“Who denies it, Meister Allerts?  But tell me, what do you mean by your cry:  Roland, my fore man?”

“Another time, Wilhelm; you mustn’t interrupt me now.  Hear my story about where the worm hides in me.  So once more:  What I do, the calling I follow, is knightly work, yet when a Wibisma, who learned how to use his sword from my father, treats me ill and stirs up my bile, if I should presume to challenge him, as would be my just right, what would he do?  Laugh and ask:  ’What will the passado cost, Fencing-master Allerts?  Have you polished rapiers?’ Perhaps he wouldn’t even answer at all, and we saw just now how he acts.  His glance slipped past me like an eel, and he had wax in his ears.  Whether I reproach, or a cur yelps at him, is all the same to his lordship.  If only a Renneberg or Brederode had been in my place just now, how quickly Wibisma’s sword would have flown from its sheath, for he understands how to fight and is no coward.  But I—­I?  Nobody would willingly allow himself to be struck in the face, yet so surely as my father was a brave man, even the worst insult could be more easily borne, than the feeling of being held in too slight esteem to be able to offer an affront.  You see, Wilhelm, when the Glipper looked past me—­”

“Your beard lost its calmness.”

“It’s all very well for you to jest, you don’t know—­”

“Yes, yes, Herr Allerts; I understand you perfectly.”

“And do you also understand, why I took myself and my sword out of doors so quickly?”

“Perfectly; but please stop a moment with me now.  The doves are fluttering so violently; they want air.”  The fencing-master stopped his steed, and while Wilhelm was removing the dripping cloth from the little cage that rested between him and his horse’s neck, said: 

“How can a man trouble himself about such gentle little creatures?  If you want to diminish, in behalf of feathered folk, the time given to music, tame falcons, that’s a knightly craft, and I can teach you.”

“Let my doves alone,” replied Wilhelm.  “They are not so harmless as people suppose, and have done good service in many a war, which is certainly chivalrous pastime.  Remember Haarlem.  There, it’s beginning to pour again.  If my cloak were only not so short; I would like to cover the doves with it.”

“You certainly look like Goliath in David’s garments.”

“It’s my scholar’s cloak; I put my other on young Wibisma’s shoulders yesterday.”

“The Spanish green-finch?”

“I told you about the boys’ brawl.”

“Yes, yes.  And the monkey kept your cloak?”

“You came for me and wouldn’t wait.  They probably sent it back soon after our departure.”

“And their lordships expect thanks because the young nobleman accepted it!”

“No, no; the baron expressed his gratitude.”

“But that doesn’t make your cape any longer.  Take my cloak, Wilhelm.  I’ve no doves to shelter, and my skin is thicker than yours.”