at the eagerness he was showing in his words, “if it is your good pleasure, of course I will go.”

The oath seemed to affect the old man singularly.

“Come, come, by Saint-Bavon indeed, you shall sleep here.”

“But—­” said his sister, alarmed.

“Silence,” replied Cornelius.  “In his letter Oosterlinck tells me he will answer for this young man.  You know,” he whispered in his sister’s ear, “we have a hundred thousand francs belonging to Oosterlinck?  That’s a hostage, hey!”

“And suppose he steals those Bavarian jewels?  Tiens, he looks more like a thief than a Fleming.”

“Hush!” exclaimed the old man, listening attentively to some sound.

Both misers listened.  A moment after the “Hush!” uttered by Cornelius, a noise produced by the steps of several men echoed in the distance on the other side of the moat of the town.

“It is the Plessis guard on their rounds,” said the sister.

“Give me the key of the apprentice’s room,” said Cornelius.

The old woman made a gesture as if to take the lamp.

“Do you mean to leave us alone, without light?” cried Cornelius, in a meaning tone of voice.  “At your age can’t you see in the dark?  It isn’t difficult to find a key.”

The sister understood the meaning hidden beneath these words and left the room.  Looking at this singular creature as she walked towards the door, Philippe Goulenoire was able to hide from Cornelius the glance which he hastily cast about the room.  It was wainscoted in oak to the chair-strip, and the walls above were hung with yellow leather stamped with black arabesques; but what struck the young man most was a match-lock pistol with its formidable trigger.  This new and terrible weapon lay close to Cornelius.

“How do you expect to earn your living with me?” said the latter.

“I have but little money,” replied Philippe, “but I know good tricks in business.  If you will pay me a sou on every mark I earn for you, that will satisfy me.”

“A sou! a sou!” echoed the miser; “why, that’s a good deal!”

At this moment the old sibyl returned with the key.

“Come,” said Cornelius to Philippe.

The pair went out beneath the portico and mounted a spiral stone staircase, the round well of which rose through a high turret, beside the hall in which they had been sitting.  At the first floor up the young man paused.

“No, no,” said Cornelius.  “The devil! this nook is the place where the king takes his ease.”