"Auntie," asked Gerdy, "is Papa ill?"
"Yes, darling."
"Will Papa get better very soon?"
"Oh, yes, dear!"
"Are we staying with you long?"
"No, not very long, darling."
And Constance did not know why, but she suddenly saw the children staying on; and this vision was mingled with a vague impression of the gloomy house at Driebergen. She thought that her brain must be very tired in her head, that she was sleeping while awake, dreaming as she moved about. Everything before her was confused: that terrible day in Paris; Henri's body; the mystery about the whole affair, with the dark, half-uttered suspicions; the formalities; the legation; the journey back: oh, she was dead-tired, dead-tired!... Oh, that coffin, that coffin!... And in the middle of it all a letter from Addie: Uncle Gerrit seriously ill; the children ordered out of the house; he was taking Gerdy and Constant and giving them his room: he was sure Mamma would approve.... Oh, how dead-tired, how dead-tired she was!...
"Auntie," said Constant, "Truitje has been so kind: she made us a lovely rice-pudding...."
"But we'd rather be at home!" said Gerdy.
And the children suddenly began to cry. Constance took them in her arms, pressed them to her: