stupid chance in their lives? . . . If I hadn't gone to Paris! . . . If Henri had not . . . oh, I can't say it, I can't say it! Auntie, we shall never know! It's too awful, what happened! I can never tell you . . . what I think!"
"My darling, I suspect it!"
"Oh, it's awful, awful! Uncle suspects it too . . . so they do at the legation. . . . It's awful, awful! . . . He's disappeared: Eduard, I mean. . . . It was a mere accident: we were walking together, Henri and I, when we . . . when we met Eduard. . . . They looked at each other. . . . They hated each other. . . . Then he walked on . . . but we met him again later. . . . Then, in the evening, when I came home . . . and found Henri . . . lying in his blood . . . !"
She flung herself back with a scream.
"Auntie, Auntie, we know nothing! . . . But the suspicion will always be with me! I shall always see it like that! Oh, Auntie, Auntie, help me . . . and keep me with you always, always! . . ."
She closed her eyes in Constance' arms, too weak to face her life, which had changed from fantastic humour into tragedy. . . . The carriage suddenly stopped, in the Kerkhoflaan; Truitje opened the door; Constance made a sign to her to ask no questions. She herself, on the other hand, asked:
"How is Mr. Gerrit doing?"
