The Quest

VII

It was, indeed, a real lion's tail, and not a bed-cord.

Johannes and Wistik were now sitting on the very back of the mighty beast. Above them it was all dark, but out in front – away where the lion was looking – the daylight could be seen.

They let themselves down cautiously to the ground. They were in a large cave. Johannes saw streaks of water glistening along the rocky walls.

Gently as they tried to slip past the monster, he yet discovered them, and turned his shaggy head around, watching them distrustfully.

"He will not do anything," said Wistik. And the lion looked at them as if they were a pair of flies, not worth eating up.

They passed on into the sharp sunlight outside, and, after several blinding moments, Johannes saw before him a wide-spread, glorious mountain view.

They were standing on the slope of a high, rocky mountain. Down below, they saw deep, verdant valleys, whence the sound of babbling brooks and waterfalls ascended.

In the distance was the dazzling, blinding glitter of sunshine upon a sea of deepest, darkest blue. They could see the strand, and every now and then it grew white with the combing surf. But there was no sound; it was too far away.

Overhead, the sky was clear, but Johannes could not see the face of the sun. It was very still all around, and the blue and white flowers among the rocks were motionless. Only the rushing of the water in the valleys could be heard.

"Now, Johannes, what do you say to this? It is more beautiful than the dunes, is it not?" said Wistik, nodding his head in complete satisfaction.

Johannes was enchanted at the sight of that vast expanse before him, with the rocks, the flowers, the ravines, and the sea.

"Oh, Wistik, where are we?" asked he, softly, enraptured with the view.

"My new cap came from here," said Wistik.

Johannes looked at him. The pretty cap that had appeared black in the twilight proved to be bright red. It was a Phrygian cap.

"Phrygia?" asked Johannes, for he knew the name of those caps well.

"Maybe," said Wistik. "Is not this a great find? And I know, too…" Here he spoke in whispers again, very importantly, behind the back of his hand, in Johannes' ear: "Here they know something more about the little gold key, and the book, which we are both trying to find."

"Is the book here?" asked Johannes.

"I do not know yet," said Wistik, a trifle disturbed. "I did not say that, but the people know about it – that is certain."

"Are there people here?"

"Certainly there are. Human beings, and elves, and all kinds of animals. And they know all about it."

"Is Windekind here, too, Wistik?"

"I do not doubt it, Johannes, but I have not seen him yet. Shall we try to find him?"

"Oh, yes, Wistik! But how are we going to get down there? It is too steep. We shall break our necks."

"No, indeed, if only you are not afraid. Just let yourself float. Then you will be all right."

At first Johannes did not dare. He was wide awake, not dreaming; and if any one wide awake were to throw himself down from a high rock, he would meet his death. If one were dreaming, then nothing would happen. If only he could know, now, whether he was awake or dreaming!

"Come, Johannes, we have only a little time."

Then he risked it, and let himself drift downward. And it was splendid – so comfortable! He floated gently down through the mild, still air, arms and legs moving as in swimming.

"Is it only a dream, then?" he asked, looking down attentively at the beautiful, blooming world below him.

"What do you mean?" asked Wistik. "You are Johannes, just the same, and what you see, Johannes sees. Your body lies asleep, in Vrede-best, at your aunt's. But did you ever in the daytime see anything so distinct as this?"

"No," said Johannes.

"Well, then, you can just as well call your Aunt Seréna and Vrede-best a dream – just as much as this."

A large bird – an eagle – swept around in stately circles, spying at them with its sharp, fierce eyes.

Below, in the dark green of the valley, a small white temple, with its columns, was visible. Close beside it a mountain stream tumbled splashing down below. Still and straight as arrows, tall cypresses, with their pale grey trunks and black-green foliage, encircled it. A fine mist rose up from the splashing water, and, crowned with an exquisite arc of color, remained suspended amidst the glossy green myrtle and magnolia. Only where the water spattered did the leaves stir; elsewhere everything was motionless.

But over all rang the warbling and chattering of birds, from out the forest shade. Finches sang their fullest strains, and the thrushes fluted their changeful tune, untiringly.

But listen! That was not a bird! That was a more knowing, more cordial song; a melody that said something – something which Johannes could feel, like the words of a friend. It was a reed, played charmingly. No bird could sing like that.

"Oh, Wistik, who is playing? It is more lovely than blackbird or nightingale."

"Pst!" said Wistik, opening his eyes wide. "That is only the flute, yet. By and by you will hear the singing."

