The time came at last when Adrian was allowed to leave his room, and as it chanced it fell to Elsa’s lot to attend him on this first journey downstairs.  In a Dutch home of the period and of the class of the Van Goorl’s, all the women-folk of whatever degree were expected to take a share in the household work.  At present Elsa’s share was to nurse to Adrian, who showed so much temper at every attempt which was made to replace her by any other woman, that, in face of the doctor’s instructions, Lysbeth did not dare to cross his whim.

It was with no small delight, therefore, that Elsa hailed the prospect of release, for the young man with his grandiose bearing and amorous sighs wearied her almost beyond endurance.  Adrian was not equally pleased; indeed he had feigned symptoms which caused him to remain in bed an extra week, merely in order that he might keep her near him.  But now the inevitable hour had come, and Adrian felt that it was incumbent upon him to lift the veil and let Elsa see some of the secret of his soul.  He had prepared for the event; indeed the tedium of his confinement had been much relieved by the composition of lofty and heart-stirring addresses, in which he, the noble cavalier, laid his precious self and fortune at the feet of this undistinguished, but rich and attractive maid.

Yet now when the moment was with him, and when Elsa gave him her hand to lead him from the room, behold! all these beautiful imaginings had vanished, and his knees shook with no fancied weakness.  Somehow Elsa did not look as a girl ought to look who was about to be proposed to; she was too cold and dignified, too utterly unconscious of anything unusual.  It was disconcerting—­but—­it must be done.

By a superb effort Adrian recovered himself and opened with one of the fine speeches, not the best by any means, but the only specimen which he could remember.

“Without,” he began, “the free air waits to be pressed by my cramped wings, but although my heart bounds wild as that of any haggard hawk, I tell you, fairest Elsa, that in yonder gilded cage,” and he pointed to the bed, “I——­”

“Heaven above us!  Heer Adrian,” broke in Elsa in alarm, “are you—­are you—­getting giddy?”

“She does not understand.  Poor child, how should she?” he murmured in a stage aside.  Then he started again.  “Yes, most adorable, best beloved, I am giddy, giddy with gratitude to those fair hands, giddy with worship of those lovely eyes——­”

Now Elsa, unable to contain her merriment any longer, burst out laughing, but seeing that her adorer’s face was beginning to look as it did in the dining-room before he broke the blood vessel, she checked herself, and said: 

“Oh!  Heer Adrian, don’t waste all this fine poetry upon me.  I am too stupid to understand it.”

“Poetry!” he exclaimed, becoming suddenly natural, “it isn’t poetry.”

“Then what is it?” she asked, and next moment could have bitten her tongue out.