"Oh, why did I do it? I should have done better to hold my tongue."
"No, no. Speak, oh, do speak to Addie too!"
"I have spoken to him so often!"
"Not lately?"
Mathilde shrugged her shoulders:
"No, not so often lately. What's the use? It's not his fault . . . it's six of one and half a dozen of the other . . . and it can't be helped."
"Very likely. Only . . ."
"Only what, Mamma?"
"Be careful, Mathilde, I implore you! Oh, do be careful! Everything, everything can come right again. . . . You are sure to come together again later . . . but be careful, be careful. Don't spoil your life."
They looked deep down into each other's eyes.
"Mathilde, I may speak openly to you, mayn't I? Just because it's I, dear, your mother . . . who suffered so very much . . . because she spoilt her life so . . . spoilt it so . . . when she was young . . . until life became a torture. . . . I was a young woman, as you are, Mathilde, and . . . and I wasn't happy . . . any more than you are, my poor child, at the moment . . . and . . ."
"I know, Mamma," Mathilde replied, shortly.
"Yes, you know . . . you know all about it. . . . Of course you know, dear, though I have not mentioned it to you. . . . But just . . . just because of all that, I may tell you, may I not, to be careful? Oh, do be careful!"
"You are afraid of things that don't exist."
"No, dear, there is nothing. . . . I know there's nothing . . . only . . ."
"What?"
