So far, things went well, and, what was more, the opening of the chase had proved distinctly entertaining.  Also, the society of the place, after his appropriation of her at a public festival and their long moonlight tete-a-tete, which by now must be common gossip’s talk, would be quite prepared for any amount of attention which he might see fit to pay to Lysbeth.  Indeed, why should he not pay attention to an unaffianced woman whose rank was lower if her means were greater than his own?  Of course, he knew that her name had been coupled with that of Dirk van Goorl.  He was perfectly aware also that these two young people were attached to each other, for as they walked home together on the previous night Dirk, possibly for motives of his own, had favoured him with a semi-intoxicated confidence to that effect.  But as they were not affianced what did that matter?  Indeed, had they been affianced, what would it matter?  Still, Dirk van Goorl was an obstacle, and, therefore, although he seemed to be a good fellow, and he was sorry for him, Dirk van Goorl must be got out of the way, since he was convinced that Lysbeth was one of those stubborn-natured creatures who would probably decline to marry himself until this young Leyden lout had vanished.  And yet he did not wish to be mixed up with duels, if for no other reason because in a duel the unexpected may always happen, and that would be a poor end.  Certainly also he did not wish to be mixed up with murder; first, because he intensely disliked the idea of killing anybody, unless he was driven to it; and secondly, because murder has a nasty way of coming out.  One could never be quite sure in what light the despatching of a young Netherlander of respectable family and fortune would be looked at by those in authority.

Also, there was another thing to be considered.  If this young man died it was impossible to know exactly how Lysbeth would take his death.  Thus she might elect to refuse to marry or decide to mourn him for four or five years, which for all practical purposes would be just as bad.  And yet while Dirk lived how could he possibly persuade her to transfer her affections to himself?  It seemed, therefore, that Dirk ought to decease.  For quite a quarter of an hour Montalvo thought the matter over, and then, just as he had given it up and determined to leave things to chance, for a while at least, inspiration came, a splendid, a heaven-sent inspiration.

Dirk must not die, Dirk must live, but his continued existence must be the price of the hand of Lysbeth van Hout.  If she was half as fond of the man as he believed, it was probable that she would be delighted to marry anybody else in order to save his precious neck, for that was just the kind of sentimental idiotcy of which nine women out of ten really enjoyed the indulgence.  Moreover, this scheme had other merits; it did every one a good turn.  Dirk would be saved from extinction for which he should be grateful:  Lysbeth, besides earning the honour of an alliance, perhaps only temporary, with himself, would be able to go through life wrapped in a heavenly glow of virtue arising from the impression that she had really done something very fine and tragic, while he, Montalvo, under Providence, the humble purveyor of these blessings, would also benefit to some small extent.