words: "My head, my poor head!  You will see that I am losing my senses.
I beseech you, I beseech you, my dear, stern father, take me home.
I have again heard something about Anna--" her eyes grew dim, her pen
dropped from her hand, and she fell back in the chair unconscious.

There she lay, until the last laugh and sound of rattling glass had died
away below, and her aunt's guests had left the house.

Denise, the cameriera, noticed the light in the room, entered, and after
vainly endeavoring to rouse Henrica, called her mistress.

The latter followed the maid, muttering as she ascended the stairs:

"Fallen asleep, found the time hang heavy--that's all!  She might have
been lively and laughed with us!  Stupid race!  'Men of butter,' King
Philip says.  That wild Lamperi was really impertinent to-night, and the
abbe said things--things--"

The old lady's large eyes were sparkling vinously, and her fan waved
rapidly to and fro to cool the flush on her cheeks.

She now stood opposite to Henrica, called her, shook her and sprinkled
her with perfumed water from the large shell, set in gold, which hung as
an essence bottle from her belt.  When her niece only muttered incoherent
words, she ordered the maid to bring her medicine-chest.

Denise had gone and Fraulein Van Hoogstraten now perceived Henrica's
letter, raised it close to her eyes, read page after page with increasing
indignation, and at last tossed it on the floor and tried to shake her
niece awake; but in vain.

Meantime Belotti had been informed of Henrica's serious illness and, as
he liked the young girl, sent for a physician on his own responsibility,
and instead of the family priest summoned Father Damianus.  Then he went
to the sick girl's chamber.

Even before he crossed the threshold, the old lady in the utmost
excitement, exclaimed:

"Belotti, what do you say now, Belotti?  Sickness in the house, perhaps
contagious sickness, perhaps the plague."

"It seems to be only a fever," replied the Italian soothingly.  "Come,
Denise, we will carry the young lady to the bed.

"The doctor will soon be here."

"The doctor?"  cried the old lady, striking her fan on the marble top of
the table.  "Who permitted you, Belotti--"

"We are Christians," interrupted the servant, not without dignity.

"Very well, very well," she cried.  "Do what you please, call whom you
choose, but Henrica can't stay here.  Contagion in the house, the plague,
a black tablet."

"Excellenza is disturbing herself unnecessarily.  Let us first hear what
the doctor says."

"I won't hear him; I can't bear the plague and the small-pox.  Go down at
once, Belotti, and have the sedan-chair prepared.  The old chevalier's
room in the rear building is empty."

"But, Excellenza, it's gloomy, and so damp that the north wall is covered
with mould."

"Then let it be aired and cleaned.  What does this delay mean?  You have
only to obey.  Do you understand?"

"The chevalier's room isn't fit for my mistress's sick niece," replied
Belotti civilly, but resolutely.

"Isn't it?  And you know exactly?"  asked his mistress scornfully.
"Go down, Denise, and order the sedan-chair to be brought up.  Have you
anything more to say, Belotti?"

"Yes, Padrona," replied the Italian, in a trembling voice.  "I beg your
excellenza to dismiss me."

"Dismiss you from my service?"

"With your excellenza's permission, yes--from your service."

The old woman started, clasped her hands tightly upon her fan, and said:

"You are irritable, Belotti."

"No, Padrona, but I am old and dread the misfortune of being ill in this
house."

Fraulein Van Hoogstraten shrugged her shoulders and turning to her maid,
cried:

"The sedan-chair, Denise.  You are dismissed, Belotti."




CHAPTER X.

The night, on which sorrow and sickness had entered the Hoogstraten
mansion, was followed by a beautiful morning.  Holland again became
pleasant to the storks, that with a loud, joyous clatter flew clown into
the meadows on which the sun was shining.  It was one of those days the
end of April often bestows on men, as if to show them that they render
her too little, her successor too much honor.  April can boast that in
her house is born the spring, whose vigor is only strengthened and beauty
developed by her blooming heir.

