"It is herself!" said Marjon, excited by her success. "And I've got ten gulden from the dark woman, who is not so bad as I thought she was."
Aunt Seréna received a cup of coffee, and was soon on good terms with the Roodhuis family.
In the same carriage that had brought her, Marjon and Johannes drove with her to the hospital. They were sure of success, now, relying upon Aunt Seréna's wealth.
But you will not be surprised to hear that they arrived too late—that the doorman, and the doctor on duty, gave them positive assurance that, for all the gold in the world, there could now be no question of burial—because no one could reassemble what had once been the body of their friend.
"Wretches!" muttered Marjon, as they went homeward. But Johannes cried out: "Oh, Marjon, Marjon, the time is not yet come for men to honor their kings."
There was mourning only in the dark alcove behind the drinking-room of the total-abstainers' coffee-house; but there the mourning, the sobbing and the sighing, were genuine.
Before going away, Aunt Seréna remarked:
"You see, the golden apples of my little tree were good for something, after all."