"I can read the past, too."
Ulrich started.  He must learn what his rival's companion knew of his
former life, so he answered quickly, "Well, for aught I care, begin."

"Gladly, gladly, but when I look into the past, I must be alone with the
questioner.  Be kind enough to give Zorrillo your company for quarter of
an hour, Sergeant."

"Don't believe everything she tells you, and don't look too deep into her
eyes.  Come, Lelaps, my son!"  cried the lansquenet, and did as he was
requested.

The woman dealt the cards silently, with trembling hands, but Ulrich
thought: "Now she will try to sound me, and a thousand to one will do
everything in her power to disgust me with desiring the Eletto's baton.
That's the way blockheads are caught.  We will keep to the past."

His companion met this resolution halfway; for before she had dealt the
last two rows, she rested her chin on the cards in her hands and, trying
to meet his glance, asked:

"How shall we begin?  Do you still remember your childhood?"

"Certainly."

"Your father?"

"I have not seen him for a long time.  Don't the cards tell you, that he
is dead?"

"Dead, dead:--of course he's dead.  You had a mother too?"

"Yes, yes," he answered impatiently; for he was unwilling to talk with
this woman about his mother.

She shrank back a little, and said sadly:  "That sounds very harsh.  Do
you no longer like to think of your mother?"

"What is that to you?"

"I must know."

"No, what concerns my mother is....I will--is too good for juggling."

"Oh," she said, looking at him with a glance from which he shrank.  Then
she silently laid down the last cards, and asked: "Do you want to hear
anything about a sweetheart?"

"I have none.  But how you look at me!  Have you grown tired of Zorrillo?
I am ill-suited for a gallant."

She shuddered slightly.  Her bright face had again grown old, so old and
weary that he pitied her.  But she soon regained her composure, and
continued:

"What are you saying?  Ask the questions yourself now, if you please."

"Where is my native place?"

"A wooded, mountainous region in Germany."

"Ah, ha!  and what do you know of my father?"

"You look like him, there is an astonishing resemblance in the forehead
and eyes; his voice, too, was exactly like yours."

"A chip of the old block."

"Well, well.  I see Adam before me...."

"Adam?"  asked Ulrich, and the blood left his cheeks.

"Yes, his name was Adam," she continued more boldly, with increasing
vivacity: "there he stands.  He wears a smith's apron, a small leather
cap rests on his fair hair.  Auriculas and balsams stand in the bow-
window.  A roan horse is being shod in the market-place below."

The soldier's head swam, the happiest period of his childhood, which he
had not recalled for a long time, again rose before his memory; he saw
his father stand before him, and the woman, the sibyl yonder, had the
eyes and mouth, not of his mother, but of the Madonna he had destroyed
with his maul-stick.  Scarcely able to control himself, he grasped her
hand, pressing it violently, and asked in German:

"What is my name?  And what did my mother call me?"

She lowered her eyes as if in shame, and whispered softly in German:
"Ulrich, Ulrich, my darling, my little boy, my lamb, Ulrich--my child!
Condemn me, desert me, curse me, but call me once more "my mother."

"My mother," he said gently, covering his face with his hands--but she
started up, hurried back to the pale baby in the cradle, and pressing her
face upon the little one's breast, moaned and wept bitterly.

Meantime, Zorrillo had not averted his eyes from Navarrete and his
companion.  What could have passed between the two, what ailed the man?

Rising slowly, he approached the basket before which the sibyl was
kneeling, and asked anxiously: "What was it, Flora?"

She pressed her face closer to the weeping child, that he might not see
her tears, and answered quickly "I predicted things, things....go, I will
tell you about it later."

He was satisfied with this answer, but she was now obliged to join the
Spaniards, and Ulrich took leave of her with a silent salutation.






A WORD, ONLY A WORD

By Georg Ebers

Volume 5.



CHAPTER XXVI.

The Spanish nature is contagious, thought Hans Eitelfritz, tossing on his
couch in Ulrich's tent.  What a queer fellow the gay young lad has
become!  Sighs are cheap with him, and every word costs a ducat.  He is
worthy all honor as a soldier.  If they make him Eletto, it will be worth
while to join the free army.

