Barbara did not appear among the guests.  She had plenty to do in the kitchen.  Her white caps were now plaited with almost coquettish skill and care, and the firm, contented manner in which she ruled Trautchen and the two under maid-servants showed that everything was going on well in Peter’s house and business.  It was worth while to do a great deal for the guests upstairs.  Junker von Warmond was among them, and had been given the seat of honor between Doctor Grotius and Janus Dousa, the first trustee of the University, for he had become a great nobleman and influential statesman, who found much difficulty in getting time to leave the Hague and attend the banquet with his young assistant, Nicolas Van Wibisma.  He drank to Meister Aquanus as eagerly and gaily as ever, exclaiming: 

“To old times and our friend, Georg von Dornburg.”

“With all my heart,” replied the landlord.  “We haven’t heard of his bold deeds and expeditions for a long time.”

“Of course!  The fermenting wine is now clear.  Dornburg is in the English service, and four weeks ago I met him as a member of her British Majesty’s navy in London.  His squadron is now on the way to Venice.  He still cherishes an affectionate memory of Leyden, and sends kind remembrances to you, but you would never recognize in the dignified commander and quiet, cheerful man, our favorite in former days.  How often his enthusiastic temperament carried him far beyond us all, and how it would make the heart ache to see him brooding mournfully over his secret grief.”

“I met the Junker in Delft,” said Doctor Grotius.  “Such enthusiastic natures easily soar too high and then get a fall, but when they yoke themselves to the chariot of work and duty, their strength moves vast burdens, and with cheerful superiority conquers the hardest obstacles.”

Meantime Adrian, at a sign from his father, had risen and filled the glasses with the best wine.  The “hurrah,” led by the Burgomaster, was given to the Prince, and Janus Dousa followed it by a toast to the independence and liberty of their native land.

Van Hout devoted a glass to the memory of the days of trouble, and the city’s marvellous deliverance.  All joined in the toast, and after the cheers had died away, Aquanus said: 

“Who would not gladly recall the exquisite Sunday of October third; but when I think of the misery that preceded it, my heart contracts, even at the present day.”

At these words Peter clasped Maria’s hand, pressed it tenderly, and whispered: 

“And yet, on the saddest day of my life, I found my best treasure.”

“So did I!” she replied, gazing gratefully into his faithful eyes.

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