At least, he thought it was that way; and it was that way. But everyone in the parquet thought that the kiss had been intended for him. Folk of quality were annoyed at the insolence of the peasant wench; while more “sporty” persons returned the attention.
Soon hissing was heard. The news had leaked out that Princess Erika, the cousin of the king, had dressed in the national costume to show her affection for the people.
“Don’t you believe it, M’neer? I tell you that is Femke,” Walter assured him with tears in his eyes.
“No, no, my boy. That girl is not Femke.”
“But, she greeted me!”
“You saw the emperor greet her; and you know he would not salute a wash-girl.”
That was perhaps true; but it was hard for Walter to accept it. And, on the other hand, it was just as hard for him to believe that the princess was a cousin of the Holsmas.
Again he imagined that the girl was nodding to him and motioning her lips. It looked to him as if she said: “My brother!” Walter lisped the words after her and pressed both hands to his breast.
Yes, now he had it! They considered him a little daft and wanted to cure him of his fixed idea. That would explain the visit to the theatre and also Femke’s alleged unwillingness to come with Uncle Sybrand. But—how did she dare to interfere with the policeman? And the greeting from the emperor? And how did Holsma know that he had “denied” Femke, and that her presence could threaten his peace of mind?
“Oh, M’neer, let Femke sit here! I will be perfectly quiet. I am so afraid she will get hurt up there among those men.”