Ulrich had briefly told the lansquenet, how he had obtained the name of
Navarrete and how he had come from Madrid and Lepanto to the Netherlands.
Then he went to rest, but he could not sleep.

He had found his mother again.  He now possessed the best gift Ruth had
asked him to beseech of the "word."  The soldier's sweetheart, the
faithless wife, the companion of his rival, whom only yesterday he had
avoided, the fortune-teller, the camp-sibyl, was the woman who had given
him birth.  He, who thought he had preserved his honor stainless, whose
hand grasped the sword if another looked askance at him, was the child of
one, at whom every respectable woman had the right to point her finger.
All these thoughts darted through his brain; but strangely enough, they
melted like morning mists when the sun rises, before the feeling of joy
that he had his mother again.

Her image did not rise before his memory in Zorrillo's tent, but framed
by balsams and wall-flowers.  His vivid imagination made her twenty years
younger, and how beautiful she still was, how winningly she could glance
and smile.  Every appreciative word, all the praises of the sibyl's
beauty, good sense and kindness, which he had heard in the camp, came
back freshly to his mind, and he would fain have started up to throw
himself on her bosom, call her his mother, hear her give him all the
sweet, pet names, which sounded so tender from her lips, and feel the
caress of her soft hands.  How rich the solitary man felt, how
surpassingly rich!  He had been entirely alone, deserted even by his
mother!  Now he was so no longer, and pleasant dreams blended with his
ambitious plans, like golden threads in dark cloth.

When power was once his, he would build her a beautiful, cosy nest with
his share of the booty.  She must leave Zorrillo, leave him to-morrow.
The little nest should belong to her and him alone, entirely alone, and
when his soul longed for peace, love, and quiet, he would rest there with
her, recall with her the days of his childhood, cherish and care for her,
make her forget all her sins and sufferings, and enjoy to the full the
happiness of having her again, calling a loving mother's heart his own.

At every breath he drew he felt freer and gayer.  Suddenly there was a
rustling at the tent-door.  He seized his two-handed sword, but did not
raise it, for a beloved voice he recognized, called softly: "Ulrich,
Ulrich, it is I!"

He started up, hastily threw on his doublet, rushed towards her, clasped
her in his arms, and let her stroke his curls, kiss his cheeks and eyes,
as in the old happy days.  Then he drew her into the tent, whispering
"Softly, softly, the snorer yonder is the German."

She followed him, leaned against him, and raised his hand to her lips; he
felt them grow wet with tears.  They had not yet said anything to each
other, except how happy, how glad, how thankful they were to have each
other again; then a sentinel passed, and she started up, exclaiming
anxiously: "So late, so late; Zorrillo will be waiting!"

"Zorrillo!"  cried Ulrich scornfully, "you have been a long time with
him.  If they give me the power...."

"They will choose you, child, they shall choose you," she hastily
interrupted.  "Oh, God!  oh, God!  perhaps this will bring you misfortune
instead of blessing; but you desire it!  Count Mannsfeld is coming
tomorrow; Zorrillo knows it.  He will bring a pardon for all; promotions
too, but no money yet."

"Oh, ho!"  cried  Ulrich, "that may decide the matter."

"Perhaps so, you deserve to command them.  You were born for some special
purpose, and your card always turns up so strangely.  Eletto!  It sounds
proud and grand, but many have been ruined by it...."

"Because power was too hard for them."

"It must serve you.  You are strong.  A child of good fortune.  Folly!
I will not fear.  You have probably fared well in life.  Ah, my lamb, I
have done little for you, but one thing I did unceasingly: I prayed for
you, poor boy, morning and night; have you noticed, have you felt it?"

He drew her to his heart again, but she released herself from his
embrace, saying: "To-morrow, Ulrich; Zorrillo...."

"Zorrillo, always Zorrillo," he repeated, his blood boiling angrily.
"You are mine and, if you love me, you will leave him."

"I cannot, Ulrich, it will not do.  He is kind, you will yet be friends."

