She flung herself, sobbing, into Bertha’s arms.
“My darling!” Bertha wept. “I can’t stay away any longer.”
She released herself, went away; her dress rustled down the stairs. Her guests were sitting in the drawing-room; one or two looked at her strangely, because she had absented herself. In a moment she was once more the tactful, charming hostess.
Marianne, with a smile on her face, had gone to Van Naghel’s study, where the men were having their coffee, smoking:
“Papa....”
“What is it, dear?”
“Eduard is downstairs!” she whispered. “I only came to tell you. He wants to take Emilie with him. He has struck her.”
“Tell him I’ll speak to him ... as soon as our visitors have gone.”
And, as the host, he turned to his guests again.
Marianne went downstairs, found Eduard in the boys’ sitting-room. He was quietly smoking.