her bed, her nerves are still quite upset; she can't bear to see her sisters now; and it sometimes sends her almost out of her mind. I have never seen her like it before. And we are all of us, all of us, Constance, very, very sorry."
"Bertha, those two old women only yelled out at the top of their voices, as deaf people do, what the rest of you thought in your hearts."
"Come, Constance, don't be so bitter. You are hard and unjust. I swear that you are mistaken. It is not as you think. Let me show it to you in the future, let me prove it to you . . . and please speak to Van der Welcke and write and tell me a day when we shall find you at home, so that Van Naghel can shake hands with Van der Welcke. He is not a young man, Constance, and your husband is under forty. It's true, Van der Welcke has apologized and Van Naghel appreciates it, but that doesn't prevent him from wishing to shake hands with Van der Welcke."
"I'll tell my husband, Bertha. But I don't know that he will think it so necessary to shake hands, any more than I do. We live very quietly now, Bertha, and people, Hague people, no longer concern us. And Van Naghel only wants to shake hands because of people."
"And because of the old friendship."
"Very well, Bertha," said Constance, coldly, "because of the old friendship: a vague term that says
