“Do not pay any more attention to them, Jan, lest they begin to be wordy and attract more attention to themselves and us than is desirable!” said Van der Werf. But a crowd had already begun to gather, which in an incredibly short time grew into a mob, shouting, yelling, gesticulating, fiercely demanding bread and the opening of the gates. The burgomaster began to fear, not for his own life, but for that of the feeble old man who would be so helpless in their hands did they come at last to violence. Just at this crisis, they emerged into the triangular space in front of the old church of St. Pancras.
Deeming the time ripe for him to exert all his powers of persuasion on this threatening throng. Van der Werf ascended the steps of the edifice, placed Jan in a protecting angle of the doorway, and turned about to face the crowd. As he removed his great felt hat, the morning sunlight fell through the surrounding lime-trees on a face, calm, imposing and softened with a great and overwhelming
