She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. “I do not like to seem inhospitable, Anna,” she said hesitatingly. At the threshold of the study he bade her good-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips. The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master. He was scarcely concealed when he heard the horsemen, who perceived they had overshot their mark, ride back. “You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not. The lantern was on the ground inside, ready. .
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