And now the pretty little doll knelt down beside her and said:
"Don't you know me, Granny? It's I . . . Emilie."
"Oh, my child!" cried the old woman, brightening up, glad, delighted. "Is it you, Emilietje? And Granny who didn't know you again ! . . . But then you've got such a big hat on, child. And Eduard: how is he and where is he?"
"But, Granny! . . ."
Under the arm which she had at once put round Emilie, the old woman felt a shudder pass through the dainty little doll, who had knelt down beside her so impulsively and affectionately; but she did not understand:
"Well, where is Eduard?"
"Why, Granny," cried Emilie, "you know that we're divorced!"
The old woman now shuddered in her turn and closed her eyes and sat rigid. What was this? Was she becoming old, like her old sisters Christine and Dorine, who always muddled up all the children, who never knew anything correctly about their big family? What was this? Was she getting confused? And was this the first time that she had utterly forgotten things . . . or had it happened before, that she had doted like an old, old woman?
She opened her eyes sadly and the tears ran down her cheeks:
