Holzert escorted the newly appointed ruler to his dwelling. For a considerable time both walked on in silence. At last the tailor spoke:
“Bloemstein,” he began, “if your Marieke is not to marry the Prussian doctor, ... in that case ... I’d like to have her. I always had a liking for the girl; but I couldn’t say anything; ... but now I’m Minister of the Interior, ... that sounds fine, eh? ... that’s something.... I think perhaps it might do.”
“Why, my good fellow, I’ve nothing against you. You always were a clever chap, and you’ve shown it again with those stamps. It would be a good enough idea; ... but—Marieke! and then my wife!”
“But, after all, you’re the master. Why, you’re the king of everything in the place! You must put on a bold face, and stand firm!”
“Very well, lad, I’ll try.”
With wrathful strides, his head well thrown back, and his hand resting on the front of his ample waistcoat, Bloemstein entered his own house.
Marieke sprang to meet him, embraced him cordially, and then said, “Father, I’ve just had a letter from Heinrich, he’s coming to dinner with us to-morrow.”
“I’m very sorry, child; but this marriage with the Prussian doctor can’t come to anything. I’ve another husband for you. You’re to marry my Minister of the Interior.”
“Whom do you say I am to marry?”
“My Minister of the Interior.”