"Yes, I eat, I eat," said Aunt Thérèse, softly and slowly. "Don't make yourself uneasy, Theo."
A contempt for her son embittered the smile on her old lips; her voice, in addressing her son, grew cold and hard, as though she, the woman of constant prayer, suddenly became once more towards her son the former woman, who had loved and afterwards hated that son's father, the father who was not her husband.
"I eat," said Aunt Thérèse. "Indeed, I eat too much. Those good sisters! They sometimes forget when we have to fast; and they give me meat. Then I take it and give it to my poor.... Tell me more, children, tell me more about the Hague. I have a few moments left. Then I must go to the chapel. I say my prayers with the sisters."
And she asked after everybody, all the brothers and sisters and their children:
"I pray for all of them," she said. "I shall pray for you also, children."
A restlessness overcame her and she listened for a sound in the passage. Theo winked at Lot and they rose to their feet.
"No," Aunt Thérèse assured them, "I shall not forget you. Send me your photographs, won't you?"
They promised.
"Where is your sister, Charles?"
"At Nice, Aunt."