“No, sir.  What you see are a cross between the carrier and tumblers, the Antwerp breed of carrier pigeons.  Bluish, reddish, spotted birds.  I don’t care for the colors, but they must have small bodies and large wings, with broad quills on their flag-feathers, and above all ample muscular strength.  The one yonder stop, I’ll catch him—­is one of my best flyers.  Try to lift his pinions.”

“Heaven knows the little thing has marrow in its bones!  How the tiny wing pinches; the falcons are not much stronger.”

“It’s a carrier-dove too, that finds its way alone.”

“Why do you keep no white tumblers?  I should think they could be watched farthest in their flight.”

“Because doves fare like men.  Whoever shines very brightly and is seen from a distance, is set upon by opponents and envious people, and birds of prey pounce upon the white doves first.  I tell you, Captain, whoever has eyes in his head, can learn in a dove-cote how things come to pass among Adam and Eve’s posterity on earth.”

“There is quarrelling and kissing up here just as there is in Leyden.”

“Yes, exactly the same, Captain.  If I mate an old dove with one much younger, it rarely turns out well.  When the male dove is in love, he understands how to pay his fair one as many attentions, as the most elegant gallant shows the mistress of his heart.  And do you know what the kissing means?  The suitor feeds his darling, that is, seeks to win her affection by beautiful gifts.  Then the wedding comes, and they build a nest.  If there are young birds, they feed them together in perfect harmony.  The aristocratic doves brood badly, and we put their eggs under birds of more ordinary breed.”

“Those are the noble ladies, who have nurses for their infants.”

“Unmated doves often make mischief among the mated ones.”

“Take warning, young man, and beware of being a bachelor.  I’ll say nothing against the girls who remain unmarried, for I have found among them many sweet, helpful souls.”

“So have I, but unfortunately some bad ones too, as well as here in the dove-tote.  On the whole my wards lead happy married lives, but if it comes to a separation—­”

“Which of the two is to blame?”

“Nine times out of ten the little wife.”

“Roland, my fore man, exactly as it is among human beings,” cried the fencing-master, clapping his hands.

“What do you mean by your Roland, Herr Allerts?  You promised me a short time ago—­but who is coming up the ladder?”

“I hear your mother.”

“She is bringing me a visitor.  I know that voice and yet.  Wait.  It’s old Fraulein Van Hoogstraten’s steward.”

“From Nobelstrasse?  Let me go, Wilhelm, for this Glipper crew—­”

“Wait a little while, there is only room for one on the ladder,” said the musician, holding out his hand to Belotti to guide him from the last rung into his room.