"Augustin," she said, "you have made us all very happy."
The same note was struck in my mother's stately acknowledgment and in Cousin Elizabeth's gushing joy. I chimed in, declaring that the happiness I gave was as nothing to what I received. My mother appeared to consider this speech proper and adequate, Cousin Elizabeth was almost overcome by it. The letter which lay on the table, addressed to Varvilliers, was fortunately not endowed with speech. It would have jarred our harmony.
Later in the day Victoria came to see me. I was sitting in the window, looking down on the river and across to the woods of Waldenweiter. She sat down near me and smiled at me. Victoria carried with her an atmosphere of reality; she neither harboured the sincere delusions of Cousin Elizabeth nor (save in public) sacrificed with my mother on the shrine of propriety. She sat there and smiled at me.
"My dear Victoria," said I, "I know all that as well as you do. Didn't we go through it all before, when you married William Adolphus?"
"I've just left Elsa," my sister announced. "The child's really half off her head; she can't grasp it yet."
"She is excited, I suppose."
"It seems that Cousin Elizabeth never let her count upon it."
"I saw that she was pleased. It surprised me rather."
"Don't be a goose, Augustin," said Victoria very crossly. "Of course she's pleased."
"But I don't think she cares for me in the very least," said I gravely.