"Ah," she said, still stooping over Karen, while she put back her hair, "it is good to have my child back again, mine—quite mine—once more."
"I have slept so well, Tante," said Karen. She was able to smile up at her.
Madame von Marwitz looked about the room. "And now it is to gather the dear old life closely about her again. Gardening, and reading; and quiet times with Tante and Tallie. Though, for the moment, I must be much with my guest; I am helping him with his work. He has talent, yes; it is a strange and complicated nature. You did not expect to find him here?"
Karen held Tante's hand and her gaze was innocent of surmise. Mr. Drew had never entered her thoughts. "No. Yes. No, Tante. He came with you?"
"Yes, he came with me," said Madame von Marwitz. "I had promised him that he should see Les Solitudes one day. I was glad to find an occupation for my thoughts in helping him. I told him that if he were free he might join me. It is good, in great sorrow, to think of others. Now it is, for the young man and for me, our work. Work, work; we must all work, ma chérie. It is our only clue in the darkness of life; our only nourishment in the desert places." Again she looked about the room. "You came without boxes?"
"Yes, Mrs. Barker is to send them to me."
"Ah, yes. When," said Madame von Marwitz, in a lower voice, "did you leave? Yesterday morning?"
"No, Tante. The night before."
"The night before? So? And where did you spend the night? With Mrs. Forrester? With Scrotton? I have not yet written to Scrotton."
"No. I went to the Lippheims."