She started, became confused, pecked awkwardly at her food. She felt that the illusion of an united family—Mamma's great illusion in the old days—was quite dispelled; and, older, more melancholy and still bitter as she was, she felt sad about it, sad about something which possibly she had never valued but which she now missed. And she could not help feeling acute envy that Constance was living in so big a house and harbouring so many relations; and suddenly she asked, sharply:
"Your house is rather damp, isn't it, Van der Welcke?"
"Well, it's mostly on the ground-floor," said Van der Welcke, good-humouredly. "And we've had a lot of rain."
"One's feet get so chilly."
"Guy, give Auntie a footstool."
Guy fetched a stool; Adolphine let him push it under her feet.
"There are so many trees round the house," she said. "That's what makes it gloomy and chilly. You should have them thinned out.... It must be very lonely, living here."
"Don't you see the others regularly?" asked Constance, trying to change the subject.
"No. Karel and Cateau pay me a visit now and again. It's not much of a pleasure to anyone: it's never more than a visit!" said Adolphine, criticizing her brother and sister-in-law and forgetting that, in the old days, she herself never honoured Constance and Van der Welcke with more than a "visit." And she went on, "Paul one never sees; nor Dorine; and Ernst ... you know he has not been very well lately?"
Constance gave a start: