Henrica gazed at the artist with a look of sympathy, and said with a softer tone in her musical voice:
“I am sorry for you, Meister. Your music pleases me; why should I deny it? In many passages it appeals to the heart, but how it will be spoiled in your churches! Your heresy destroys every art. The works of the great artists are a horror to you, and the noble music that has unfolded here in the Netherlands will soon fare no better.”
“I think I may venture to believe the contrary.”
“Wrongly, Meister, wrongly, for if your cause triumphs, which may the Virgin forbid, there will soon be nothing in Holland except piles of goods, workshops, and bare churches, from which even singing and organ-playing will soon be banished.”
“By no means, Fraulein. Little Athens first became the home of the arts, after she had secured her liberty in the war against the Persians.”
“Athens and Leyden!” she answered scornfully. “True, there are owls on the tower of Pancratius. But where shall we find the Minerva?”
While Henrica rather laughed than spoke these words, her name was called for the third time by a shrill female voice. She now interrupted herself in the middle of a sentence, saying:
“I must go. I will keep these notes.”
“You will honor me by accepting them; perhaps you will allow me to bring you others.”
“Henrica!” the voice again called from the stairs, and the young lady answered hastily: