"You are very kind, Madame Verhulst, but we breakfasted late just before starting.... Kors, have our horses been fed?" "Do not be afraid, _baezine_ Davie; Verhulst will see to that himself." Kors, who was more and more in love with his wife, presided at the men's end of the table; near him sat Odo and Freek Verhulst, who had formerly treated Rika so disdainfully. Kors, well shaven, rubicund, merry, and wearing a dark-blue smock-frock, looked lovingly and longingly in the direction of his wife. A savory smell filled the large room, the steam dimmed the copper ornaments on the chimney-piece, the crucifix, the candlesticks, the plates, which were formerly the pride of the cleanly Rika. At first the guests gravely and solemnly satisfied their hunger, without saying a word. Then came the bumpers to wash down the viands, for mealy Polder potatoes make one thirsty! As the tankards were re-filled, tongues were loosed, and jokes piquant as the waters of the Scheldt flew apace. Later, coffee, together with white bread and butter, sprinkled with currants, was served for the ladies. The men bestirred themselves unwillingly. Silently and solemnly they filled their pipes and smoked, while the old gossips and white-capped young girls chattered like magpies. The low-roofed houses of the village, which stand at the foot of the steeple pointing upward as the watchful finger of God, fade in the gathering twilight. Before the bugles and violins struck up in the Golden Swan, whither _baezine_ Davie was longing to go with her husband, the proud Rika took him by the arm and showed him round the Verhulsts's farm. After visiting the cowsheds, the stables, the pig-sties, and the dairy, they climbed to the garret where Rika used to sleep. The same little camp bed stood there, the same broken mirror, the solitary rickety stool. A feeling of emotion, mingled perhaps with remorse, overcame the pretty farmer's wife at sight of the familiar objects, and she threw herself into her husband's arms. The young farmer kissed her passionately over and over again. Rika sat on his knee with his arms around her, and they were oblivious to all save their love.... Below in the court-yard shrill voices called to them; it was time for the dances. "There is no need to hasten, is there, my Rika?" "Kors, my well-beloved," Rika said at last with a sigh, after a long and delicious silence, "do you not remember this room?" "What a strange question, little woman! you know this is the first time I have crossed the threshold!" "Are you certain?" She laughed, amused at his puzzled, half-angry, half good-natured look. "Have you ever lost anything, Kors?" she persisted. "Be done with riddles! Rather let us go and dance," replied Kors, relieved for the moment by the strident tones of the music, and the sound of dancing. _Houps! Lourelourela!_ Rich and poor joined in the dance, their figures outlined like black imps against the red windows of the Golden Swan.