“Etienne—enough—enough, Etienne!” murmured Marie, and she closed her eyes.
And she felt quite dazed when the great bird slowly slackened [[188]]the speed of its flight, and at last ceased altogether. She tottered when she was on terra firma once more.
Etienne picked up her hat.
“A glorious swing, wasn’t it, eh?” he cried, out of breath.
Marie nodded smilingly, and with a gasp and a sigh brushed the dishevelled hair from her face. And when Etienne took to his legs and ran, shouting to his little cousins that they could not catch him, and when the young van Ryssels ran after him, Nico last of all, waddling along on his fat little legs—then Marie, on the grass by the side of the swing, burst into tears. She thought of Lili and Georges, how happy those two had been, whilst she, Marie, had sat gazing at the meadows and the cows until stars shimmered before her eyes; and how happy they, Georges and Lili, had been, while she had been wrenching the lilies out of the water—hard, very hard, with all her might.
[1] A rich cake baked in the shape of a turban. [↑]
CHAPTER XIX.
“Eline, Eline!” was shouted from the garden. Eline sprang out of bed in a fright, on finding it was half-past seven. At the Horze the breakfast hour was eight, and so she hurried with her toilette. Half dressed she walked to the open window, and looked out. There were Théodore’s two eldest girls, Marianne and Henriette, sixteen and fourteen years old.