She raises her eyes.  There are tears in them, and through the tears a glance full of despair and reproach falls on Maurits.  She cannot understand; he insists upon going with an uncovered light into the powder magazine.  Then she turns to Uncle Theodore; but not with the shy, childish manner she had before, but with a certain nobleness, with something of the martyr, of an imprisoned queen.

“You are much too good to us,” she says only.

Thus is everything accomplished according to the demands of honor.  There is not another word to be said in the matter.  He has not robbed her of her faith in him whom she loves.  She has not betrayed herself.  She is faithful to him who has made her his betrothed, although she is only a poor girl from a little bakery in a back street.

And now the chaise can be brought up, the trunks be corded, the luncheon-basket filled.

Uncle Theodore leaves the table.  He goes and places himself by a window.  Ever since she has turned to him with that tearful glance he is out of his senses.  He is quite mad, ready to throw himself upon her, press her to his breast and call to Maurits to come and tear her away if he can.

His hands are in his pockets.  Through the clenched fists cramp-like convulsions are passing.

Can he allow her to put on her hat, to say goodbye to the old lady?

There he stands again on the cliff of Naxos and wishes to steal the beloved for himself.  Nor, not steal!  Why not honorably and manfully step forward and say:  “I am your rival, Maurits.  Your betrothed must choose between us.  You are not married; there is no sin in trying to win her from you.  Look well after her.  I mean to use every expedient.”

Then he would be warned, and she would know what alternative lay before her.

His knuckles cracked when he clenched his fists again.  How Maurits would laugh at his old uncle when he stepped forward and explained that!  And what would be the good of it?  Would he frighten her, so that he would not even be allowed to help them in the future?

But how will it go now when she approaches to say good-bye to him?  He almost screams to her to take care, to keep three paces away from him.

He remains at the window and turns his back on them all, while they are busy with their wraps and their luncheon-basket.  Will they never be ready to go?  He has already lived it through a thousand times.  He has taken her hand, kissed her, helped her into the chaise.  He has done it so many times that he believes she is already gone.

He has also wished her happiness.  Happiness—­Can she be happy with Maurits?  She has not looked happy this morning.  Oh yes, certainly she has.  She wept with joy.

While he is standing there Maurits suddenly says to Anne-Marie:  “What a dunce I am!  I am quite forgetting to speak to Uncle about father’s shares.”

“I think it would be best if you did not,” Downie answers.  “Perhaps it is not right.”