The Baroness took the volume, disturbing Plush.
“Yes,” she replied, as she turned over the pages. “It’s very nice. But I can’t help preferring my old friend, Johannot.”
“How unkind!” said the Baron, plaintively, “Johannot couldn’t be expected to illustrate everything, especially not the books that were written after he died.”
He turned to his son.
“I sha’n’t show it to you, Otto, for you’d only ask how much it cost.”
“Oh, don’t,” interposed the Baroness.
“And yet this is quite a bargain. Only 625 francs, and the binding by David.”
“My dear, I don’t care. Besides, I have forgotten already.”
“Lucky woman,” the Baron laughed. “I, at least, must remember till it’s paid. What’s the matter, Jan?”—this to a servant who appeared in the open door. “You can clear away the papers on the library floor.”
“There’s a poor woman at the kitchen entrance asking to see you, sir,” said the man. “She says you know all about her. Her name is Vrouw Klop, from the cottages by Horstwyk Mill.”