It was Sunday, and whoever on such a day, while the bells are ringing,
wanders in Holland over sunny paths, through flowery meadows where
countless cattle, woolly cheep, and idle horses are grazing, meeting
peasants in neat garments, peasant women with shining gold ornaments
under snow-white lace caps, citizens in gay attire and children released
from school, can easily fancy that even nature wears a holiday garb and
glitters in brighter green, more brilliant blue, and more varied
ornaments of flowers than on work-days.

A joyous Sunday mood doubtless filled the minds of the burghers, who
to-day were out of doors on foot, in large over-crowded wooden wagons,
or gaily-painted boats on the Rhine, to enjoy the leisure hours of the
day of rest, eat country bread, yellow butter, and fresh cheese, or drink
milk and cool beer, with their wives and children.

The organist, Wilhelm, had long since finished playing in the church, but
did not wander out into the fields with companions of his own age, for he
liked to use such days for longer excursions, in which walking was out of
the question.

They bore him on the wings of the wind over his native plains, through
the mountains and valleys of Germany, across the Alps to Italy.  A spot
propitious for such forgetfulness of the present and his daily
surroundings, in favor of the past and a distant land, was ready.  His
brothers, Ulrich and Johannes, also musicians, but who recognized
Wilhelm's superior talent without envy and helped him develop it, had
arranged for him, during his stay in Italy, a prettily-furnished room in
the narrow side of the pointed roof of the house, from which a broad door
led to a little balcony.  Here stood a wooden bench on which Wilhelm
liked to sit, watching the flight of his doves, gazing dreamily into the
distance or, when inclined to artistic creation, listening to the
melodies that echoed in his soul.

This highest part of the house afforded a beautiful prospect; the view
was almost as extensive as the one from the top of the citadel, the old
Roman tower situated in the midst of Leyden.  Like a spider in its web,
Wilhelm's native city lay in the midst of countless streams and canals
that intersected the meadows.  The red brick masonry of the city wall,
with its towers and bastions, washed by a dark strip of water, encircled
the pretty place as a diadem surrounds a young girl's head; and like a
chaplet of loosely-bound thorns, forts and redoubts extended in wider,
frequently broken circles around the walls.  The citizens' herds of
cattle grazed between the defensive fortifications and the city wall,
while beside and beyond them appeared villages and hamlets.

On this clear April day, looking towards the north, Haarlem lake was
visible, and on the west, beyond the leafy coronals of the Hague woods,
must be the downs which nature had reared for the protection of the
country against the assaults of the waves.  Their long chain of hillocks
offered a firmer and more unconquerable resistance to the pressure of the
sea, than the earthworks and redoubts of Alfen, Leyderdorp and
Valkenburg, the three forts situated close to the banks of the Rhine,
presented to hostile armies.  The Rhine!  Wilhelm gazed down at the
shallow, sluggish river, and compared it to a king deposed from his
throne, who has lost power and splendor and now kindly endeavors to
dispense benefits in little circles with the property that remains.  The
musician was familiar with the noble, undivided German Rhine; and often
followed it in imagination towards the south but more often still his
dreams conveyed him with a mighty leap to Lake Lugano, the pearl of the
Western Alps, and when he thought of it and the Mediterranean, beheld
rising before his mental vision emerald green, azure blue, and golden
light; and in such hours all his thoughts were transformed within his
breast into harmonies and exquisite music.

And his journey from Lugano to Milan!  The conveyance that bore him to
Leonardo's city was plain and overcrowded, but in it he had found
Isabella.  And Rome, Rome, eternal, never-to-be-forgotten Rome, where so
long as we dwell there, we grow out of ourselves, increase in strength
and intellectual power, and which makes us wretched with longing when it
lies behind us.

