the writing-table to sign some papers intended for the town-hall; for his
return might be delayed till night.

Still standing, he looked over the two sheets he had spread out before
him, and seized the pen. Just at that moment the door of the room gently
opened, and the fresh sand strewn over the white boards creaked under
a light foot. He doubtless heard it, but did not allow himself to be
interrupted.

His wife was now standing close behind him. Four and twenty years his
junior, she seemed like a timid girl, as she raised her arm, yet did not
venture to divert her husband's attention from his business.

She waited quietly till he had signed the first paper, then turned her
pretty head aside, and blushing faintly, exclaimed with downcast eyes:

"It is I, Peter!"

"Very well, my child," he answered curtly, raising the second paper
nearer his eyes.

"Peter!" she exclaimed a second time, still more eagerly, but with
timidity. "I have something to tell you."

Van der Werff turned his head, cast a hasty, affectionate glance at her,
and said:

"Now, child? You see I am busy, and there is my hat."

"But Peter!" she replied, a flash of something like indignation