"We, we?  On the day of judgment, nay, not even then!  Are you more
firmly bound to yon smooth fellow, than to my honest father?  There
stands something in the darkness, it is good steel, and if needful will
cut the tie asunder."

"Ulrich, Ulrich !"  wailed Flora, raising her hands beseechingly.  "Not
that, not that; it must not be.  He is kind and sensible, and loves me
fondly.  Oh, Heaven!  Oh, Ulrich!  The mother has glided to her son at
night, as if she were following forbidden paths.  Oh, this is indeed a
punishment.  I know how heavily I have sinned, I deserve whatever may
befall me; but you, you must not make me more wretched, than I already
am.  Your father, he ....if he were still alive, for your sake I would
crawl to him on my knees, and say: "Here I am, forgive me--but he is
dead.  Pasquale, Zorrillo lives; do not think me a vain, deluded woman;
Zorrillo cannot bear to have me leave him...."

"And my father?  He bore it.  But do you know how?  Shall I describe his
life to you?"

"No, no!  Oh, child, how you torture me!  I know how I sinned against
your father, the thought does not cease to torture me, for he truly loved
me, and I loved him, too, loved him tenderly.  But I cannot keep quiet a
long time, and cast down my eyes, like the women there, it is not in my
blood; and Adam shut me up in a cage and for many years let me see
nothing except himself, and the cold, stupid city in the ravine by the
forest.  One day a fierce longing came upon me, I could not help going
forth--forth into the wide world, no matter with whom or whither.  The
soldier only needed to hint and I fell.--I did not stay with him long,
he was a windy braggart; but I was faithful to Captain Grandgagnage and
accompanied the wild fellow with the Walloons through every land, until
he was shot.  Then ten years ago, I joined Zorrillo; he is my friend,
he shares my feelings, I am necessary to his existence.  Do not laugh,
Ulrich; I well know that youth lies behind me, that I am old, yet
Pasquale loves me; since I have had him, I have been more content and,
Holy Virgin!  now--I love him in return.  Oh, Heaven!  Oh, Heaven!  Why
is it so?  This heart, this miserable heart, still throbs as fast as it
did twenty years ago."

"You will not leave him?"

"No, no, I love him, and I know why.  Every one calls him a brave man,
yet they only half know him; no one knows him wholly as I do.  No one
else is so good, so generous.  You must let me speak!  Do you suppose I
ever forgot you?  Never, never!  But you have always been to me the dear
little boy; I never thought of you as a man, and since I could not have
you and longed so greatly for you, for a child, I opened my heart to the
soldiers' orphans, the little creature you saw in the tent is one of
these poor things, I have often had two or three such babies at the same
time.  It would have been an abomination to Grandgagnage, but Zorrillo
rejoices in my love for children, and I have given what the Walloon
bequeathed me and his own booty to the soldiers' widows and the little
naked babies in the camp.  He was satisfied, for whatever I do pleases
him.  I will not, cannot leave him!"

She paused, hiding her face in her hands, but Ulrich paced to and fro,
violently agitated.  At last he said firmly: "Yet you must part from him.
He or I!  I will have nothing to do with the lover of my father's wife.
I am Adam's son, and will be constant to him.  Ah, mother, I have been
deprived of you so long.  You can tend strangers' orphaned children, yet
you make your own son an orphan.  Will you do this?  No, a thousand
times, no, you cannot!  Do not weep so, you must not weep!  Hear me, hear
me!  For my sake, leave this Spaniard!  You will not repent it.  I have
just been dreaming of the nest I will build for you.  There I will
cherish and care for you, and you shall keep as many orphan children as
you choose.  Leave him, mother, you must leave him for the sake of your
child, your Ulrich!"

"Oh, God!  oh, God!" she sobbed.  "I will try, yes, I will try....
My child, my dear child!"

Ulrich clasped her closely in his arms, kissed her hair, and said,
softly: "I know, I know, you need love, and you shall find it with me."

"With you!" she repeated, sobbing.  Then releasing herself from his
embrace she hurried to the feverish woman, at whose summons she had left
her tent.

As morning dawned, she returned home and found Zorrillo still awake.  He
enquired about her patient, and told her he had given the child something
to drink while she was away.

