Naghel was in the Cabinet for the sake of his children and not of his country, seemed to strike Constance for the first time: she almost smiled, held Bertha closer to her.
"He couldn't very well resign . . . and he didn't want to," Bertha continued, feebly. "And now I don't know what to do. I feel so very much alone; and yet I was once a capable woman, wasn't I, Constance? Now I no longer feel capable. Perhaps that life was too crowded. And, Constance, what was the use of it all? My children, our children, for whom we lived, are none of them happy. I have grown weary and old . . . for nothing. I wish that we were at Baarn now. I want to live there quietly, with the two girls. Louise is nice, so is Marianne. They neither of them want to go about any more. They're not happy, no, they are not happy. Oh, my poor, poor children! . . . You must never tell Mamma, Constance. Mamma doesn't know: dear Mamma! There is no need for her to know, poor dear! Better leave her under the impression that all is well with us, even though Van Naghel is gone . . ."
And she sobbed at the thought that she was alone. Then, suddenly, she drew herself up a little, made Constance take a chair, sat down beside her and asked, peering anxiously through her tears into Constance' face:
"Constance, tell me . . . Marianne?"
