Barbara was not wrong.  His pupils looked emaciated and miserable enough, but many of them had learned, in the dead man’s school, to wield the sword well, and were heartily devoted to the profession.

In the centre of the court-yard stood a human figure, stuffed with tow and covered with leather, which bore on the left breast a bit of red paper in the shape of a heart.  The more unskilful were obliged to thrust at this figure to train the hand and eye; the others stood face to face in pairs and fought under Georg’s direction with blunt foils.

The Junker had felt very weak when he entered the kitchen, for the larger half of his ration of bread had been left at the unfortunate tailor’s; but Barbara’s wine had revived him and, rousing himself, he stepped briskly forth to meet his fencers.  His doublet was quickly flung on a bench, his belt drawn tighter, and he soon stood in his white shirt-sleeves before the soldiers.

As soon as his first word of command was heard, Henrica’s window closed with a bang.  Formerly it had often been opened when the fencing drill began, and she had not even shrunk from occasionally clapping her hands and calling “bravo.”  This time had long since passed, it was weeks since she had bestowed a word or glance on the young noble.  She had never made such advances to any man, would not have striven so hard to win a prince’s favor!  And he?  At first he had been distant, then more and more assiduously avoided her.  Her pride was deeply wounded.  Her purpose of diverting his attention from Maria had long been forgotten, and moreover something—­she knew not what had come between her and the young wife.  Not a day elapsed in which he did not meet her, and this was a source of pleasure to Henrica, because she could show him that his presence was a matter of indifference, nay even unpleasant.  Her imprisonment greatly depressed her, and she longed unutterably for the open country, the fields and the forest.  Yet she never expressed a wish to leave the city, for—­Georg was in Leyden, and every waking and dreaming thought was associated with him.  She loved him to-day, loathed him tomorrow, and did both with all the ardor of her passionate heart.  She often thought of her sister too, and uttered many prayers for her.  To win the favor of Heaven by good works and escape ennui, she helped the Grey Sisters, who lived in a little old convent next to Herr Van der Werff’s house, nurse the sick whole they had lovingly received, and even went with Sister Gonzaga to the houses of the Catholic citizens, to collect alms for the little hospital.  But all this was done without joyous self-devotion, sometimes with extravagant zeal, sometimes lazily, and for days not at all.  She had become excessively irritable, but after being unbearably arrogant one day, would seem sorrowful and ill at ease the next, though without asking the offended person’s pardon.

The young girl now stood behind the closed window, watching Georg, who with a bold spring dashed at the leathern figure and ran the sword in his right hand through the phantom’s red heart.