It vibrated feebly as if it shared with the house and
its owner the infirmities of age. The bell was answered by an old,
neatly dressed female servant. She had been told to admit the caller
instantly, and said, "Mr. Van Quintem will see you, sir."
He entered a wide hallway, and followed the noiseless step of the
servant, trying to remember, without success, where he had heard the
name of Van Quintem.
At the end of the hall the servant opened a door, and ushered him into a
room decorated at the edges of the ceiling with heavy wooden carvings,
and furnished in the style of the last century. The old gentleman partly
rose from his soft armchair, supported himself by one hand on it, and
extended the other to his visitor.
"My name is Myndert Van Quintem, sir," said he, "and I am very glad to
see you." There was a pleasant smile in the old gentleman's pale face,
and a warmth in the grasp of his thin right hand, that attested the
sincerity of his words.
"And my name is Marcus Wilkeson, sir; and I am truly happy to make your
acquaintance," responded the visitor, in his most genial manner.
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