Addie sat down beside his mother, took her hand, smiled. Mathilde left the room with her keys.
"Don't fret, Mamma," he said.
"My boy...."
"You're fretting. You look so sad."
"My dear, my dear ... I...."
"What?"
She gave a sob and laid her hand on his shoulder. She was so frightened, so frightened, that it was as though her great dread stifled her and prevented her from breathing. She trembled in his embrace.
"You won't fret, you won't fret, will you, dear?"
"No."
The maid came to lay the table in the dining-room. Constance controlled herself.