by the reflected gleam of an old-fashioned looking-glass wardrobe. The black rain rattled against the panes. Oh, how she felt the approach of dread death, that great, black death before which small people shudder, even though they do not value their small lives! How she felt it rustling in the rain against the window, how she felt the ghostly flapping of its cloak in the shadows among the heavy furniture, how she felt death reflected in the reflex light of that looking-glass! She shivered, in her fur cloak. But in the shadow of the bed-curtains two eyes smiled at her gently from out of the suffering old face. . . . The old man had gone.
"Here I am, Mamma. . . ."
"Is that you?"
"Yes."
"I had to send for you. . . ."
"I thought it would be too much for you. . . . That's why I let Henri and Addie come without me. . . .
"Are we alone?"
"Yes, Mamma."
"Tell me, you didn't stay away . . . because you were angry . . . because you still bore a grudge? . . ."
"Oh, no! I was not angry. I thought it would be too much for you."
"Is that true?"
"Quite true."
