The women helped him carry Marietje upstairs. They all went up now, to their rooms; the maids, still pale and trembling, put out the lamps in the sitting-room; and silence and darkness fell over the house, as they went creaking up the stairs, with candles in their hands.
The wind outside increased in violence; and the dripping thaw pattered against the panes.
The three sisters were together in their bedrooms: Marietje and Gerdy in their room, Adèletje in her own room, with the door open between them. And they spoke very low, in whispering voices:
"I'm getting used to it," said Marietje, sensibly; "I'm no longer frightened."
"I heard it quite lately," said Gerdy.
And Adèletje answered:
"Yes, I hear it nearly every evening."
"Uncle and Aunt don't speak about it."
"No, it's better not to."
"It's always the same sound: like the dragging of heavy footsteps, in the garret, under the roof...."