Had the artist intended
to depict some oppressive anxiety, or was what she saw only dust, that
had settled on the colors?

She pushed a chair towards the portrait and put her foot on the seat,
pushing her dress away in doing so. Blushing, as if other eyes than
the painted ones were gazing down upon her, she drew it over the white
stocking, then with a rapid movement mounted the seat. She could now
look directly into the eyes of the portrait. The cloth in Maria's
trembling hand passed over Eva's brow, and wiped the shadow from
the rosy flesh. She now blew the dust from the frame and canvas, and
perceived the signature of the artist to whom the picture owed its
origin. "Artjen of Leyden," he called himself, and his careful hand had
finished even the unimportant parts of the work with minute accuracy.
She well knew the silver chain with the blue turquoises, that rested on
the plump neck. Peter had given it to her as a wedding present, and she
had worn it to the altar; but the little diamond cross suspended
from the middle she had never seen. The gold buckle at Eva's belt had
belonged to her since her last birthday--it was very badly bent, and the
dull points would scarcely pierce the thick ribbon.

"She had everything when it was new," she said to herself. "Jewels? What
do I care for them! But the heart, the heart--how much love has she left
in Peter's heart?"

She did not wish to do so, but constantly heard these words ringing in
her ears, and was obliged to summon up all her self-control, to save
herself from weeping.

"If he would only come, if he would only come!" cried a voice in her
tortured soul.

The door opened, but she did not notice it.

Barbara crossed the threshold, and called her by her name in a tone of
kindly reproach.

Maria started and blushing deeply, said,

"Please give me your hand; I should like to get down. I have finished.
The dust was a disgrace." When she again stood on the floor, the widow
said, "What red cheeks you have! Listen, my dear sister-in-law, listen
to me, child--!"

Barbara was interrupted in the midst of her admonition, for the knocker
fell heavily on the door, and Maria hurried to the window.

The widow followed, and after a hasty glance into the street, exclaimed:

"That's Wilhelm Cornieliussohn, the musician. He has been to Delft. I
heard it from his mother. Perhaps he brings news of Peter. I'll send him
up to you, but he must first tell me below what his tidings are.