how tragic your life may easily become, if you don't think of it more seriously . . . more seriously?"
She rose: an irresistible impulse made her embrace the girl passionately.
Emilie gave a start:
"What are you thinking of, Auntie? . . . What do you mean? . . ."
But what was the use of saying anything now of her presentiment, when presentiments always deceive? Constance said nothing more; she did not know indeed what more to say; she merely stared in front of her, strangely, vaguely; and what had shone for a moment was gone.
And she looked deep into Emilie's eyes and saw there only a vision: Paris, a circus, a clown, butterflies, quite fifty or more. . . .
The front-door downstairs was opened; there were sounds of footsteps and voices. Ordinary life was beginning again.
"There are Uncle and Addie," said Constance. "Emilie, I'm going to Nunspeet this afternoon."
"I'm going to Otto and Frances after lunch. Let us meet at the station; and I'll go to Nunspeet with you. I want to see Uncle Ernst. And then we'll go to Baarn together."
"Very well, dear. But will you do one thing, to please me?"
"Yes, Auntie."
