"They are alive, certainly they are alive! I met him again in Antwerp.
No one else can make you such armor. The devil is in it, if you hav'nt
heard of the Swabian armorer."

"The Swabian--the Swabian--is he my father?"

"Your own father. How long ago is it? Thirteen years, for I was then
sixteen. That was the last time I saw him, and yet I recognized him at
the first glance. True, I shall never forget the hour, when the dumb
woman drew the arrow from the Jew's breast. The scene I witnessed that
day in the forest still rises before my eyes, as if it were happening
now."

"He lives, they did not kill him!" exclaimed the Eletto, now first
beginning to rejoice over the surprising news. "Lips, man--Philipp!
I have found my mother again, and now my father too. Wait, wait! I'll
speak to the lieutenant, he must take my place, and you and I will ride
to Lier; there you will tell me the whole story. Holy Virgin! thanks, a
thousand thanks! I shall see my father again, my father!"

It was past midnight, but the schoolmates were still sitting over their
wine in a private room in the Lion at Lier. The Eletto had not grown
weary of questioning, and Count Philipp willingly answered.

Ulrich now knew what death the doctor had met, and that his father had
gone to Antwerp and lived there as an armorer for twelve years. The
Jew's dumb wife had died of grief on the journey, but Ruth was living
with the old man and kept house for him. Navarrete had often heard the
Swabian and his work praised, and wore a corselet from his workshop.