"I don't know."
"Where is he staying?"
"In rooms, in the Buitenhof."
"We're close by. Let's go and see if he's in."
Brauws was not in. And Van der Welcke left a card for his old college-chum, with a pencilled word.
A fortnight passed; and Van der Welcke began to feel annoyed:
"I've heard nothing from Brauws," he said to Van Vreeswijck.
"I haven't seen him either."
"Perhaps he's offended about something."
"Nonsense, Brauws isn't that sort."
Van der Welcke was silent. Since the scene with the family, he was unduly sensitive, thinking that people were unfriendly, that they avoided him.
"Well, if he wants to ignore my card, let him!" he said, angrily. "He can go to the devil, for all I care!"
But, a couple of days later, when Van der Welcke was smoking in his little room, Truitje brought in a card.
"Brauws!" exclaimed Van der Welcke.
And he rushed outside:
"Come upstairs, old chap!" he shouted, from the landing.
In the hall stood a big, quiet man, looking up with a smile round his thick moustache.
"May I come up?"
