“No, no; it is Margaret Brandt.”
“Oh blind! It is the Queen of Heaven.”
“No; only of Sevenbergen village.”
“Profane man! behold her crown!”
“Silly child! look at her red hair! Would the Virgin be seen in red hair? She who had the pick of all the colours ten thousand years before the world began.”
At this moment an anxious face was insinuated round the edge of the open door: it was their neighbour Peter Buyskens.
“What is to do?” said he in a cautious whisper. “We can hear you all across the street. What on earth is to do?”
“Oh, neighbour! What is to do? Why, here is the burgomaster blackening our Gerard.”
“Stop!” cried Van Swieten. “Peter Buyskens is come in the nick of time. He knows father and daughter both. They cast their glamour on him.”
“What! is she a witch too?”