tween you and Uncle . . . between you and Uncle Henri. . . ."
"Dear, we have grown older; and everything has become more mellow; and Uncle . . . Uncle is very good."
"Yes, he is good."
"He is just simply good."
"You see that now."
"Yes, I see it now, I admit it."
"Oh, I am so glad! . . . Yes, we have grown old."
"Not you."
"Yes, I too," she said, laughing softly. "I am young, but I am older than my years. . . . And, Auntie, tell me, do you remember before we went to Baern, you came and called one day—we were just busy moving—and you sent for me and asked me . . . you told me . . . that Charles was fond of me . . . and I refused him . . . do you remember, do you remember?"
"I should think I did remember, darling! . . . And now you've got him after all; and it's all for the best, isn't it?"
"Yes, Auntie, we get on very well indeed . . . and I have my children. . . . Do you remember, do you remember how you came to Baern one day? I was very low-spirited; and you took me in your arms and pressed me to you and told me . . . a fairy-tale, about the small souls . . . which passed through vanity . . . to ecstasy. Do you remember? . . . And, when the ecstasy died out . . . then the little soul found a grain . . . a mere grain . . . which was big enough, however, because the soul itself was so small. Do you remember, Auntie, do you remember?"
"Yes, dear, I remember. . . . It was just a few tiny words to console and cheer you a little . . .