Flora could not help weeping bitterly again, and Zorrillo, noticing it,
exclaimed chidingly: "Each has his own griefs to bear, it is not wise to
take strangers' troubles so deeply to heart."

"Strangers' troubles," she repeated, mournfully, and went to rest.

White-haired woman, why have you remained so young?  All the cares and
sorrows of youth and age are torturing you at the same time!  One love
is fighting a mortal battle with another in your breast.  Which will
conquer?

She knows, she knew it ere she entered the tent.  The mother fled from
the child, but she cannot abandon her new-found son.  Oh, maternal love,
thou dost hover in radiant bliss far above the clouds, and amid choirs of
angels!  Oh, maternal heart, thou dost bleed pierced with swords, more
full of sorrows than any other!

Poor, poor Florette!  On this July  morning she was enduring superhuman
tortures, all the sins she had committed arrayed themselves against her,
shrieking into her ear that she was a lost woman, and there could be no
pardon for her either in this world or the next.  Yet!--the clouds drift
by, birds of passage migrate, the musician wanders singing from land to
land, finds love, and remorselessly strips off light fetters to seek
others.  His child imitates the father, who had followed the example of
his, the same thing occurring back to their remotest ancestors!  But
eternal justice?  Will it measure the fluttering leaf by the same
standard as the firmly-rooted plant?

When Zorrillo saw Flora by the daylight, he said, kindly: "You have been
weeping?"

"Yes," she answered, fixing her eyes on the ground.  He thought she was
anxious, as on a former occasion, lest his election to the office of
Eletto might prove his ruin, so he drew her towards him, exclaiming "Have
no fear, Bonita.  If they choose me, and Mannsfeld comes, as he promised,
the play will end this very day.  I hope, even at the twelfth hour, they
will listen to reason, and allow themselves to be guided into the right
course.  If they make the young madcap Eletto--his head will be at stake,
not mine.  Are you ill?  How you look, child!  Surely, surely you must be
suffering; you shall not go out at night to nurse sick people again!"

The words came from an anxious heart, and sounded warm and gentle.
They penetrated Florette's inmost soul, and overwhelmed with passionate
emotion she clasped his hands, kissed them, and exclaimed, softly
"Thanks, thanks, Pasquale, for your love, for all.  I will never, never
forget it, whatever happens!  Go, go; the drum is beating again."

Zorrillo fancied she was uttering mere feverish ravings, and begged her
to calm herself; then he left the tent, and went to the place where the
election was to be held.

As soon as Flora was alone, she threw herself on her knees before the
Madonna's picture, but knew not whether it would be right to pray that
her son might obtain an office, which had proved the ruin of so many; and
when she besought the Virgin to give her strength to leave her lover, it
seemed to her like treason to Pasquale.

Her thoughts grew confused, and she could not pray.  Her mobile mind
wandered swiftly from lofty to petty things; she seized the cards to see
whether fate would unite her to Zorrillo or to Ulrich, and the red ten,
which represented herself, lay close beside the green knave, Pasquale.
She angrily threw them down, determined, in spite of the oracle, to
follow her son.

Meantime in the camp drums beat, fifes screamed shrilly, trumpets blared,
and the shouts and voices of the assembled soldiers sounded like the
distant roar of the surf.

A fresh burst of military music rang out, and now Florette started to her
feet and listened.  It seemed as if she heard Ulrich's voice, and the
rapid throbbing of her heart almost stopped her breath.  She must go out,
she must see and hear what was passing.  Hastily pushing the white hair
back from her brow, she threw a veil over it, and hurried through the
camp to the spot where the election was taking place.

The soldiers all knew her and made way for her.  The leaders of the
mutineers were standing on the wall of earth between the field-pieces,
and amid the foremost rank, nay, in front of them all, her son was
addressing the crowd.

The choice wavered between him and Zorrillo.  Ulrich had already been
speaking a long time.  His cheeks were glowing and he looked so handsome,
so noble, in his golden helmet, from beneath which floated his thick,
fair locks, that her heart swelled with joy, and as the night grows
brighter when the black clouds are torn asunder and the moon victoriously
appears, grief and pain were suddenly irradiated by maternal love and
pride.

