“Oh, oh!” cried the musician regretfully.  “It was going on so splendidly, and there were only a few bars more.”  But Maria was already standing at the door and made no reply, except: 

“To-morrow.”

The musician enthusiastically thanked Henrica for her singing; Georg courteously expressed his gratitude.  When both had taken leave, Henrica paced rapidly to and fro, passionately striking her clenched fist in the palm of her other hand.

The singers were ready early on the birthday morning, but Peter had risen before sunrise, for there was a proposition to be arranged with the city clerk, which must be completed before the meeting of the council.  Nothing was farther from his thoughts than his birthday, and when the singers in the dining-room commenced their madrigal, he rapped on the door, exclaiming: 

“We are busy; find another place for your singing.”  The melody was interrupted for a moment, and Barbara said: 

“People picking apples don’t think of fishing-nets.  He has no idea it is his birthday.  Let the children go in first.”

Maria now entered the study with Adrian and Bessie.  They carried bouquets in their hands, and the young wife had dressed the little girl so prettily that, in her white frock, she really looked like a dainty fairy.

Peter now knew the meaning of the singing, warmly embraced the three well-wishers, and when the madrigal began again, stood opposite to the performers to listen.  True, the execution was not nearly so good as at the rehearsal, for Maria sang in a low and somewhat muffled voice, while, spite of Wilhelm’s vehement beating of time, the warmth and verve of the day before would not return.

“Admirable, admirable,” cried Peter, when the singers ceased.  “Well planned and executed, a beautiful birthday surprise.”  Then he shook hands with each, saying a few cordial words and, as he grasped the Junker’s right hand, remarked warmly:  “You have dropped down on us from the skies during these bad days, just at the right time.  It is always something to have a home in a foreign land, and you have found one with us.”

Georg had bent his eyes on the floor, but at the last words raised them and met the burgomaster’s.  How honestly, how kindly and frankly they looked at him!  Deep emotion overpowered him, and without knowing what he was doing, he laid his hands on Peter’s arms and hid his face on his shoulder.

Van der Werff suffered him to do so, stroked the youth’s hair, and said smiling: 

“Like Leonhard, wife, just like our Leonhard.  We will dine together to-day.  You, too, Van Hout; and don’t forget your wife.”