“Well and bright. Worthy Doctor Groot too is hale and hearty.”
“And my husband?”
“I found him with the doctor. Herr Groot sends the kindest remembrances to you. We had musical entertainments at his home yesterday and the day be fore. He always has the latest novelties from Italy, and when we try this motet here—”
“Afterwards, Herr Wilhelm! You must first tell me what my husband—”
“The burgomaster came to the doctor on a message from the Prince. He was in haste, and could not wait for the singing. It went off admirably. If you, with your magnificent voice, will only—”
“Pray, Meister Wilhelm?”
“No, dear lady, you ought not to refuse. Doctor Groot says, that when a girl in Delft, no one could support the tenor like you, and if you, Frau von Nordwyk, and Herr Van Aken’s oldest daughter—”
“But, my dear Meister!” exclaimed the burgomaster’s wife with increasing impatience, “I’m not asking about your motets and tabulatures, but my husband.”
Wilhelm gazed at the young wife’s face with a half-startled, half-astonished look. Then, smiling at his own awkwardness, he shook his head, saying in a tone of good-natured repentance:
“Pray forgive me, little things seem unduly important to us when they completely fill our own souls. One word about your absent husband must surely sound sweeter to your ears, than all my music. I ought to have thought of that sooner. So—the burgomaster is well and has transacted a great deal of business with the Prince. Before he went to Dortrecht yesterday morning, he gave me this letter and charged me to place it in your hands with the most loving greetings.”