Those people would not remain much longer. It was ten o'clock; and they began to say good-bye. They followed one after the other, at short intervals, as is proper at big dinner-parties . . . There was only one of the ministers left, talking earnestly to Van Naghel, in a low voice, probably about some government matter: he was not thinking yet of going . . . But at last he also hastened away, apologizing. And Van Naghel and Bertha, Marianne, Frances and Otto all listened while he put on his overcoat downstairs, said a word to the butler . . . The front-door slammed. They were alone.
They looked at one another . . .
And, as if driven by an irresistible impulse, Van Naghel went downstairs, to his son-in-law, and Bertha and Marianne upstairs, to Emilie . . .
"Mamma, have you come to me at last?" said Emilie, plaintively. "Mamma, I shall stay here: I won't go back . . ."
She was clutching Henri desperately; and Marianne went up to her, comforted her, kissed her.
"Marianne," said Henri, "here, a minute . . ."
He led her out into the passage:
"Marianne," he said, "you don't know how fond I am of you . . . almost as fond as of Emilie. Marianne, let me just say this to you: be sensible; everybody's talking about it . . ."
"Everybody?" she asked, frightened; and she did not even ask what it was, because she understood.
