There was no answer.

"My God! my God!" shrieked the poor maid-servant. "My poor master is
dead."

"Ah!" said Madame Daatselaer, "your mistress has made a bad business of
it. Yesterday she had a living husband. Now she has a dead one."

But soon there was a vigorous rap on the inside of the lid, and a cry
from the prisoner:

"Open the chest! I am not dead, but did not at first recognize your
voice."

The lock was instantly unfastened, the lid thrown open, and Grotius arose
in his linen clothing, like a dead man from his coffin.

The dame instantly accompanied the two through a trapdoor into an upper
room.

Grotius asked her if she was always so deadly pale.

"No," she replied, "but I am frightened to see you here. My lord is no
common person. The whole world is talking of you. I fear this will
cause the loss of all my property and perhaps bring my husband into
prison in your place."

Grotius rejoined: "I made my prayers to God before as much as this had
been gained, and I have just been uttering fervent thanks to Him for my