Von Gröner tried to question Marie Louise, but her wits were in an absolute maelstrom of terror. She was afraid of him, afraid that he represented Nicky, afraid that he did not, afraid that he was a real German, afraid that he was a pretended spy, or an English secret-service man. She was afraid of Sir Joseph and his wife, afraid to obey them or disobey them, to love them or hate them, betray them or be betrayed. She had lost all sense of direction, of impetus, of desire.
She saw that Sir Joseph and Lady Webling were in a state of panic, too. They smiled at her with a wan pity and fear. She caught them whispering often. She saw them cling together with a devotion that would have been a burlesque in a picture seen by strangers. It would have been almost as grotesque as a view of a hippopotamus and his mate cowering hugely together and nuzzling each other under the menace of a lightning-storm.
Marie Louise came upon them once comparing the envelope she had just brought with other letters of Nicky’s. Sir Joseph slipped them into a book, then took one of them out cautiously and showed it to Marie Louise.
“Does that look really like the writing from Nicky?”
“Yes,” she said, then, “No,” then, “Of course,” then, “I don’t know.”
Lady Webling said, “Sit down once, my child, and tell me just how this man von Gröner does, acts, speaks.”
She told them. They quizzed her. She was afraid that 40 they would take her into their confidence, but they exchanged querying looks and signaled caution.
Sir Joseph said: “Strange how long Nicky stays sick, and his memory––little things he mixes up. I wonder is he dead yet. Who knows?”
“Dead?” Marie Louise cried. “Dead, and sends you letters?”
“Yes, but such a funny letter this last one is. I think I write him once more and ask him is he dead or crazy, maybe. Anyway, I think I don’t feel so very good now––mamma and I take maybe a little journey. You come along with, yes?”