woman? . . . What were those voices, which he vaguely recognized? . . . Was it not the voice of his favourite sister, was it not the voice of her husband, of the two of them, who had brought Pauline's body back from Paris? . . . Yes, he recognized them, it was . . .
"Come on, Gerrit, old man, you're not well. . . . What are you doing here, beside this woman, beside this corpse? She's all blue, drowned in the lake in the Bois de Boulogne. . . . Did you know the woman? . . .
Yes, yes, he had known the woman. . . .
"Come along, old chap!"
"Gerrit, dear, won't you come?"
"Constance," whispered Gerrit, "you brought her from Paris . . ."
"Beg pardon, sir?" asked the porter.
"Yes, there she lies, there she lies, dead. . . ."
"Gerrit, come away!" cried the voices.
"Lay your flowers over her now! . . . Constance, lay your flowers over her. . . . She is lying so cold and all alone . . . and it is all so big here . . . big as a church . . . she is lying . . . as if in a cold, damp church. . . . Lay flowers beside her . . ."
"What do you say, sir? "
"Yes . . . lay flowers beside her . . . lay flowers beside her . . . Constance . . ."
"Won't you come away now?"
