The doctor mumbled a vague denial. Takma nodded his head. They sat very still, for a time. Yes, it was more than sixty years ago.... They all three saw it: the old man and the old woman saw it happening; and the doctor saw it as it had happened. He had understood and guessed, at once, and he had known, all those years long. Very many years ago he had been in love with Ottilie, he much younger than she, and there was a moment when he had called upon her to pay him the price of his knowledge.... He had buried all that in himself, but he saw it as it had happened.... It was more than sixty years ago.
"Come," said Takma, "it's time I went.... Else ... else it'll be too late...."
He rose with an effort and remembered that he had not torn up one letter to-day. That was not right, but the tearing tired his fingers. The doctor also arose and rang the bell twice, for the companion.
"We're going, juffrouw."
It was almost dark in the room.
"Good-bye, Ottilie," said Takma, pressing the mittened hand, which was raised an inch or two.
The doctor also pressed her hand:
"Good-bye, Ottilie.... Yes-yes-yes: till to-morrow or next day."
Mr. Takma found Ottilie Steyn de Weert waiting downstairs:
"You here still, child?"