"No, no, it's longer . . . it's longer than that. I never see your boy either."
"I'll send him this afternoon."
"Yes, do. Why are we all so separated now? It never used to be like that, never. . . . Well, good-bye, dear. Will you send Addie? Will you come yourself soon?"
"You must wait a day or two."
"Yes, very well, stay with poor Ernst. You are doing a good work. And tell Adeline too that she is neglecting me and that I never see the children now, never. . . ."
They both kissed the old woman. When their mother and grandmother was alone, she nodded her head up and down, looked out at the rain; and the tears ran down her cheeks, without stopping . . . without stopping. . . .
Emilie had a cab waiting:
"I'll drive you home, Auntie."
They stepped in.
"It's months since we saw you, child."
"Yes, Auntie. I've come straight from Paris. I'm going to see Mamma at Baarn."
"And then?"
"I shall go back to Paris. I'm living there now . . . I intended to come and see you too, Auntie."
"Come in then, dear, and stay to lunch."
"I should like to, Auntie."
They got out at the villa in the Kerkhoflaan.