By the Tiber Wilhelm had first thoroughly learned what art, his glorious
art was; here, near Isabella, a new world had opened to him, but a sharp
frost had passed over the blossoms of his heart that had unfolded in
Rome, and he knew they were blighted and could bear no fruit--yet to-day
he succeeded in recalling her in her youthful beauty, and instead of the
lost love, thinking of the kind friend Isabella and dreaming of a sky
blue as turquoise, of slender columns and bubbling fountains, olive
groves and marble statues, cool churches and gleaming villas, sparkling
eyes and fiery wine, magnificent choirs and Isabella's singing.

The doves that cooed and clucked, flew away and returned to the cote
beside him, could now do as they chose, their guardian neither saw nor
heard them.

Allertssohn, the fencing-master, ascended the ladder to his watch-tower,
but he did not notice him until he stood on the balcony by his side,
greeting him with his deep voice.

"Where have we been, Herr Wilhelm?"  asked the old man.  "In this cloth-
weaving Leyden?  No!  Probably with the goddess of music on Olympus, if
she has her abode there."

"Rightly guessed," replied Wilhelm, pushing the hair back from his
forehead with both hands." I have been visiting her, and she sends you a
friendly greeting."

"Then offer one from me in return," replied the other, "but she usually
belongs to the least familiar of my acquaintances.  My throat is better
suited to drinking than singing.  Will you allow me?"

The fencing-master raised the jug of beer which Wilhelm's mother filled
freshly every day and placed in her darling's room, and took a long pull.
Then wiping his moustache, he said:

That did me good, and I needed it.  The men wanted to go out pleasuring
and omit their drill, but we forced them to go through it, Junker von
Warmond, Duivenvoorde and I.  Who knows how soon it may be necessary to
show what we can do.  Roland, my fore man, such imprudence is like a
cudgel, against which one can do nothing with Florentine rapiers, clever
tierce and quarto.  My wheat is destroyed by the hail."

"Then let it he, and see if the barley and clover don't do better,"
replied Wilhelm gaily, tossing vetches and grains of wheat to a large
dove that had alighted on the parapet of his tower.

"It eats, and what use is it?"  cried Allertssohn, looking at the dove.
"Herr von Warmond, a young man after God's own heart, has just brought me
two falcons; do you want to see bow I tame them?"

"No, Captain, I have enough to do with my music and my doves."

"That is your affair.  The long-necked one yonder is a queer-looking
fellow."

"And of what country is he probably a native?  There he goes to join the
others.  Watch him a little while and then answer me."

"Ask King Soloman that; he was on intimate terms with birds."

"Only watch him, you'll find out presently."

"The fellow has a stiff neck, and holds his head unusually high."

"And his beak?"

"Curved, almost like a hawk's!  Zounds, why does the creature strut about
with its toes so far apart?  Stop, bandit!  He'll peck that little dove
to death.  As true as I live, the saucy rascal must be a Spaniard!"

"Right, it is a Spanish dove.  It flew to me, but I can't endure it and
drive it away; for I keep only a few pairs of the same breed and try to
get the best birds possible.  Whoever raises many different kinds in the
same cote, will accomplish nothing."

"That gives food for thought.  But I believe you haven't chosen the
handsomest species."

"No, sir.  What you see are a cross between the carrier and tumblers, the
Antwerp breed of carrier pigeons.  Bluish, reddish, spotted birds.
I don't care for the colors, but they must have small bodies and large
wings, with broad quills on their flag-feathers, and above all ample
muscular strength.  The one yonder stop, I'll catch him--is one of my
best flyers.  Try to lift his pinions."

"Heaven knows the little thing has marrow in its bones!  How the tiny
wing pinches; the falcons are not much stronger."

"It's a carrier-dove too, that finds its way alone."

"Why do you keep no white tumblers?  I should think they could be watched
farthest in their flight."

"Because doves fare like men.  Whoever shines very brightly and is seen
from a distance, is set upon by opponents and envious people, and birds
of prey pounce upon the white doves first.  I tell you, Captain, whoever
has eyes in his head, can learn in a dove-cote how things come to pass
among Adam and Eve's posterity on earth."

"There is quarrelling and kissing up here just as there is in Leyden."

