It was to an old
sailor--I had not been able to find him before. Not a cent more do
you owe, and there remains to you, out of your wages, a hundred
florins. It is yours whenever you like to ask me for it."
Christina could not understand, neither then nor during the days that
followed; nor did Nicholas enlighten her. For the soul of Jan had
entered into a very wise old man, who knew that the best way to live
down the past is to live boldly the present. All that Christina could
be sure of was that the old Nicholas Snyders had mysteriously
vanished, that in his place remained a new Nicholas, who looked at her
with kindly eyes--frank and honest, compelling confidence. Though
Nicholas never said so, it came to Christina that she herself, her
sweet example, her ennobling influence it was that had wrought this
wondrous change. And to Christina the explanation seemed not
impossible--seemed even pleasing.
The sight of his littered desk was hateful to him. Starting early in
the morning, Nicholas would disappear for the entire day, returning in
the evening tired but cheerful, bringing with him flowers that
Christina laughed at, telling him they were weeds. But what mattered
names? To Nicholas they were beautiful. In Zandam the children ran
from him, the dogs barked after him.
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