XVII
Again they stood on the steps of the gloomy building—the three—Johannes, Marjon, and Keesje. It was a bleak day, and Keesje's thin little black face peeped out from under a thick shawl.
"Just go into the doctor's room, will you?" said the doorkeeper. "The doctor wishes to speak with you. The professor is there, also," he added, importantly. And when Marjon would have gone with them, he extended his hand as if to stay her, saying, "Pardon, but the lady and the little one weren't invited."
Without replying, Marjon turned round to Johannes and said, "Then I'll wait for you at the house. Will you come soon?"
In the tiresome, pompous quarters of the doctor, with its bookcases draped in green, its white gypsum busts of Galenus, Hippocrates, and other old physicians, sat two dark-coated gentlemen. They were vis-à-vis, each in an office-chair, and deep in conversation.
On the large writing-table lay several open books, and some shining white metal instruments for measuring and examining.
"Sit down, my friend," said Professor Bommeldoos, in his loud voice and brusque manner. "We all know one another, do we not? We have already made an examination together."
Johannes silently took a seat.