“Speak, Peter, speak, and do not torture me!” cried Maria, gazing anxiously into her husband’s face.  It could be no small matter, that induced the clear-headed, resolute man to utter such confused language.

The burgomaster summoned up his courage and began again: 

“You are right, it is useless to keep back what must be said.  We have determined at the town-hall to-day, to request the women and girls to leave the city.  The road to Delft is still open; day after to-morrow it may no longer be so, afterwards—­who can predict what will happen afterwards?  If no relief comes and the provisions are consumed, we shall be forced to open the gates to the enemy, and then, Maria, imagine what will happen!  The Rhine and the canals will grow crimson, for much blood will flow into them and they will mirror an unequalled conflagration.  Woe betide the men, tenfold woe betide the women, against whom the conqueror’s fury will then be directed.  And you, you—­the wife of the man who has induced thousands to desert King Philip, the wife of the exile, who directs the resistance within these walls.”

At the last words Maria had opened her large eyes wider and wider, and now interrupted her husband with the question:  “Do you wish to try how high my courage will rise?”

“No, Maria.  I know you will hold out loyally and would look death in the face as fearlessly as your sister did in Haarlem; but I, I cannot endure the thought of seeing you fall into the hands of our butchers.  Fear for you, terrible fear, will destroy my vigorous strength in the decisive hours, so the words must be uttered—­”

Maria had hitherto listened to her husband quietly; she knew what he desired.  Now she advanced nearer and interrupted him by exclaiming firmly, nay imperiously: 

“No more, no more, do you hear!  I will not endure another word!”

“Maria!”

“Silence it is my turn now.  To escape fear, you will thrust your wife from the house; fear, you say, would undermine your strength.  But will longing strengthen it?  If you love me, it will not fail to come—­”

“If I love you, Maria!”

“Well, well!  But you have forgotten to consider how I shall feel in exile, if I also love you.  I am your wife.  We vowed at the altar, that nothing save death should part us.  Have you forgotten it?  Have your children become mine?  Have I taught them, rejoiced to call myself their mother?  Yes, or no?”

“Yes, Maria, yes, yes, a hundred times yes!”

“And you have the heart to throw me into the arms of this wasting longing!  You wish to prevent me from keeping the most sacred of vows?  You can bring yourself to tear me from the children?  You think me too shallow and feeble, to endure suffering and death for the sacred cause, which is mine as well as yours!  You are fond of calling me your child, but I can be strong, and whatever may come, will not weep.  You are the husband and have the right to command, I am only the wife and shall obey.  Shall I go?  Shall I stay?  I await your answer.”