The singers were ready early on the birthday morning, but Peter had risen before sunrise, for there was a proposition to be arranged with the city clerk, which must be completed before the meeting of the council.  Nothing was farther from his thoughts than his birthday, and when the singers in the dining-room commenced their madrigal, he rapped on the door, exclaiming: 

“We are busy; find another place for your singing.”  The melody was interrupted for a moment, and Barbara said: 

“People picking apples don’t think of fishing-nets.  He has no idea it is his birthday.  Let the children go in first.”

Maria now entered the study with Adrian and Bessie.  They carried bouquets in their hands, and the young wife had dressed the little girl so prettily that, in her white frock, she really looked like a dainty fairy.

Peter now knew the meaning of the singing, warmly embraced the three well-wishers, and when the madrigal began again, stood opposite to the performers to listen.  True, the execution was not nearly so good as at the rehearsal, for Maria sang in a low and somewhat muffled voice, while, spite of Wilhelm’s vehement beating of time, the warmth and verve of the day before would not return.

“Admirable, admirable,” cried Peter, when the singers ceased.  “Well planned and executed, a beautiful birthday surprise.”  Then he shook hands with each, saying a few cordial words and, as he grasped the Junker’s right hand, remarked warmly:  “You have dropped down on us from the skies during these bad days, just at the right time.  It is always something to have a home in a foreign land, and you have found one with us.”

Georg had bent his eyes on the floor, but at the last words raised them and met the burgomaster’s.  How honestly, how kindly and frankly they looked at him!  Deep emotion overpowered him, and without knowing what he was doing, he laid his hands on Peter’s arms and hid his face on his shoulder.

Van der Werff suffered him to do so, stroked the youth’s hair, and said smiling: 

“Like Leonhard, wife, just like our Leonhard.  We will dine together to-day.  You, too, Van Hout; and don’t forget your wife.”

Maria assigned the seats at the table, so that she was not obliged to look at Georg.  His place was beside Frau Van Hout and opposite Henrica and the musician.  At first he was silent and embarrassed, but Henrica gave him no rest, and when he had once begun to answer her questions he was soon carried away by her glowing vivacity, and gave free, joyous play to his wit.  Henrica did not remain in his debt, her eyes sparkled, and in the increasing pleasure of trying the power of her intellect against his, she sought to surpass every jest and repartee made by the Junker.  She drank no wine, but was intoxicated by her own flow of language and so completely engrossed Georg’s attention, that he found no time to address a word to the other guests.  If he attempted to do so, she quickly interrupted him and compelled him to turn to her again.  This constraint annoyed the young man; while struggling against it his spirit of wantonness awoke, and he began to irritate Henrica into making unprecedented assertions, which he opposed with equally unwarrantable ones of his own.