had not been to the Hague for years and had forgotten the streets and squares; but, at last, the cab stopped and she looked out while Piet climbed down from the box, rang the bell, opened the door of the cab, helped her out. . . .
Yes, she was there now and she trembled violently when the maid opened the door and she entered the hall. She was there now. And she could find nothing to say when a door in the passage opened and Constance, amazed, came out to her. This was the second time that she had seen that woman. . . .
“Mamma!”
“Yes, I thought I would come, because it was Henri’s birthday. . . .”
She knew—she had not failed to understand—that her son was not happy with that woman and she felt a certain disappointment that it was not Henri himself who came out to welcome her.
But the astonishment in Constance’ face changed to a look of soft and glad surprise. She was very sensitive to kindness and she felt that it was kind of this old woman to come: this old lady who never went anywhere, who had come with her butler. . . .
“How pleased Henri will be!” she said, gently, and her eyes grew moist. “How very pleased Henri will be! He is out now, on his bicycle, but he’ll be back soon. Come in, take off your cloak inside: I’m afraid there’s a draught out here. Good-morning, Piet: so you’ve brought mevrouw? Go into the kitchen, Piet, will you? Come in, Mamma. How delighted Henri will be! He is sure to be in
