“Just think,” whispered Emilie, “he’s absolutely mad! He interferes with the cook’s housekeeping-book. He checks what she spends each day.... He’s mad, he’s mad! He won’t eat at meals, so as to save a bit of meat for next day. And, when we give a little dinner, nothing’s good enough. It’s all for people, all for show: he’d starve, in order to give his friends champagne!”
“Hush, Emilie!”
They heard the exchange of greetings in the drawing-room; their parents’ well-bred, expressionless voices; Marianne’s nervous, tinkling laugh; Otto and Frances making up to the foreign secretary. It all sounded false. The bell kept on ringing. More guests came upstairs, with a rustle of skirts, a creaking of shoes....
“We can’t get away!” said Emilie, plaintively, almost collapsing in Louise’s arms.
They succeeded in running upstairs between two rings at the bell. The table was laid in the nursery: Karel and Marietje were there, playing with Ottelientje and Huig; the baboe sat huddled in a corner.
“I’ll have something with you!” said Emilie. “I’m faint with hunger.... What a day, good God, what a day!”
“We’ll get something to eat in between,” said Louise. “Come, Emilie, come to my room.”
And, as if they were fleeing again, this time from the children, she dragged Emilie up to her own room.
“Emilie, do be sensible!” she implored.
“Louise, I mean what I said, give me a glass of wine, a biscuit, anything: I’m sinking....”