“If what, Mamma?”
“If we, Papa and I ... quite quietly, Addie ... without any bitterness ... were to separate?”
He started inwardly, but remained outwardly calm. He knew the struggle that was going on in both of them. Had he not constantly heard his father’s name mixed up with Marianne’s? Did he not know and had not he—he alone, within himself, without even letting his mother notice it—had he not guessed the real reason why Mamma had had a different expression, a different voice, a different step during the last few months? Did he not feel what prompted her to go for long, long walks—sometimes with him, sometimes alone—over the dunes, towards the sea?... Though he did not know her new life, he had guessed her love....
There was a buzzing in his ears as she talked, as she explained to him how it would be better like that, for Papa, and how they both loved him, their child. She mentioned no names, neither Marianne’s nor Brauws’. He remained quiet; and she did not see what was passing within him, not even when he said:
“If you think ... if Papa is of opinion ... that it will be better so, Mamma....”
She went on speaking, while her heart throbbed violently with the force of her emotion. She spoke of honesty and sincerity ... of happiness for Papa ... perhaps. A curious shyness made her shrink from speaking of herself. He hardly heard her words. But he understood her: he understood what she actually wanted, the future which she wished to bring about and compel. But a passion of melancholy overwhelmed him and his heart was weighed down with grief. He heard her speak of her life—his father’s and hers—as a chain, a yoke, a lie. He felt dimly that she perhaps was right; and the light of those glowing dreams of hers made something shine vaguely before his childish eyes. But he found in it only sadness; and his heart was still heavy with grief. He was their child; and it seemed as though something in his soul would be rent asunder if they separated, even though their life together was a lie, a chain, a yoke. He tried to weigh those words, to sound their depths, to feel them. But it was only his sadness that he measured, only the depth of his own sorrow. If they were to separate, his parents whom he loved so well, both of them, each of them, whom he had learnt to love so well just perhaps because they did not love each other, then his love, so it suddenly appeared to him, was something which they could both do without, something of no value, to either of them. That was how he felt it, though he could not have put it into words; and he felt it even more profoundly than any words could have expressed.... But she noticed nothing in him. It was not the first time that he had felt the cruelty of life, even towards a child, a boy; and it was not his nature to show weakness. That other time, after his childish soul had suffered so grievously, when he had doubted whether he was his father’s son, he had resolved to triumph over life’s cruelties and not to show anything and to be strong. Now the moment seemed to have come. He remembered his first great trouble, he remembered his resolve: the resolve to be always strong after that first childish weakness; and he was able to repeat, calmly:
“If you think ... that it will be better for both of you, Mamma ... then it is not for me to object....”
She thought him almost cold; but he kissed her, said that he, whatever happened, would remain the child and the son of both of them, that he would love them both, equally....
But, because of that coldness, the shadow of a doubt suddenly crossed her mind; and it seemed as though her dreams grew dark and cloudy....
“Addie,” she asked again, “tell me frankly, tell me honestly that I am right, that it will be a good thing ... for Papa....”