"Yes, exactly the same, Captain.  If I mate an old dove with one much
younger, it rarely turns out well.  When the male dove is in love, he
understands how to pay his fair one as many attentions, as the most
elegant gallant shows the mistress of his heart.  And do you know what
the kissing means?  The suitor feeds his darling, that is, seeks to win
her affection by beautiful gifts.  Then the wedding comes, and they build
a nest.  If there are young birds, they feed them together in perfect
harmony.  The aristocratic doves brood badly, and we put their eggs under
birds of more ordinary breed."

"Those are the noble ladies, who have nurses for their infants."

"Unmated doves often make mischief among the mated ones."

"Take warning, young man, and beware of being a bachelor.  I'll say
nothing against the girls who remain unmarried, for I have found among
them many sweet, helpful souls."

"So have I, but unfortunately some bad ones too, as well as here in the
dove-tote.  On the whole my wards lead happy married lives, but if it
comes to a separation--"

"Which of the two is to blame?"

"Nine times out of ten the little wife."

"Roland, my fore man, exactly as it is among human beings," cried the
fencing-master, clapping his hands.

"What do you mean by your Roland, Herr Allerts?  You promised me a short
time ago--but who is coming up the ladder?"

"I hear your mother."

"She is bringing me a visitor.  I know that voice and yet.  Wait.  It's
old Fraulein Van Hoogstraten's steward."

"From Nobelstrasse?  Let me go, Wilhelm, for this Glipper crew--"

"Wait a little while, there is only room for one on the ladder," said the
musician, holding out his hand to Belotti to guide him from the last rung
into his room.

"Spaniards and the allies of Spain," muttered the fencing-master, opened
the door, and called while descending the ladder: "I'll wait down below
till the air is pure again."

The steward's handsome face, usually smoothly shaven with the most
extreme care, was to-day covered with a stubbly beard, and the old man
looked sad and worn, as he began to tell Wilhelm what had occurred in his
mistress's house since the evening of the day before.

"Years may make a hot-tempered person weaker, but not calmer," said the
Italian, continuing his story.  "I can't look on and see the poor angel,
for she isn't far from the Virgin's throne, treated like a sick dog that
is flung out into the court-yard, so I got my discharge."

"That does you honor, but was rather out of place just now.  And has the
young lady really been carried to the damp room?"

"No, sir.  Father Damianus came and made the old excellenza understand
what the holy Virgin expected of a Christian, and when the padrona still
tried to carry out her will, the holy man spoke to her in words so harsh
and stern that she yielded.  The signorina is now lying in bed with
burning cheeks, raving in delirium."

"And who is attending the patient?"

"I came to you about the physician, my dear sir, for Doctor de Bout, who
instantly obeyed my summons, was treated so badly by the old excellenza,
that he turned his back upon her and told me, at the door of the house,
he wouldn't come again."

Wilhelm shook his head, and the Italian continued, "There are other
doctors in Leyden, but Father Damianus says de Bont or Bontius, as they
call him, is the most skilful and learned of them all, and as the old
excellenza herself had an attack of illness about noon, and certainly
won't leave her bed very speedily, the way is open, and Father Damianus
says he'll go to Doctor Bontius himself if necessary.  But as you are a
native of the city and acquainted with the signorina, I wanted to spare
him the rebuff he would probably meet from the foe of our holy Church.
The poor man has enough to suffer from good-for-nothing boys and
scoffers, when he goes through the city with the sacrament."

"You know people are strictly forbidden to disturb him in the exercise of
his calling."

"Yet he can't show himself in the street without being jeered.  We two
cannot change the world, sir.  So long as the Church had the upper hand,
she burned and quartered you, now you have the power here, our priests
are persecuted and scorned."

"Against the law and the orders of the magistrates."

"You can't control the people, and Father Damianus is a lamb, who bears
everything patiently, as good a Christian as many saints before whom we
burn candles.  Do you know the doctor?"

"A little, by sight."

