Oh! it was too much.  Under the crushing weight of his suffering, his senses left him, and he found such peace as to-day is won by those who are about to pass beneath the surgeon’s knife; the peace that but too often wakes to a livelier agony.

When Adrian came to himself again, he felt cold, for already the autumn evening had begun to fall, and there was a feel in the clear, still air as of approaching frost.  Also he was hungry (Dirk van Goorl, too, must be growing hungry now, he remembered), for he had eaten nothing since the yesterday.  He would go into the town, get food, and then make up his mind what he should do.

Accordingly, descending from the Burg, Adrian went to the best inn in Leyden, and, seating himself at a table under the trees that grew outside of it, bade the waiting-man bring him food and beer.  Unconsciously, for he was thinking of other things, in speaking to him, Adrian had assumed the haughty, Spanish hidalgo manner that was customary with him when addressing his inferiors.  Even then he noticed, with the indignation of one who dwells upon his dignity, that this server made him no bow, but merely called his order to someone in the house, and, turning his back upon him, began to speak to a man who was loitering near.  Soon Adrian became aware that he was the subject of that conversation, for the two of them looked at him out of the corners of their eyes, and jerked their thumbs towards him.  Moreover, first one, then two, then quite a number of passers-by stopped and joined in the conversation, which appeared to interest them very much.  Boys came also, a dozen or more of them, and women of the fish-wife stamp, and all of these looked at him out of the corner of their eyes, and from time to time jerked their thumbs towards him.  Adrian began to feel uneasy and angered, but, drawing down his bonnet, and folding his arms upon his breast, he took no notice.  Presently the server thrust his meal and flagon of beer before him with such clattering clumsiness that some of the liquor splashed over upon the table.

“Be more careful and wipe that up,” said Adrian.

“Wipe it yourself,” answered the man, rudely turning upon his heel.

Now Adrian was minded to be gone, but he was hungry and thirsty, so first, thought he, he would satisfy himself.  Accordingly he lifted the tankard and took a long pull at it, when suddenly something struck the bottom of the vessel, jerking liquor over his face and doublet.  He set it down with an oath, and laying his hand upon his sword hilt asked who had done this.  But the mob, which by now numbered fifty or sixty, and was gathered about him in a triple circle, made no answer.  They stood there staring sullenly, and in the fading light their faces seemed dangerous and hostile.

He was frightened.  What could they mean?  Yes, he was frightened, but he determined to brave it out, and lifted the cover from his meat, when something passed over his shoulder and fell into the dish, something stinking and abominable—­to be particular, a dead cat.  This was too much.  Adrian sprang to his feet, and asked who dared thus to foul his food.  The crowd did not jeer, did not even mock; it seemed too much in earnest for gibes, but a voice at the back called out: