He had arrived—he had telegraphed—about four of the afternoon, she did not know from where. He would have to leave again before five o'clock. She knew, of course, with whom he had been. She thought, waiting for him, what an irony that it should be like this, after all the bitterness, he was coming back to her, and to the old house of his people, in the street of many gardens.
She thought it would be awkward for them both. What could they say to one another?
She wondered if it had been terrible to him to leave the other woman. Probably the other woman was beautiful. All those women were beautiful. She thought, perhaps that other woman loved him and cared what happened to him.
Her two little boys were playing in the room.
The great closed rooms, to which she had brought them back hurriedly from the seaside, fascinated them.
The bigger little one, in his sailor suit with the huge collar was saying, "That's the old witch's cave, Toto, in the snow mountain."
The smaller one, with the curls and the Russian blouse, said, "Oh, Zizi!"
"Yes; and, Toto, that big lump is the giant, sleeping."
"Oh, Zizi!"
Then their father came.