knew that they had been. It was only on Sundays that she missed them: when she did not see all of those whom she still carried in her mind gathered in her large rooms, rooms which not the largest fires now seemed able to warm, a mournful reproach swelled up in her heart; and her head nodded in sad understanding and protest against the sorrows of old age. . . .
"But here is Ernst, Mamma, coming again as he used to," said Constance, leading Ernst by the hand to her mother.
He now came up once a week from Nunspeet, for the day, in order to reaccustom himself to all the familiar things at the Hague, to the houses and the people; and, though still a little shy, as usual, he had lost all his nervous restlessness and become quite calm.
"Ernst?" asked Mamma.
"Yes, Mamma, he is coming again as he used to."
"Has he been long away?"
"Yes, Mamma."
Light seemed to break upon the old woman and she smiled, becoming younger in her smile, now that she remembered. She took her son's hands and looked at Constance with unclouded eyes:
"Is he better now?"
"Yes, Mamma," said Constance.
