It was afternoon. Havelaar, coming out of his room, found Tine in the fore-gallery, waiting for him at the tea-table. Madam Slotering had just left her house, and seemed to have the intention of going to Havelaar’s, but suddenly she went to the gate, and there, with very violent gestures, sent back a man who had just entered. She remained standing still till she felt sure that he had gone away, and then returned along the grass-field to Havelaar’s.
“I will know at last what this means,” said Havelaar; and when the salutation was over he asked, jokingly, that she might not think he grudged her influence in grounds which formerly were hers:
“Now, Madam, do tell me why you always send back the men who come into the grounds. What if that man, for instance, had fowls to sell, or any other kitchen requisite?”
There was in the face of Madam Slotering a painful expression, which did not escape Havelaar’s observation. [[356]]
“Ah,” she said, “there are so many bad men.”
“Certainly, that is the case everywhere; but if you are so particular, the good ones will stay away too.—Come now, Madam, tell me why you keep such a sharp look-out over the grounds?”
Havelaar looked at her, and endeavoured in vain to read the reply in her watery eyes. He again pressed for an explanation, and the widow burst into tears, saying that her husband had been poisoned at Parang-Koodjang, in the house of the district chief.
“He would do justice, Mr. Havelaar!” continued the poor woman; “he wished to put an end to the oppression of the people. He exhorted and threatened the chiefs in councils and in writing; you must have found his letters in the archives.…”
That was the case: Havelaar had read those letters, of which I have copies before me.
“He spoke repeatedly to the Resident,” continued the widow, “but always in vain; for as it was generally known that the extortion was for and under the protection of the Regent, whom the Resident would not complain of to the Government, all these conversations had no other effect than the ill treatment of the complainants. Therefore my poor husband had said that if no alteration should be made before the end of the year, he would apply direct to the Governor-General. That was in November. A few days later he made a journey of inspection, took his dinner [[357]]at the house of the Demang of Parang-Koodjang, and soon afterwards was brought home in a pitiable condition. He cried, while pointing to his stomach, ‘Fire, fire,’ and in a few hours he was dead; he who had always been remarkable for good health.”