They sank down upon a mountain meadow, in a wide valley. The limpid, blue-green rivulet flowed through the sunny grass-plot, between blood-red anemones, yellow and white narcissi, and deep purple hyacinths. On both sides of it were thick, round azalea-bushes, entirely covered with fragrant, brick-red flowers. White butterflies were fluttering back and forth across it. On the other side rose tall laurel, myrtle, olive, and chestnut trees; and still higher the cedars and pines – half-way up the mountain wall of red-grey granite.

It was so still and peaceful and great blue dragon-flies with black wings were rocking on the yellow narcissus flowers nodding along the stream.

Then Johannes saw a fleeing deer, springing up from the sod in swift, sinewy leaps; then another, and another.

The flute-playing sounded close by, but now there was singing also. It came from a shady grove of chestnut trees, and echoed gloriously from mountain-side to mountain-side, while the brook maintained the rhythm with its purling, murmuring flow. The voices of men and women could be heard, vigorously strong and sweetly clear; and, intermingling with these somewhat rude shouts of joy, the high-pitched voices of children.

On they came, the people, a joyous, bright-colored procession. They all bore flowers – as wreaths upon their heads, as festoons in their hands or about their shoulders-flute-players, men, women, and children. And they themselves seemed living flowers, in their clear-colored, charming apparel. They all had abundant, curling hair which gleamed like dull gold in the sunshine, that tinted everything. Their limbs and faces were tanned by the sun, but when the folds of their garments fell aside, their bodies beneath them shone white as milk. The older ones kept step, with careful dignity; the children bore little baskets, with fruit, ribbons, and green branches; but the young men and maidens danced as they went, keeping the rhythm of the music in a way Johannes had never seen before. They swayed their bodies in a swinging movement, with little leaps; sometimes even standing still, in graceful postures, their arms alternately raised above their heads, their loosened garments flowing free, and again arranging themselves in charming folds.

And how beautiful they were! Not one, Johannes noted, old or young, who had not those noble, refined features, and those clear, ardent eyes, in which was to be found the deep meaning he was always seeking in human faces – that which made a person instantly his friend – that made him long to be cordial and intimate – that which he had first perceived in Windekind's eyes, and that he missed so keenly in all those human faces among which he had had to live. That, they all had – man and woman, grey-haired one and little child.

"Oh, Wistik," he whispered, so moved he could scarcely speak, "are they really human beings, and not elves? Can human beings be so beautiful? They are more beautiful than flowers – and much more beautiful than the animals. They are the most beautiful of all things in this world!"

"What did I tell you?" said Wistik, rubbing his little legs in his satisfaction. "Yes, human beings rank first in nature, – altogether first. But until now we have had to do with the wrong ones – the trash, Johannes – the refuse. The right ones are not so bad. I have always told you that."

Johannes did not remember about it, but would not contradict his friend. He only hoped that those dear and charming people would come to him, recognize him as their comrade, and receive him as one of them. That would make him very happy; he would love the people truly, and be proud of his human nature.

But the splendid train drew near, and passed on, without his having been observed by any one; and Johannes also heard them singing in a strange, unintelligible language.

"May I not speak to them?" he asked, anxiously. "Would they understand me?"

"Indeed, no!" said Wistik, indignantly. "What are you thinking about? This is not a fairy tale nor a dream. This is real – altogether real."

"Then shall I have to go hack again to Aunt Seréna, and Daatje, and the dominie?"

"Yes, to be sure!" said Wistik, in confusion.

"And the little key, and the book, and Windekind?"

"We can still be seeking them."

"That is always the way with you!" said Johannes, bitterly. "You promise something wonderful, and the end is always a disappointment."

"I cannot help that," said Wistik.

They went farther, both of them silent and somewhat discouraged. Then they came to human habitations amid the verdure. They were simple structures of dark wood and white stone, artistically decorated and colored. Vines were growing against the pillars, and from the roofs hung the branches of a strange, thickly leaved plant having red flowers, so that the walls looked as if they were bleeding. Birds were everywhere making their nests, and little golden statues could be seen resting in marble niches. There were no doors nor barriers – only here and there a heavy, many-colored rug hanging before an entrance. It seemed very silent and lonely there, for everybody was away; yet nothing was locked up, nor concealed. An exquisite perfume was smoldering in bronze basins in front of the houses, and columns of blue smoke coiled gently up into the still air.

