“She had everything when it was new,” she said to herself. “Jewels? What do I care for them! But the heart, the heart--how much love has she left in Peter’s heart?” She did not wish to do so, but constantly heard these words ringing in her ears, and was obliged to summon up all her self-control, to save herself from weeping. “If he would only come, if he would only come!” cried a voice in her tortured soul. The door opened, but she did not notice it. Barbara crossed the threshold, and called her by her name in a tone of kindly reproach. Maria started and blushing deeply, said, “Please give me your hand; I should like to get down. I have finished. The dust was a disgrace.” When she again stood on the floor, the widow said, “What red cheeks you have! Listen, my dear sister-in-law, listen to me, child--!” Barbara was interrupted in the midst of her admonition, for the knocker fell heavily on the door, and Maria hurried to the window. The widow followed, and after a hasty glance into the street, exclaimed: “That’s Wilhelm Cornieliussohn, the musician. He has been to Delft. I heard it from his mother. Perhaps he brings news of Peter. I’ll send him up to you, but he must first tell me below what his tidings are. If you want me, you’ll find me with Bessie. She is feverish and her eyes ache; she will have some eruption or a fever.” Barbara left the room. Maria pressed her hands upon her burning cheeks, and paced slowly to and fro till the musician knocked and entered. After the first greeting, the young wife asked eagerly: “Did you see my husband in Delft?” “Yes indeed,” replied Wilhelm, “the evening of the day before yesterday.” “Then tell me--” “At once, at once. I bring you a whole pouch full of messages. First from your mother.” “Is she well?” “Well and bright. Worthy Doctor Groot too is hale and hearty.” “And my husband?” “I found him with the doctor. Herr Groot sends the kindest remembrances to you. We had musical entertainments at his home yesterday and the day be fore. He always has the latest novelties from Italy, and when we try this motet here--” “Afterwards, Herr Wilhelm! You must first tell me what my husband--” “The burgomaster came to the doctor on a message from the Prince. He was in haste, and could not wait for the singing. It went off admirably. If you, with your magnificent voice, will only--” “Pray, Meister Wilhelm?” “No, dear lady, you ought not to refuse. Doctor Groot says, that when a girl in Delft, no one could support the tenor like you, and if you, Frau von Nordwyk, and Herr Van Aken’s oldest daughter--” “But, my dear Meister!” exclaimed the burgomaster’s wife with increasing impatience, “I’m not asking about your motets and tabulatures, but my husband.” Wilhelm gazed at the young wife’s face with a half-startled, half-astonished look. Then, smiling at his own awkwardness, he shook his head, saying in a tone of good-natured repentance: