"You see . . . when I arrived this morning . . ."
"Erzeele was with me."
"Yes."
"He's an old friend."
"I know."
"He came to make an appointment . . . to play tennis to-morrow."
"Yes, I heard him."
"There was nothing else."
"He was holding your hand."
"He's an old friend whom I knew as a girl, almost as a child."
"Yes, dear, I know . . . but . . . "
"What do you mean?"
"It is dangerous."
"What is?"
"To talk to him too much . . . while you're in your present frame of mind. If you're feeling unhappy, dear, about one thing or another . . . speak to Addie."
"I've spoken to him so often."
"Confide in him."
"I have."
"And not . . . not in Johan Erzeele."
Mathilde's eyes blazed:
"Mamma . . . you haven't the right!"
"Yes, dear, I have! I not only have the right to tell you this as Addie's mother, but above all I have the right because I understand you, because I am able to understand you, because I remember my own wretchedly unhappy years of despair, as a young married woman, unsatisfied, unhappy, desperate, though for other reasons, alas, than those between you and Addie! . . . Because I remember all this, Mathilde, because I can never forget, just because I remember, because I now remember