Then they ventured farther into the forest that lay behind the houses. It was dusky twilight there, and all was solemnly and mysteriously silent. The moss grew thick upon the massive rocks between which the mighty chestnut and cedar trees took root. Foaming rivulets were flowing down; and frequently it seemed to Johannes as if he saw some creature – a deer or other animal – peep at him, and then dart away between the tree-trunks. "What are they? Deer?" asked Johannes.

"Indeed, no!" said Wistik, lifting a finger. "Only listen! They are laughing. Deer do not laugh."

Truly, Johannes heard every now and then, as he saw a figure disappear in the twilight of the woods, a soft peal of laughter – clearly, human laughter.

"Now! now we are going to see him!" said Wistik.

"Who?" asked Johannes.

"Pst!" said Wistik, very mysteriously, pointing toward an open place in the forest.

Johannes saw there such a pretty and captivating spectacle that he stood speechless, with only a light laugh of joy and amazement.

The forest was more open there, and the sun shone in upon a grassy, flower-covered spot. In the centre stood a single, extraordinarily large chestnut tree. About its foot, bordered with white narcissi, a little stream of purest water was winding. On every side tall rhododendrons stood out in all their beauty of dark foliage, and hundreds of hemispherical clusters of purple flowers.

At the foot of the tree, in the shade of its leaves, a strange figure, dark and shaggy, was sitting in a circle of exquisite, fair-skinned beings. Johannes did not know what to think of them, they were so light and so delicate. And they lay in all sorts of graceful attitudes amid the tall grass and the narcissus flowers. They seemed to be human beings, but they were so small; and they were as white as the foam of the brook. Their long hair was so feathery light, it seemed to float about their heads in the motionless air.

In the centre sat the dark, shaggy figure, with his arms upon his knees, and his hands extended. He had a long, grey beard, an old, wrinkled, friendly face, large gold earrings, a wreath of leaves upon his head, a red flower-festoon adorned with living yellow butterflies about his shoulders, bare, brown arms, a deep, broad, hairy chest, and legs entirely covered with a growth of red-brown fleece. On each hand rested a bird – a finch – and each bird sang, in turn, his longest strain. Then the old figure laughed, and nodded his approval, and the fair little beings joined in the laugh. On his shoulder sat a squirrel, shucking chestnuts so that the shells fell upon his beard.

"Oh, Wistik!" cried Johannes, half laughing, half crying, with rapture, "I know who that is – I know him. That is Pan – Father Pan!"

"Very likely!" said Wistik, with a knowing look. "Now he will listen to us. Let's try!"

Diffidently, Johannes went nearer. At the first step he took in the open space, the little white nymphs sped apart in a trice – as swiftly and softly as if they had been turned into newts – and there was nothing to be heard save their light, mocking laughter, and a slight rustling in the dark shadow of the rhododendrons. The two finches flew away and the yellow butterflies, also, from their flower-festoon; and the squirrel shot into the tree – his little nails clattering as he went. But Pan remained sitting, with head bent forward, down-dropping hands, and peering, friendly eyes.

"I know you all right!" came from the wide mouth of Pan, while he nodded to Johannes, and looked at him with his large head a little to one side.

"Oh, Father Pan!" exclaimed Johannes, quivering with awe and suspense, "do you know me? Will you answer me? Tell me where we are, then!"

Continuing to nod in a quieting, affable manner, Pan replied: "Phrygia! Golden Era – to be sure!"

"And do you know Wistik, too? And Windekind? And do you know about the little key, and the book?"

"Wistik? Certainly! Would that I knew all, though! – You know how to ask questions, Vraagal. Know-all and Ask-all! A pretty pair you are!"

And Pan laughed heartily, showing his great white teeth in an astonishingly large mouth.

"But tell me, Father Pan! Who is Windekind?"

"My dearest dear! My darling, clever little son! That is who he is. We are two yolks of one egg, although I am old, rough, and shaggy, and he is sleek, and fine, and beautiful."

"Shall I ever see him again?"

"Why not? He comes here often; and you also like it here, do you not?"

"But Wistik said I could not stay."

"You cannot do so – now; but why could you not come back again sometime?"

"Could I?"

Pan's face took on a most amused, astonished look, and he puffed out his cheeks.

