Old People and the Things That Pass

by Louis Couperus

"Not quite as happy perhaps as I expected, Auntie.... But, if I'm not, it's my own fault."

Aunt Adèle asked nothing more. She thought of the elated letters which had always given the old man such pleasant moments and reflected how deceptive letters could be.

Elly undressed and got into bed.

"I'll leave you to yourself, dear...."

But Elly took her hand, with a sudden tenderness for the woman who had been a mother to her:

"Stay a little longer, Auntie ... until Mamma comes."

"Dear," said Aunt Adèle, feeling her way, "you're not put out, are you, because Mamma inherits her share too. She's his daughter, you know...."

"Yes, Auntie, I know that. No, Auntie, really I'm not put out at that. I'm only tired, very tired ... because everything that we set ourselves to do ... seems useless...."

"Darling," said Aunt Adèle, only half hearing, "I also ... am tired, I am worn out. Oh, I wish I dared tell you!..."

"What?"