In the centre of the mere the great event of the day, the sledge races, were now in progress.  As the competitors were many these must be run in heats, the winners of each heat standing on one side to compete in the final contest.  Now these victors had a pretty prerogative not unlike that accorded to certain dancers in the cotillion of modern days.  Each driver of a sledge was bound to carry a passenger in the little car in front of him, his own place being on the seat behind, whence he directed the horse by means of reins supported upon a guide-rod so fashioned that it lifted them above the head of the traveller in the car.  This passenger he could select from among the number of ladies who were present at the games; unless, indeed, the gentleman in charge of her chose to deny him in set form; namely, by stepping forward and saying in the appointed phrase, “No, for this happy hour she is mine.”

Among the winners of these heats was a certain Spanish officer, the Count Don Juan de Montalvo, who, as it chanced, in the absence on leave of his captain, was at that date the commander of the garrison at Leyden.  He was a man still young, only about thirty indeed, reported to be of noble birth, and handsome in the usual Castilian fashion.  That is to say, he was tall, of a graceful figure, dark-eyed, strong-featured, with a somewhat humorous expression, and of very good if exaggerated address.  As he had but recently come to Leyden, very little was known about this attractive cavalier beyond that he was well spoken of by the priests and, according to report, a favourite with the Emperor.  Also the ladies admired him much.

For the rest everything about him was handsome like his person, as might be expected in the case of a man reputed to be as rich as he was noble.  Thus his sledge was shaped and coloured to resemble a great black wolf rearing itself up to charge.  The wooden head was covered in wolf skin and adorned by eyes of yellow glass and great fangs of ivory.  Round the neck also ran a gilded collar hung with a silver shield, whereon were painted the arms of its owner, a knight striking the chains from off a captive Christian saint, and the motto of the Montalvos, “Trust to God and me.”  His black horse, too, of the best breed, imported from Spain, glittered in harness decorated with gilding, and bore a splendid plume of dyed feathers rising from the head-band.

Lysbeth happened to be standing near to the spot where this gallant had halted after his first victory.  She was in the company of Dirk van Goorl alone—­for as he was the driver of one of the competing sledges, her other cousin, Pieter van de Werff, had now been summoned away.  Having nothing else to do at the moment, she approached and not unnaturally admired this brilliant equipage, although in truth it was the sledge and the horse rather than their driver which attracted her attention.  As for the Count himself she knew him slightly, having been introduced to and danced a measure with him at a festival given by a grandee of the town.  On that occasion he was courteous to her in the Spanish fashion, rather too courteous, she thought, but as this was the manner of Castilian dons when dealing with burgher maidens she paid no more attention to the matter.