"You dear little Vraagal! Give me your hand." Johannes laid his small hand trustfully in the broad open palm. The large hand was dark and shaggy on the outside, but white, and smooth, and firm on the inside. "Do you not know that yet? Then let Father Pan make you happy with a word. Do not forget it, mind! Vraagal can do whatever he wills to do – everything– if he will only be patient! But tell me now, – how did you know me?"

"I have seen statues and engravings of you."

"Do I look like them?"

"No!" said Johannes. "I think you are much nicer. In the prints you look like the Devil."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Pan, raising his heavy hands above his head, and clapping them together. "That is who I am, Vraagal. They have made a devil of me, so as to drive people away. But do you believe, now, that I am bad? Give me your paddy again! And now the other one!"

This time Johannes laid both his own in Pan's two giant hands, and said: "I know who you are. You are good. You are Nature!"

"Hold your tongue, little hypocrite, with your conceited platitudes! Are you not ashamed of yourself?"

Johannes blushed deeply; tears fell from his eyes, and he wished he could sink out of sight. But Pan drew him up closer and stroked his cheek.

"Now, do not cry! It is not so bad. You have come, too, out of a dreary nest. I am not evil – neither is Wistik. Only trust us."

"I have told him that, too," said Wistik, earnestly and emphatically.

"Little Vraagal," continued Pan, looking very serious, "there is, indeed, an evil Devil, but he is far more ugly than I am. Is it not so, Wistik? You know him. Is he not much uglier? Tell us!"

Johannes never forgot the look on Wistik's face as Father Pan asked him this in a loud voice, with a keen, serious regard. The little fellow grew as pale as death, his mouth dropped open, he pressed both hands upon his stomach, and from his trembling lips came the almost inaudible word: "Horrible!"

"Oh, indeed!" said Pan. "Well, I am not that. Sometime Wistik must point him out to you. He looks much more like those foolish people you have just come from than like me."

"Aunt Seréna?" asked Johannes, astounded. "Is she, then, not good and first-rate? Is she a foolish person?"

"Now, now, you dear little Vraagal!" said Pan, in palliation. "Everything is relative. But it is a fact that she looks more like the Devil than I do."

"How can that be?" asked Johannes, in amazement.

Pan grew a little impatient. "Does that puzzle you? Then ask her to show you the little tree she has in her safe, with the golden apples growing on it. Do not forget!"

"Good, good!" shouted Wistik, clapping his hands with delight.

At this moment there came suddenly from the distance an alarming sound – a short, hoarse, resounding roar that echoed through the forest.

"The lion!" cried Wistik; and away he went, as fast as he could run.

Johannes also was greatly frightened. He knew it was time to leave, but he would not go quite yet. He asked, imploringly:

"Father Pan, shall I find the book?"

"Remember what I said to you," replied Pan. "Vraagal can do what Vraagal wills to do. To will is to do. But it must be the right sort of will."

Again that frightful roar resounded, this time much nearer. Johannes stretched out his hand, hesitating between his mounting fears, and his desire to make use of an instant more.

"One more question!" he cried. "Who is Markus?"

At that, he saw Pan's eyes distend, and stare at him with a look full of intense emotion. He seemed as fiercely sorrowful as a wounded animal; and, until now, Johannes had not observed what beautiful great eyes he had. He lifted up his outspread hands – then covered his face with them, and began to weep and wail, loudly. The air grew dense and dark, and a heavy shower descended.

Then, for the third time, the lion roared…

VIII

"It's a downright shame!" said Daatje, snappishly, while unfastening the third shutter, which opened with a shriek and a rumble. "Half past-nine – on Saturday, at that – and the room to be tidied up! You'll catch it from Aunt Seréna. Half-past nine! It's a downright shame!"

Johannes was not pleased with this familiarity, as if he were still a mere child; and, in a rebellious spirit, without quite understanding his own object, he muttered: "This thing's got to end."

With Aunt Seréna, disapproval was expressed in a manner very different from that in a kermis-wagon. There was no swearing, nor scolding, nor any din; and no cooking utensils flew out of the window.

But Aunt Seréna would grow a little paler, her fine face become cold and severe like marble, and the very few words that fell from her lips would be short and spoken in a soft, low voice. She knew how, though, to make one so uncomfortable in this way, that he would rather she had thrown a piece of the tea-set at his head.

Johannes, however, neither felt, nor evinced, any remorse. On the contrary, he assumed an independent bearing. He was not saucy, but wonderfully indifferent; neither was he morose, but cheerful and obliging; for his thoughts were full of that beautiful land and its noble people, and of his good Father Pan. Aunt Seréna, herself, felt a little disconcerted.

