She rang and told the maid to lock up; and these little habits had for her the disconsolateness of everyday repetition, because it all seemed unnecessary. Then she went upstairs. The little house was very tiny: a small suite of rooms on the ground-floor, above that a suite with a little dressing-room in addition to her room and Lot's, while Steyn had hoisted himself up to the attic floor, doubtless so as not to be too near his wife. And, as she undressed, she reflected that, if Elly would consent to make shift, it might just be possible: she would give up her present big room, with the three windows, to Lot and Elly; she, oh, she could sleep in what was now Lot's little room: what did she care? If only children did not come too quickly! Oh, if only she did not lose Lot altogether! He asked her why he had proposed to Elly! He asked it in his usual half-jesting way; but it was not nice of him to ask it: she was glad that she had answered quietly and not worked herself into a temper. Oh, the pain, the physical pain which she sometimes suffered from that thorn in her heart's flesh, because of love, affection, caresses even, that went out to another! And sadly, pitying herself, she got into bed. The room was empty around her and unhomely: the bedroom of a woman who does not care for all the trifles of comfort and the vanities of the toilet and whose great joy always was to long for the love and caresses of those whom she found attractive, because of the once—often secret—wave of passion that flowed between them and her. For this she had neglected the whole of the other life of a wife, of a mother, even of a woman of the world and even of a smart woman, not caring for it, despising auxiliaries, feeling sure of her fascinations and very little of a mother by nature. Oh, she was old now and alone! And she lay lonely in her chilly bed; and that evening she had not even the consolation that Lot would come from the room next to hers to give her a good-night kiss in bed as he knew how, pettingly, a long, fond kiss on her forehead. At such times he would sit for a moment on the edge of her bed, have a last chat with her; and then, sometimes, passing his delicate hand over her cheek, he would say:
"Mamma, what a soft skin you have!"
When he came home now, he would think that she was asleep and would go to bed. She sighed: she felt so lonely. Above Lot's room—you could hear everything in that house—she heard Steyn pounding about. The maid also was going to bed now; out of her own bed Ottilie listened to all those sounds: doors opening; shoes put outside; a basin emptied. It now became very still and she reflected what a good thing it was that she always chose old servants. She thought of it with a certain mischievous joy, glad that Steyn had no chance, with elderly servants. The house was now quiet for the night, though it was not yet eleven....
Had she been asleep? Why did she wake suddenly? What was that creaking on the stairs? Was it Lot coming home? Or was it Steyn sneaking out again? Was it Lot? Was it Steyn? Her heart thumped in her chest. And she got out of bed quickly and, before she knew what she was doing, opened the door and saw a match struck flickering in the hall....
"Is that you, Lot?"
"No, it's I."
"You, Frans?"
"Yes, what's the matter?"
His voice sounded irritated, because she had heard him.
"What are you doing?"