outside the house; Constance and Mathilde heard his deep voice sound kindly, playfully, in the hall. He now opened the door, with Jetje on one arm and little Constant toddling by his side with his hand in his father's.
"Mamma!" he exclaimed, in surprise. "I had no idea that you were here!"
"No, my boy, I came up unexpectedly. I brought Marietje with me and left her with her father and mother."
"You'll stay to lunch, of course?"
"I should like to."
"Why, what's the matter with you, Mamma?"
"The matter?"
"And with you, Mathilde?"
"With me? . . . Nothing."
He saw that they had been talking together. He said nothing more, however, but played with the children for a while and then released himself and gave them over to the nurse, who had come in.
"The youngsters are looking first-rate, aren't they?"
"We shall have lunch in a minute, Mamma," said Mathilde, tonelessly.
Addie sat down beside his mother, took her hand, smiled. Mathilde left the room with her keys.
"Don't fret, Mamma," he said.
"My boy . . ."
"You're fretting. You look so sad."
"My dear, my dear . . . I . . ."
"What?"
She gave a sob and laid her hand on his shoulder. She was so frightened, so frightened, that it was as though her great dread stifled her and prevented her from breathing. She trembled in his embrace.
"You won't fret, you won't fret, will you, dear?"
"No."