That evening the circle of lady friends came in full force. There was Juffrouw Frederike – called Free – tall and bowed, with her grey hair in a net. There was Pietekoo, who was always laughing, and saying flattering things, but who could, also, show a tart side upon occasion. There was Suze, who had the name of being so musical, and who, pluming herself on that score, kept on taking piano lessons far on in her sixties though she was. There was the saintly Koos, who had once leaped into the water, in a religious frenzy, and who could repeat the sermons, word for word. There was the quiet Neeltje, a bit round-shouldered, and very negligent in her dress, who never said anything, and was always being teased about suitors. There was the widow Slot, who, in her deep voice, uttered short, sarcastic comments, mostly at the expense of poor Neeltje. There was Miebet, the beauty of the company, toward whom Johannes felt a special aversion. They all brought their hand-work, and were speedily deep in conversation. Johannes was greeted in a friendly way as "dear boy" and "good boy," but, after that, as always, was left in peace.

It did seem, listening to their conversation, as if love and meekness reigned undisturbed in their hearts. It was an uninterrupted competition in generosity, each striving to be foremost in helping the others to the footstools, the cozy places, and the various delicacies. Miebet said that she had only one defect – this one, that she always thought of others first, and herself last. From this single defect one could perceive, by comparison, the nature and number of her virtues. To the saintliness of Koos, according to her own testimony, even Daatje and Aunt Seréna would have to yield precedence. She could repeat, word for word, the long, closing prayer of the previous Sunday, and stood alone in this proficiency. Johannes noticed that she could neither read nor write, nor even tell the time, but cunningly contrived to hide her ignorance. Juffrouw Frederike, who was wont to enumerate the excruciating pains that her poor health inflicted upon her, was not silent concerning the heavenly patience with which she endured these trials, and the indifference of the world toward her sufferings.

At seven o'clock came the dominie. He was greeted respectfully, and with a tender solicitude, while he made interested and condescending inquiries after health and circumstances. Also, he admired and praised the products of womanly industry, deducing therefrom weighty and forceful morals that were listened to in thoughtful silence.

Johannes had received a cold, limp hand-shake. He felt that he had been a long time in disfavor. Neither had Aunt Seréna's stiffness relaxed, and she looked at him now and then, restlessly, as if wishing and expecting that he would show signs of repentance or submissiveness. And it seemed as if the entire circle concerned themselves less about him than ever.

He sat still in his corner, turning the leaves of his penny magazine, his little heart brave and not at all disquieted. But he did not see much of the engravings, and felt more than at other times constrained to listen to the talking.

Then, while all gave quiet attention, Aunt Seréna began an enumeration of all the petty trifles and knick-knacks which had been brought together this time for the "tombola": "three napkin-rings, two corner-brackets, one waste-paper basket worked with worsted, seven anti-macassars, a knitting-needle holder, two sofa-pillows, one lamp-shade, the beautiful fire-screen made by Free, two picture-frames, four pin-cushions, one needle-book, one patchwork quilt, one pair of slippers, by Miebet, one reticule, one painted teacup, two flower-pieces made of bread, one cabinet of shells, one straw thread-winder, seventeen book-marks, eight pen-wipers, one small postage-stamp picture, two decorated cigar-cases, one ash-holder. That is all, I believe."

"Aunt Seréna," said Johannes, over the top of his penny magazine, "do you know what else you ought to count in?"

A moment of suspense followed. All eyes were turned upon him. Aunt Seréna looked surprised, but kindly inquisitive. The dominie suspected something, and his brows contracted.

"What, my dear boy!" asked Aunt Seréna.

"A couple of gold apples, from your little tree."

There followed a moment of subdued silence. Then Aunt Seréna, with a self-restrained but severe manner, asked:

"What tree do you mean, Johannes?"

"The little tree you have in your chest, with the gold apples growing on it."

Again silence, but all understood; that was clear. Pietekoo even tittered. The others exchanged significant glances. Aunt Seréna's pale face flushed perceptibly, and she shot a glance at the dominie over her spectacles. The dominie took the affair very calmly, gave Johannes a cold, disdainful look, as much as to say that he had all along had his measure, and then, while his eyes narrowed in a smile, he signified to Aunt Seréna, by a quieting motion of the hand, that she ought not to bestow any thought upon such a matter. Thereupon, with assumed unprejudice, and in a sprightly tone, he said:

"This is, indeed, a fine 'tombola'!"

