visit atone the last. To-day I come on your business and none of mine."
Catherine and her daughter exchanged a swift glance of contemptuous
incredulity. They knew the man better than he thought.

"It is about your son Gerard."

"Ay! ay! you want him to work for the town all for nothing. He told us."

"I come on no such errand. It is to let you know he has fallen into bad
hands."

"Now Heaven and the saints forbid! Man, torture not a mother! Speak out,
and quickly: speak ere you have time to coin falsehood: we know thee."

Ghysbrecht turned pale at this affront, and spite mingled with the other
motives that brought him here. "Thus it is, then," said he, grinding his
teeth and speaking very fast. "Your son Gerard is more like to be father
of a family than a priest: he is for ever with Margaret, Peter Brandt's
red-haired girl, and loves her like a cow her calf."

Mother and daughter both burst out laughing. Ghysbrecht stared at them.

"What! you knew it?"

"Carry this tale to those who know not my son, Gerard. Women are nought
to him."

"Other women, mayhap. But this one is the apple of his eye to him, or
will be, if you part them not, and soon. Come, dame, make me not waste
time and friendly counsel: my servant has seen them together a score