Georg descended the stairs in a state of bewilderment.

Both halves of the book, in which ever since the wedding at Delft he had written a succession of verses to Maria, lay in his hand.
The light of the kitchen-fire streamed into the entry.

He followed it, and before answering Barbara's kind greeting, went to the hearth and flung into the fire the sheets, which contained the pure, sweet fragrance of a beautiful flower of youth.
"Oho! Junker!" cried the widow.

"A quick fire doesn't suit every kind of food.

What is burning there ?" "Foolish paper!" he answered.