Truus.
[Panting.] Are there tidings? Tidings of my little son? [Wild despair.] Ach, God! Ach, God; don’t make me unhappy, Meneer!——
Bos.
I’m sorry, Mrs. Stappers——
Marietje.
[Shrieking.] It can’t be! It can’t be! You lie!—It isn’t possible!——
Bos.
[Gently.] The Burgomaster at Nieuwediep has telegraphed the water bailiff. Barend Vermeer was washed ashore. You know what that means, and a hatch of the 47——
Truus.
[Loudly.] Oh, Mother Mary, must I lose that child, too? that lamb of twelve years! [With a whimpering cry.] Oh, oh, oh, oh! Oh, oh, oh, oh!—Pietje—Pietje——