"Oh, then go to him, sir, for the young lady's sake," cried the old man
earnestly.  "It is in your power to save a human life, a beautiful young
life."

The steward's eyes glittered with tears.  As Wilhelm laid his hand on his
arm, saying kindly: "I will try," the fencing-master called: "Your
council is lasting too long for me.  I'll come another time."

"No, Meister, come up a minute,  This gentleman is here on account of a
poor sick girl.  The poor, helpless creature is now lying without any
care, for her aunt, old Fraulein Van Hoogstraten, has driven Doctor de
Bont from her bed because he is a Calvinist."

"From the sick girl's bed?"

"It's abominable enough, but the old lady is now ill herself."

"Bravo, bravo!" cried the fencing-master, clapping his hands.  "If the
devil himself isn't afraid of her and wants to fetch her, I'll pay for
his post-horses.  But the girl, the sick girl?"

"Herr Belotti begs me to persuade de Bont to visit her again.  Are you on
friendly terms with the doctor?"

"I was, Wilhelm, I was; but--last Friday we had some sharp words about
the new morions, and now the learned demi-god demands an apology from me,
but to sound a retreat isn't written here--"

"Oh, my dear sir," cried Belotti, with touching earnestness.  "The poor
child is lying helpless in a raging fever.  If Heaven has blessed you
with children--"

"Be calm, old man, be calm," replied the fencing master, stroking
Belotti's grey hair kindly.  "My children are nothing to you, but we'll do
what we can for the young girl.  Farewell till we meet again, gentlemen.
Roland, my fore man, what shall we live to see!  Hemp is still cheap in
Holland, and yet such a monster has lived amongst us to be as old as a
raven."

With these words he went down the ladder.  On reaching the street, he
pondered over the words in which he should apologize to Doctor Bontius,
with a face as sour as if he had wormwood in his mouth; but his eyes and
bearded lips smiled.

His learned friend made the apology easy for him, and when Belotti came
home, he found the doctor by the sick girl's bed.




CHAPTER XI.

Frau Elizabeth von Nordwyk and Frau Van Bout had each asked the
burgomaster's wife to go into the country with them to enjoy the
beautiful spring day, but in spite of Barbara's persuasions, Maria
could not be induced to accept their invitation.

A week had elapsed since her husband's departure, a week whose days had
run their course from morning to evening as slowly as the brackish water
in one of the canals, intersecting the meadows of Holland, flowed towards
the river.

Sleep loves the couches of youth, and had again found hers, but with the
rising of the sun the dissatisfaction, anxiety and secret grief, that
slumber had kindly interrupted, once more returned.  She felt that it was
not right, and her father would have blamed her if he had seen her thus.

There are women who are ashamed of rosy cheeks, unrestrained joy in life,
to whom the emotion of sorrow affords a mournful pleasure.  To this class
Maria certainly did not belong.  She would fain have been happy, and left
untried no means of regaining the lost joy of her heart.  Honestly
striving to do her duty, she returned to little Bessie; but the child was
rapidly recovering and called for Barbara, Adrian or Trautchen, as soon
as she was left alone with her.

She tried to read, but the few books she had brought from Delft were all
familiar, and her thoughts, ere becoming fixed on the old volumes,
pursued their own course.

Wilhelm brought her the new motet, and she endeavored to sing it; but
music demands whole hearts from those who desire to enjoy her gifts, and
therefore melody and song refused comfort as well as pleasure to her,
whose mind was engrossed by wholly different things.  If she helped
Adrian in his work, her patience failed much sooner than usual.  On the
first market-day, she went out with Trautchen to obey her husband's
directions and make purchases and, while shopping at the various places
where different wares were offered--here fish, yonder meat or vegetables,
amid the motley crowd, hailed on every side by cries of: "Here, Frau
Burgermeisterin!  I  have  what  you want, Frau Burgermeisterin!" forgot
the sorrow that oppressed her.

With newly-animated self-reliance, she examined flour, pulse and dried
fish, making it a point of honor to bargain carefully; Barbara should see
that she knew how to buy.  The crowd was very great everywhere, for the
city magistrates had issued a proclamation bidding every household, in
view of the threatened danger, to supply itself abundantly with
provisions on all the market-days; but the purchasers made way for
the burgomaster's pretty young wife, and this too pleased her.

She returned home with a bright face, happy in having done her best, and
instantly went into the kitchen to see Barbara.

Peter's good-natured sister had plainly perceived how sorely her young
sister-in-law's heart was troubled, and therefore gladly saw her go out
to make her purchases.  Choosing and bargaining would surely dispel her
sorrows and bring other thoughts.  True, the cautious house-keeper, who
expected everything good from Maria except the capacity of showing
herself an able, clever mistress of the house, had charged Trautchen to
warn her mistress against being cheated.  But when in market the demand
is two or three times greater than the supply, prices rise, and so it
happened that when Maria told the widow how much she had paid for this or
that article, Barbara's "My child, that's perfectly unheard--of!"  or,
"It's enough to drive us to beggary," followed each other in quick
succession.

These exclamations, which under the circumstances were usually entirely
unjustifiable, vexed Maria; but she wished to be at peace with her
sister-in-law, and though it was hard to bear injustice, it was contrary
to her nature and would have caused her pain to express her indignation
in violent words.  So she merely said with a little excitement:

"Please ask what other ladies are paying, and then Scold, if you think it
right."

With these words she left the kitchen.

"My child, I'm not scolding at all," Barbara called after her, but Maria
would not hear, hastily ascended the stairs and locked herself into her
room.  Her joyousness had again vanished.

On Sunday she went to church.  After dinner she filled a canvas-bag with
provisions for Adrian, who was going on a boating excursion with several
friends, and then sat at the window in her chamber.

Stately men, among them many members of the council, passed by with their
gaily-dressed wives and children; young girls with flowers in their
bosoms moved arm in arm, by twos and threes, along the footpath beside
the canal, to dance in the village outside the Zyl-Gate.  They walked
quietly forward with eyes discreetly downcast, but many a cheek flushed
and many an ill-suppressed smile hovered around rosy lips, when the
youths, who followed the girls moving so decorously along, as gaily and
swiftly as sea-gulls flutter around a ship, uttered teasing jests, or
whispered into their ears words that no third party need hear.

All who were going towards the Zyl-Gate seemed gay and careless, every
face showed what joyous hours in the open air and sunny meadows were
anticipated.  The object that attracted them appeared beautiful and
desirable to Maria also, but what should she do among the happy, how
could she be alone amid strangers with her troubled heart?  The shadows
of the houses seemed especially dark to-day, the air of the city heavier
than usual, as if the spring had come to every human being, great and
small, old and young, except herself.

The buildings and the trees that bordered the Achtergracht were already
casting longer shadows, and the golden mists hovering over the roofs
began to be mingled with a faint rosy light, when Maria heard a horseman
trotting up the street.  She drew herself up.  rigidly and her heart
throbbed violently.  She would not receive Peter any differently from
usual, she must be frank to him and show him how she felt, and that
matters could not go on so, nay she was already trying to find fitting
words for what she had to say to him.  Just at that moment, the horse
stopped before the door.  She went to the window; saw her husband swing
himself from the saddle and look joyously up to the window of her room
and, though she made no sign of greeting, her heart drew her towards him.
Every thought, every fancy was forgotten, and with winged steps she flew
down the corridor to the stairs.  Meantime he had entered, and she called
his name.  "Maria, child, are you there!"  he shouted, rushed up the
steps as nimbly as a youth, met her on one of the upper stairs and drew
her with overflowing tenderness to his heart.

"At last, at last, I have you again!" he cried joyously, pressing his
lips to her eyes and her fragrant hair.  She had clasped her hands
closely around his neck, but he released himself, held them in his, and
asked: "Are Barbara and Adrian at home?"

She shook her head.