Now he drew his tall figure up still higher, exclaiming: "Others are
readier and bolder with the tongue than I, but I can speak with the sword
as well as any one."

Then raising the heavy two-handed sword, which others laboriously managed
with both hands, he swung it around his head, using only his right hand,
in swift circles, until it fairly whistled through the air.

The soldiers shouted exultingly as they beheld the feat, and when he had
lowered the weapon and silence was restored, he continued, defiantly,
while his breath came quick and short: "And where do the talkers, the
parleyers seek to lead us?  To cringe like dogs, who lick their masters'
feet, before the men who cheat us.  Count Mannsfeld will come to-day;
I know it, and I have also learned that he will bring everything except
what is our due, what we need, what we intend to demand, what we require
for our bare feet, our ragged bodies; money, money he has not to offer!
This is so, I swear it; if not, stand forth, you parleyers, and give me
the lie!  Have you inclination or courage to give the lie to Navarrete?
--You are silent!--But we will speak!  We will not suffer ourselves to be
mocked and put off!  What we demand is fair pay for good work.  Whoever
has patience, can wait.  Mine is exhausted.

"We are His Majesty's obedient servants and wish to remain so.  As soon as
he keeps his bargain, he can rely upon us; but when he breaks it, we are
bound to no one but ourselves, and Santiago! we are not the weaker party.
We need money, and if His Majesty lacks ducats, a city where we can find
what we want.  Money or a city, a city or money!  The demand is just, and
if you elect me, I will stand by it, and not shrink if it rouses
murmuring behind me or against me.  Whoever has a brave heart under his
armor, let him follow me; whoever wishes to creep after Zorrillo, can do
so.  Elect me, friends, and I will get you more than we need, with honor
and fame to boot.  Saint Jacob and the Madonna will aid us.  Long live
the king!"

"Long live the king!  Long live  Navarrete!  Navarrete!  Hurrah for
Navarrete!" echoed loudly, impetuously from a thousand bearded lips.

Zorrillo had no opportunity to speak again.  The election was made.

Ulrich was chosen Eletto.

As if on wings, he went from man to man, shaking hands with his comrades.
Power, power, the highest prize on earth, was attained, was his!  The
whole throng, soldiers, tyros, women, girls and children, crowded around
him, shouting his name; whoever wore a hat or cap, tossed it in the air,
whoever had a kerchief, waved it.  Drums beat, trumpets sounded, and the
gunner ordered all the field-pieces to be discharged, for the choice
pleased him.

Ulrich stood, as if intoxicated, amid the shouts, shrieks of joy,
military music, and thunder of the cannon.  He raised his helmet, waved
salutations to the crowd, and strove to speak, but the uproar drowned his
words.

After the election Florette slipped quietly away; first to the empty tent
then to the sick woman who needed her care.

The Eletto had no time to think of his mother; for scarcely had he given
a solemn oath of loyalty to his comrades and received theirs, when Count
Mannsfeld appeared.

The general was received with every honor.  He knew Navarrete, and the
latter entered into negotiations with the manly dignity natural to him;
but the count really had nothing but promises to offer, and the
insurgents would not give up their demand: "Money or a city!"

The nobleman reminded them of their oath of allegiance, made lavish use
of kind words, threats and warnings, but the Eletto remained firm.
Mannsfeld perceived that he had come in vain; the only concession he
could obtain from Navarrete was, that some prudent man among the leaders
should accompany him to Brussels, to explain the condition of the
regiments to the council of state there, and receive fresh proposals.
Then the count suggested that Zorrillo should be entrusted with the
mission, and the Eletto ordered the quartermaster to prepare for
departure at once.  An hour after the general left the camp with Flora's
lover in his train.




CHAPTER XXVII.

The fifth night after the Eletto's election was closing in, a light rain
was falling, and no sound was heard in the deserted streets of the
encampment except now and then the footsteps of a sentinel, or the cries
of a child.  In Zorrillo's tent, which was usually brightly lighted until
a late hour of the night, only one miserable brand was burning, beside
which sat the sleepy bar-maid, darning a hole in her frieze-jacket.  The
girl did not expect any one, and started when the door of the tent was
violently torn open, and her master, followed by two newly-appointed
captains, came straight up to her.

