“Well, you wanted to a month ago,” muttered Mopius.
“Let me speak. If you want to hush up this disgraceful story you must give my love”--her voice caressed the delicious word--“two thousand florins. He will be satisfied with that; then he can pay off his debts, and we can start our humble house-keeping.”
“Harriet, it’s a mean trick. I should never have thought that you with your pride--”
“Silence, you!” she exclaimed under her breath, crushing down her own misgivings with reckless vehemence. “How dare you question his good pleasure, or I? You obey, so do I. Only two thousand florins. He is very moderate. He might have demanded ten. But I told him I didn’t want your dirty money. Love can be happy in a garret. Come, let’s have done with the whole horrid business. I promised to call him, and then you can go.” The Goose-girl put a whistle to her lips, and immediately her obedient bird came clucking up from among the motley crowd. As he came his weary din gradually assumed the shape of “Ja-cob! Ja-cob! Ja-cob!” with terrible, reiterated distinctness.
“Hush, please, darling,” pleaded Harriet, her voice full of soft entreaty, “uncle is willing to give the two thousand florins, as I propose.”
“To further his candidature,” said the Goose, bowing low. “It is clearly understood that the money is paid to further his candidature. I am proud, sir, to make your acquaintance.”
“And now he had better go,” exclaimed Harriet.
“My dear child, what are you thinking of?” protested the Goose, as Mynheer Mopius hastily rose to render ready obedience. “I have only just had the pleasure of meeting your uncle. I am sure he will do us the favor of being present at a little champagne supper in one of the up-stairs boxes--as host.”
“Oh no,” began the Goose-girl, and checked herself, meeting the Goose’s eye.
“I shall be willing,” stammered Mopius, “if necessary, to pay--”
“My dear sir, what are you thinking of?” he said, loftily. “Is this the way such matters are managed among men of honor? Harriet, take your uncle’s arm!”
Together the trio ascended to the grand tier. Mynheer Mopius’s supper, as ordered by the Goose, was exquisite; the host finished by enjoying it himself, and drinking too much wine. Willie van Troyen insisted on rolling in from the adjoining box to shake the Goose by the hand. He also drank to the health of the recumbent masked gentleman in shabby red velvet who was singing sentimental songs in an undertone, with unpremeditated shrieks--