olding at all," Barbara called after her, but Maria
would not hear, hastily ascended the stairs and locked herself into her
room. Her joyousness had again vanished.

On Sunday she went to church. After dinner she filled a canvas-bag with
provisions for Adrian, who was going on a boating excursion with several
friends, and then sat at the window in her chamber.

Stately men, among them many members of the council, passed by with
their gaily-dressed wives and children; young girls with flowers in
their bosoms moved arm in arm, by twos and threes, along the footpath
beside the canal, to dance in the village outside the Zyl-Gate. They
walked quietly forward with eyes discreetly downcast, but many a cheek
flushed and many an ill-suppressed smile hovered around rosy lips, when
the youths, who followed the girls moving so decorously along, as gaily
and swiftly as sea-gulls flutter around a ship, uttered teasing jests,
or whispered into their ears words that no third party need hear.

All who were going towards the Zyl-Gate seemed gay and careless, every
face showed what joyous hours in the open air and sunny meadows were
anticipated. The object that attracted them appeared beautiful and
desirable to Maria also, but what should she do among the happy, how
could she be alone amid strangers with her troubled heart? The shadows
of the houses seemed especially dark to-day, the air of the city heavier
than usual, as if the spring had come to every human being, great and
small, old and young, except herself.

The buildings and the trees that bordered the Achtergracht were already
casting longer shadows, and the golden mists hovering over the roofs
began to be mingled with a faint rosy light, when Maria heard a horseman
trotting up the street. She drew herself up rigidly and her heart
throbbed violently. She would not receive Peter any differently from
usual, she must be frank to him and show him how she felt, and that
matters could not go on so, nay she was already trying to find fitting
words for what she had to say to him. Just at that moment, the horse
stopped before the door. She went to the window; saw her husband swing
himself from the saddle and look joyously up to the window of her room
and, though she made no sign of greeting, her heart drew her towards
him. Every thought, every fancy was forgotten, and with winged steps she
flew down the corridor to the stairs. Meantime he had entered, and she
called his name. "Maria, ch