Zorrillo held his hat in his hand, his hair, slightly tinged with grey,
hung in a tangled mass over his forehead, but he carried himself as erect
as ever.  His body did not move, but his eyes wandered from one corner of
the tent to another, and the girl crossed herself and held up two fingers
towards him, for his dark glance fell upon her, as he at last exclaimed,
in a hollow tone:

"Where is the mistress?"

"Gone, I could not help it" replied the girl.

"Where?"

"To the Eletto, to Navarrete."

"When?"

"He came and took her and the child, directly after you had left the
camp."

"And she has not returned?"

"She has just sent a roast chicken, which I was to keep for you when you
came home.  There it is."  Zorrillo laughed.  Then he turned to his
companions, saying:

"I thank you.  You have now....  Is she still with the Eletto?"

"Why, of course."

"And who--who saw her the night before the election--let me sit down--who
saw her with him then?"

"My brother," replied one of the captains.  "She was just coming out of
the tent, as he passed with the guard."

"Don't take the matter to heart," said the other.  "There are plenty of
women!  We are growing old, and can no longer cope with a handsome fellow
like Navarrete."

"I thought the sibyl was more sensible," added the younger captain.
"I saw her in Naples sixteen years ago.  Zounds, she was a beautiful
woman then!  A pretty creature even now; but Navarrete might almost be
her son.  And you always treated her kindly, Pasquale.  Well, whoever
expects gratitude from women...."

Suddenly the quartermaster remembered the hour just before the election,
when Florette had thrown herself upon his breast, and thanked him for his
kindness; clenching his teeth, he groaned aloud.

The others were about to leave him, but he regained his self-control, and
said:

"Take him the count's letter, Renato.  What I have to say to him, I will
determine later."

Zorrillo was a long time unlacing his jerkin and taking out the paper.
Both of his companions noticed how his fingers trembled, and looked at
each other compassionately; but the older one said, as he received the
letter:

"Man, man, this will do no good.  Women are like good fortune."

"Take the thing as a thousand others have taken it, and don't come to
blows.  You wield a good blade, but to attack Navarrete is suicide.  I'll
take him the letter.  Be wise, Zorrillo, and look for another love at
once."

"Directly, directly, of course," replied the quartermaster; but as soon
as he had sent the maid-servant away, and was entirely alone, he bowed
his forehead upon the table and his shoulders heaved convulsively.  He
remained in this attitude a long time, then paced to and fro with forced
calmness.  Morning dawned long ere he sought his couch.

Early the next day he made his report to the Eletto before the assembled
council of war, and when it broke up, approached Navarrete, saying, in so
loud a tone that no one could fail to hear:

"I congratulate you on your new sweetheart."

"With good reason," replied the Eletto.  "Wait a little while, and I'll
wager that you'll congratulate me more sincerely than you do to-day."

The offers from Brussels had again proved unacceptable.  It was necessary
now to act, and the insurgent commander profited by the time at his
disposal.  It seemed as if "power" doubled his elasticity and energy.
It was so delightful, after the march, the council of war, and the day's
work were over, to rest with his mother, listen to her, and open his own
heart.  How had she preserved--yes, he might call it so--her aristocratic
bearing, amid the turmoil, perils, and mire of camp-life, in spite of
all, all!  How cleverly and entertainingly she could talk about men and
things, how comical the ideas, with which she understood how to spice the
conversation, and how well versed he found her in everything that related
to the situation of the regiments and his own position.  She had not been
the confidante of army leaders in vain.

By her advice he relinquished his plan of capturing Mechlin, after
learning from spies that it was prepared and expecting the attack of the
insurgents.

He could not enter upon a long siege with the means at his command; his
first blow must not miss the mark.  So he only showed himself near
Brussels, sent Captain Montesdocca, who tried to parley again, back with
his mission unaccomplished, marched in a new direction to mislead his
foes, and then unexpectedly assailed wealthy Aalst in Flanders.

