And the old man drew himself up and glared, and his old eyes blazed under his eyebrows.
‘Man and boy have I hated them and fought them, and never trusted them, and now, cursed be you, Hermanus, if you let them go—cursed be you, Willie! cursed be you, Munik!...’
The boys had shrunk back into the doorway, and Commandant Delarey was biting his beard, when a Cape cart came clattering up the courtyard to the stoep.
‘Here is mother,’ called Hermanus, and an old lady descended with many parcels and called out to them to help her, and came up the steps like a woman of forty rather than one of seventy. Small and dark and shrivelled and active, the black grapes on her head shaking and dancing, and her bead cape quivering.
‘Why, grandsons! come along and get my parcels, or you’ll get no fresh coffee. Why, what’s the matter, Hermanus! What’s wrong with grandfather?’
The old man stood erect with his hand still half raised on high.
‘What are you doing, Gabriel?’
‘Father curses Willie and Munik for joining the English to help the French.’
‘Oh, does he? then let him wait till he has heard me. I’ll have none of his Dopper ways now. What is the trouble, Gabriel?’
The old man raised his hand: ‘Cursed are the Dutch who join the English commandos! Cursed....’