But Aunt Seréna was not to be appeased in this way. She threw back her rustling, purple silk cap-strings with a nervous, trembling gesture (in her the betrayal of vehement emotion), and, standing up, motioned to Johannes to follow her into the vestibule.

Closing the door of the room behind her: "Johannes!" said she, in a voice not quite within control, "Johannes, I will not suffer this! To think of you making me appear ridiculous to others! For shame! And after all the good I thought to have done you! Ought you to have grieved your old aunt so? For shame, Johannes! It is mean and ungrateful of you!"

With a face almost as pale as that of his aunt, Johannes looked straight up into her glistening glasses. There were tears in her voice, and Johannes saw them appear from under the spectacles, and slowly trickle down along the delicate lines of her cheeks.

It was Johannes' turn, now, to feel badly. He was utterly confounded. Who was right – Father Pan or Aunt Seréna? In such straits was he that he would rather be running the streets at such a pace as never to get back again.

The street door stood ajar, the autumn day was drawing to its close in a melancholy twilight, and a drizzling rain was falling. Daatje was standing outside, talking with some one.

"Aunt Seréna," said Johannes, trying hard to control himself, "I know that I am wicked, but I really will be good —really– if only I knew…"

Just then there came from outside a sound which made him quiver with agitation. It thrilled through marrow and bone, and he felt his knees giving way. It was the sharp, rasping sound of steel being held against the whetstone; and through the door-crack he saw the glitter of that beautiful fountain of golden sparks.

It sounded to him like a blessed tidings – like the utterance of mercy to one condemned.

"That is Markus!" he cried, with heightened color and shining eyes.

Aunt Seréna went to the door and opened it. There, bowed over his work, stood Markus. Again, he was treading the wheel of the old cart, the one with the footboard. As before, the water was dripping from his old cap, down upon his faded raincoat. His face was sad, and there were deep lines about his mouth.

"Markus!" cried Johannes; and, springing forward, he threw his arms around him, and pressed his head caressingly against the wet clothing.

"For the love of Christ, Boy! What are you doing?" said Daatje. "What Romish freak is this?"

"Oh, Aunt Seréna!" cried Johannes. "May he not come indoors? He is so wet, and so tired! He is a good man – my best friend."

Daatje placed her arms akimbo, and stepped angrily in front of Aunt Seréna and the doorway.

"Now, I'll attend to that. The dear Lord preserve us! Such a dirty lout of a gypsy come into my clean marble hall! That's altogether too much!"

But Aunt Seréna, in that earnest tone which had always been a command for Daatje – admitting no oppositions – said: "Daatje, go back to the kitchen. I will settle this matter myself."

And turning toward Markus she asked: "Will you not come in and rest?"

Slowly straightening himself up, Markus replied: "I will, Madam." And he laid down his scissors, took off his cap, and walked in.

This time Daatje was disobedient, for she did not return to the kitchen, but remained, arms still akimbo, repeatedly shaking her head, surveying the intruder with horror – especially his feet, and the old coat which he hung upon the hat-rack. And, when Aunt Seréna actually let him out of the vestibule into the room itself, she tarried behind the unclosed door, anxiously listening.

Within the room a dead stillness ensued. The dominie's face took on an expression of utter amazement, while he lifted his eyebrows very high, and thrust out his pursed-up lips. Pietekoo tittered in her embarrassment, and then hid her face in her hands. The others looked, now with a puzzled mien at Markus, then in doubtful expectation at Aunt Seréna, with distrust at Johannes, with very expressive glances at one another, and finally, with pretended absorption in their hand-work. The silence was still unbroken.

"Will you take something?" asked Aunt Seréna.

"Yes, Madam, a bit of bread," said Markus, in his calm, gentle voice.

"Would you not rather have a glass of wine, and some cake?"

"No, Madam, if you will excuse me; I prefer common bread."

The dominie thought it time to intervene. He was stung by the censure conveyed in Markus' refusal.

"The Scripture teaches, my friend, that we should eat what is set before us, when we are guests."

"Do you take me for a theologian – or for an apostle?" asked Markus.

"He has the gift of gab," said Mevrouw Slot, in her coarse voice.

In those pure accents which held Johannes breathlessly attentive, Markus continued: "I will even sit at table with witches, but not necessarily eat of their food."