"That is good!" said Wistik. "But do not be unmannerly—do not scold. That is hateful. But nevertheless, act, and learn compassion."
Johannes was now no longer afraid; he shouted for joy. Yes, he was bathed in tears of thankfulness and relief. Oh, the glorious blue sky!
"Now you know it, once for all," said Wistik.
Marjon's voice again in song. But this time very different—the air of one of her old songs merely hummed: a customary calling sound—a soft suppressed little tune. And thereupon followed a "tap, tap, tap," at his chamber door, to tell him that it was half-past eight and time to get up.
Fresh energy, a feeling of high spirits and courage, filled Johannes that day. At last he was going to act—to do something to end his difficulties.
First, he sought an opportunity to speak with Van Lieverlee. He went to brave him in his own rooms where he had never yet been. There he saw a confused medley of dissimilar things: some rare old pieces of furniture, and oriental rugs; a large collection of pipes and weapons; a few modern books; on the wall some picture-studies of which Johannes could not glean the meaning; some French posters picturing frivolous girls. With the same glance he saw mediæval prints of saints in ecstasy, and plaster casts of wanton women, and the heads of emaciated monks. There were images of Christ in hideous nakedness, and lithographs and casts so blood-curdling, crazy, and bizarre that they made Johannes think of his most frightful dreams.
"What are you here for?" asked Van Lieverlee tot Endegeest who, with an empty pipe in his mouth and a face full of displeasure, lay stretched out languidly on the floor.
"I have come to ask something," said Johannes, not exactly knowing how to begin.
"Not in the mood for it," drawled Van Lieverlee.