A titter runs through the room.

_"Ja, Men'eer,"_ says one of the women, "congratulations!
They are _lievelingen_--darlings!"

"Silence!" growls the commandant amiably. "None of your impudence,
you women. Look here! These two children--I want somebody to adopt
them, or at least to take care of them. I will pay for them. Their
names are Hendrik and--"

A commotion at the lower end of the room. A thin, dark little
woman is standing up, waving her piece of sewing like a flag, her
big eyes flaming with excitement.

"Stop!" she cries, hurrying and stumbling forward through the
crowd of women and girls. "Oh, stop a minute! They are mine--I lost
them--mine, I tell you--lost--mine!"

She reaches the head of the table and flings her arms around the
boy, crying: "My Hendrik!"

The boy hesitates a second, startled by the sudden wildness of
her caress. Then he presses his hot little face in her neck.

_"Lieve moeder!"_ he murmurs. "Where was you? I looked."

But the thin, dark little woman has fainted dead away.

The rest we will leave, as the wise commandant does, to the chief