Come to the horses with me, Herr Wilhelm, or there'll be mischief." The fencing-master, while uttering the last words, stared angrily at the nobleman with his prominent eyes, which even under ordinary circumstances, always looked as keen as if they had something marvellous to examine.
Wibisma pretended not to hear the provoking words, and, as the fencing-master left the room, walked calmly, with head erect, towards the musician, bowed courteously, and thanked him for the kindness he had shown his son the day before.
"You are not in the least indebted to me," replied Wilhelm Corneliussohn.

"I helped the young nobleman, because it always has an ill look when numbers attack one." "Then allow me to praise this opinion," replied the baron.
"Opinion," repeated the musician with a subtle smile, drawing a few notes on the table.
The baron watched his fingers silently a short time, then advanced nearer the young man, asking: "Must everything now relate to political dissensions ?" "Yes," replied Wilhelm firmly, turning his face with a rapid movement towards the older man.

"In these times 'yes,' twenty times 'yes.' You wouldn't do well to discuss opinions with me, Herr Matanesse." "Every man," replied the nobleman, shrugging his shoulders, "every man of course believes his own opinion the right one, yet he ought to respect the views of those who think differently." "No, my lord," cried the musician.

"In these times there is but one opinion for us.

I wish to share nothing, not even a drink at the table, with any man who has Holland blood, and feels differently.