less numbers of them, but they were still and silent, slumbering around him like children, though their faces were wrung with all the grief and pain that they had been made to suffer the night before.
Gerrit and Paul had stood up, were pretending to look at the vases, talking in whispers:
"He is pretty calm," said Gerrit.
"Yes, but what he said was utter nonsense."
"We must go to a doctor."
"Yes, we must go to Dr. van der Ouwe first. Perhaps to Dr. Reeuws afterwards, or any other nerve-specialist whom Van der Ouwe recommends."
"What do you think of him? Is he absolutely mad?"
"Yes, mad. He never used to talk in that incoherent way. Up to now, he was only queer, dreamy, eccentric. Now he is absolutely . . ."
"Mad," Gerrit completed, in a low voice.
"Look, he's shut his eyes . . ."
"He seems calm."
"Yes, he's calm enough."
"Shall we go?"
"Yes, let's go."
They went up to Ernst:
"Ernst . . ."
"Ernst!"
He slowly raised his heavy eyelids.
"We're off, Ernst, old chap," said Gerrit.
Ernst nodded his head.