The burgomaster laughed, stooped, lifted her up like a child, and carried
her into his room.  As a beautiful tree beside a burning house is seized
by the neighboring flames, although immediately protected with cold
water, Maria, in spite of her long-cherished resolve to receive him
coolly, was overwhelmed by the warmth of her husband's feelings.  She
cordially rejoiced in having him once more, and willingly believed him,
as he told her in loving words how painfully he had felt their
separation, how sorely he had missed her, and how distinctly he, who
usually lacked the ability to remember an absent person, had had her
image before his eyes.

How warmly, with what convincing tones he understood how to give
expression to his love to-day!  She was still a happy wife, and showed
him that she was without reserve.

Barbara and Adrian returned home, and there was now much to tell at the
evening meal.  Peter had had many a strange experience on the journey,
and gained fresh hope, the boy had distinguished himself at school, and
Bessie's sickness might already be called a danger happily overcome.
Barbara was radiant with joy, for all seemed well between Maria and her
brother.

The beautiful April night passed pleasantly away.  When Maria was
braiding black velvet into her hair the next morning, she was full of
grateful emotion, for she had found courage to tell Peter that she
desired to have a larger share in his anxieties than before, and received
a kind assent.  A worthier, richer life, she hoped, would now begin.  He
was to tell her this very day what he had discussed and accomplished with
the Prince and at Dortrecht, for hitherto no word of all this had escaped
his lips.

Barbara, who was moving about in the kitchen and just on the point of
catching three chickens to kill them, let them live a little longer, and
even tossed half a handful of barley into their coop, as she heard her
sister-in-law come singing down-stairs.  The broken bars of Wilhelm's
last madrigal sounded as sweet and full of promise as the first notes of
the nightingale, which the gardener hears at the end of a long winter.
It was spring again in the house, and her pleasant round face, in its
large cap, looked as bright and unclouded as a sunflower amid its green
leaves, as she called to Maria:

"This is a good day for you, child; we'll melt down the butter and salt
the hams."

The words sounded as joyous as if she had offered her an invitation to
Paradise, and Maria willingly helped in the work, which began at once.
When the widow moved her hands, tongues could not remain silent, and the
conversation that had probably taken place between Peter and his wife
excited her curiosity not a little.

She turned the conversation upon him cleverly enough, and, as if
accidentally, asked the question:

"Did he apologize for his departure on the anniversary of your wedding-
day?"

"I know the reason; he could not stay."

"Of course not, of course not; but whoever is green the goats eat.  We
mustn't allow the men to go too far.  Give, but take also.  An injustice
endured is a florin, for which in marriage a calf can be bought."

"I will not bargain with Peter, and if anything weighed heavily on my
mind, I have willingly forgotten it after so long a separation."

"Wet hay may destroy a barn, and any one to whom the hare runs can catch
him!  People ought not to keep their troubles to themselves, but tell
them; that's why they have tongues, and yesterday was the right time to
make a clean breast of everything that grieves you."

"He was in such a joyous mood when he came home, and then: Why do you
think I feel unhappy?"

"Unhappy.  Who said so?"

Maria blushed, but the widow seized the knife and opened the hen-coop.

Trautchen was helping the two ladies in the kitchen, but she was
frequently interrupted in her work, for this morning the knocker on the
door had no rest, and those who entered must have brought the burgomaster
no pleasant news, for his deep, angry voice was often audible.

His longest discussion was with Herr Van Hout, who had come to him, not
only to ask questions and tell what occurred, but also to make
complaints.

It was no ordinary spectacle, when these two men, who, towering far above
their fellow-citizens, not only in stature, but moral earnestness and
enthusiastic devotion to the cause of liberty, declared their opinions
and expressed their wrath.  The inflammable, restless Van Hout took the
first part, the slow, steadfast Van der Werff, with mighty
impressiveness, the second.

A bad disposition ruled among the fathers of the city, the rich men of
old families, the great weavers and brewers, for to them property, life