The tale flew. Christina found herself besieged on every hand, and, finding her intercessions invariably successful, grew day by day more pleased with herself, and by consequence more pleased with Nicholas Snyders. For Nicholas was a cunning old gentleman. Jan's soul in him took delight in undoing the evil the soul of Nicholas had wrought. But the brain of Nicholas Snyders that remained to him whispered: “Let the little maid think it is all her doing.”

The news reached the ears of Dame Toelast. The same evening saw her seated in the inglenook opposite Nicholas Snyders, who smoked and seemed bored.

“You are making a fool of yourself, Nicholas Snyders,” the Dame told him. “Everybody is laughing at you.”

“I had rather they laughed than cursed me,” growled Nicholas.

“Have you forgotten all that has passed between us?” demanded the Dame.

“Wish I could,” sighed Nicholas.

“At your age—” commenced the Dame.

“I am feeling younger than I ever felt in all my life,” Nicholas interrupted her.

“You don't look it,” commented the Dame.

“What do looks matter?” snapped Nicholas. “It is the soul of a man that is the real man.”

“They count for something, as the world goes,” explained the Dame. “Why, if I liked to follow your example and make a fool of myself, there are young men, fine young men, handsome young men—”

“Don't let me stand in your way,” interposed Nicholas quickly. “As you say, I am old and I have a devil of a temper. There must be many better men than I am, men more worthy of you.”

“I don't say there are not,” returned the Dame: “but nobody more suitable. Girls for boys, and old women for old men. I haven't lost my wits, Nicholas Snyders, if you have. When you are yourself again—”

Nicholas Snyders sprang to his feet. “I am myself,” he cried, “and intend to remain myself! Who dares say I am not myself?”