“What magnificent piece of beef is this?” he asked the landlord.

“No less a personage than Frank Floris sketched it,” replied Aquanus.  “He once came here from Brussels and called on Meister Artjen.  The old man had gone out, so Floris took a bit of charcoal and drew these lines with it.  When Artjen came home and found the ox’s head, he stood before it a long time and finally exclaimed:  ‘Frank Floris, or the devil!’ This story—­But there comes the burgomaster.  Welcome, Meister Peter.  A rare honor.”

All the guests rose and respectfully greated Van der Werff; Georg started up to offer him his chair.  Peter sat down for a short time and drank a glass of wine, but soon beckoned to the Junker and went out with him into the street.

There he briefly requested him to go to his house, for they had an important communication to make, and then went to Van Hout’s residence, which was close beside the inn.

Georg walked thoughtfully towards the burgomaster’s.

The “they” could scarcely have referred to any one except Maria.  What could she want of him at so late an hour?  Had his friend regretted having offered him lodgings in her own house?  He was to move into his new quarters early next morning; perhaps she wished to inform him of this change of mind, before it was too late.  Maria treated him differently from before, there was no doubt of that, but surely this was natural!  He had dreamed of a different, far different meeting!  He had come to Holland to support the good cause of Orange, yet he would certainly have turned his steed towards his beloved Italy, where a good sword was always in demand, instead of to the north, had he not hoped to find in Holland her, whom he had never forgotten, for whom he had never ceased to long—­Now she was the wife of another, a man who had shown him kindness, given him his confidence.  To tear his love from his heart was impossible; but he owed it to her husband and his own honor to be strong, to resolutely repress every thought of possessing her, and only rejoice in seeing her; and this he must try to accomplish.

He had told himself all these things more than once, but realized that he was walking with unsteady steps, upon a narrow pathway, when she met him outside the dining-room and he felt how cold and tremulous was the hand she laid in his.

Maria led the way, and he silently followed her into Henrica’s room.  The latter greeted him with a friendly gesture, but both ladies hesitated to utter the first word.  The young man turned hastily, noticed that he was in the room overlooking the court-yard, and said, eagerly:  I was down below just before twilight, to look at my new quarters, and heard singing from this room, and such singing!  At first I didn’t know what was coming, for the tones were husky, weak, and broken, but afterwards—­afterwards the melody burst forth like a stream of lava through the ashes.  We ought to wish many sorrows to one, who can lament thus.”