The surprised inhabitants tried to defend their well-fortified city, but
the citizens' strength could not withstand the furious assault of the
well-drilled, booty-seeking army.

The conquered city belonged to the king.  It was the pledge of what the
rebels required, and they indemnified themselves in it for the pay that
had been with held.  All who attempted to offer resistance fell by the
sword, all the citizens' possessions were seized by the soldiers, as the
wages that belonged to them.

In the shops under the Belfry, the great tower from whence the bell
summoned the inhabitants when danger threatened, lay plenty of cloth for
new doublets.  Nor was there any lack of gold or silver in the treasury
of the guild-hall, the strong boxes of the merchants, the chests of the
citizens.  The silver table-utensils, the gold ornaments of the women,
the children's gifts from godparents fell into the hands of the
conquerors, while a hundred and seventy rich villages near Aalst were
compelled to furnish food for the mutineers.

Navarrete did not forbid the plundering.  According to his opinion, what
soldiers took by assault was well-earned booty.  To him the occupation of
Aalst was an act of righteous self-defence, and the regiments shared his
belief, and were pleased with their Eletto.

The rebels sought and found quarters in the citizens' houses, slept in
their beds, eat from their dishes, and drank their wine-cellars empty.
Pillage was permitted for three days.  On the fifth discipline was
restored, the quartermaster's department organized, and the citizens were
permitted to assemble at the guild-hall, pursue their trades and
business, follow the pursuits to which they had been accustomed.  The
property they had saved was declared unassailable; besides, robbery had
ceased to be very remunerative.

The Eletto was at liberty to choose his own quarters, and there was no
lack of stately dwellings in Aalst.  Ulrich might have been tempted to
occupy the palace of Baron de Hierges, but passed it by, selecting as a
home for his mother and himself a pretty little house on the market-
place, which reminded him of his father's smithy.  The bow-windowed room,
with the view of the belfry and the stately guildhall, was pleasantly
fitted up for his mother, and the city gardeners received orders to send
the finest house-plants to his residence.  Soon the sitting-room, adorned
with flowers and enlivened by singing-birds, looked far handsomer and
more cosy than the nest of which he had dreamed.  A little white dog,
exactly like the one Florette had possessed in the smithy, was also
procured, and when in the evening the warm summer air floated into the
open windows, and Ulrich sat alone with Florette, recalling memories of
the past, or making plans for the future, it seemed as if a new spring
had come to his soul.  The citizens' distress did not trouble him.  They
were the losing party in the grim game of war, enemies--rebels.  Among
his own men he saw nothing but joyous faces; he exercised the power--they
obeyed.

Zorrillo bore him ill-will, Ulrich read it in his eyes; but he made him
a captain, and the man performed his duty as quartermaster in the most
exemplary manner.  Florette wished to tell him that the Eletto was her
son, but the latter begged her to wait till his power was more firmly
established, and how could she refuse her darling anything?  She had
grieved deeply, very deeply, but this mood soon passed away, and now she
could be happy in Ulrich's society, and forget sorrow and heartache.

What joy it was to have him back, to be loved by him!  Where was there a
more affectionate son, a pleasanter home than hers?  The velvet and
brocade dresses belonging to the Baroness de Hierges had fallen to the
Eletto.  How young Florette looked in them!  When she glanced into the
mirror, she was astonished at herself.

Two beautiful riding-horses for ladies' use and elegant trappings had
been found in the baron's stable.  Ulrich had told her of it, and the
desire to ride with him instantly arose in her mind.  She had always
accompanied Grandgagnage, and when she now went out, attired in a long
velvet riding-habit, with floating plumes in her dainty little hat,
beside her son, she soon noticed how admiringly even the hostile citizens
and their wives looked after them.  It was a pretty sight to behold the
handsome soldier, full of pride and power, galloping on the most spirited
stallion, beside the beautiful, white-haired woman, whose eyes sparkled
with vivacious light.

Zorrillo often met them, when they passed the guildhall, and Florette
always gave him a friendly greeting with her whip, but he intentionally