"Maman Nelle sees straight into my heart," said she, sitting down near
the fire, and stitching away at a baby's cap, which she held in her
hand.

"Who could not see straight into the heart of a woman who is in love
with her husband, Riekje?" asked old Nelle.

As she spoke she took off the top of the stove and put the pot on the
fire, much to its delight, for it began to hiss like the rocket sent off
from the market-place the day before in honor of the election of a new
mayor. Then Nelle wetted her finger and snuffed the candles, and the
flame which had been flickering unsteadily at the end of the black wick
burned brightly again and lit up the little room with a beautiful quiet
light.

The room was very small and was something like a big cask cut in half,
with its curved wooden ceiling, and its stave-like wooden panels. A
coating of shiny, brown tar covered the walls; in places, especially
over the stove, it was black as ebony. The furniture consisted of a
table, two chairs, a chest which served as a bed, and near the chest a
white wooden box with two shelves. On these two shelves lay linen, caps,
handkerchiefs, women's dresses, and men's jackets, all smelling somewhat
of fish. In one corner hung the nets, together with tarred capes, boots,
oilskin hats, and enormous sheepskin gloves. Strings of onions encircled
a picture of the Virgin, and some twenty dried herrings with shining
bellies were strung by their gills on a thread under an enameled clock.

All this could be seen by the light of the two candles, whose flicker
made the shadows dance on the ceiling; but the fairest thing to see was
beautiful dark Riekje sitting near the fire. She had broad shoulders, a