And she started to hurry away.
“Marianne!” said Henri.
“What is it?”
“I want to speak to you presently.”
“Very well, presently.”
And she flitted down the stairs.
“How pretty she’s growing!” said Henri.
“And I,” said Emilie, “so ugly!”
She leant against Louise. They heard a rustle on the stairs. It was Bertha herself:
“My child!”