-talk. Very likely he had acquired it because, without him, his
father and mother would have been silent, when they were not
quarrelling. He talked of a couple of houses which they had seen
yesterday; he talked of the landscape, said it made him feel a Dutch boy
at once--wasn't it funny?--and kept his mother amused like a gallant
little cavalier. And yet he had nothing of a dandy about him: a broad,
short, firmly-built little man, in a coloured shirt, a blue great-coat
and knickerbockers. He wore a soft felt hat, shaped like a Boer hat. She
didn't like that hat, but he insisted on having one. But, even with that
hat, how handsome he was! Oh, what a good-looking boy he was! His frank,
blue eyes, a little hard and grave; his fresh-coloured, firm cheeks,
with those refined, clear-cut features, Henri's features; his small
mouth, which she loved; his square shoulders; his pretty,
knickerbockered legs, with the square knees and the slender, rounded
calves. Her child, her child: he was her all in all! He was the
happiness, the grace of her life; because of him her life was worth the
living!

He talked, but she saw a grave look in his eyes, a look graver than
usual. Yes, she felt it: it was because of what was awaiting them, in an
hour's time; the reception by the grandparents down there, at
Driebergen.... Van der Welcke also was nervous, did not speak a word,
folded his newspaper, this side and that.... Constance' heart beat in
her throat, which was dry and parched with nervousness. And Addie's look
became more fixed, more serious than ever. Yes, she felt it. There was a
tenderness in the child's voice, as though he wanted to say:

"Mind you bear up, Mummy, presently...."

And, the nearer they approached, the quieter they became: Henri in his
newspaper; she staring through the window; while Addie himself found
nothing more to say and sat quite still, with his hands in the pockets
of his little great-coat. No, she could never forget that those two old
people had taken thirteen years, not to accept her as their daughter,
but to look upon her child as their grandchild. During all that time,
not a letter, not an attempt at reconciliation: a complete silence, an
absolute death towards their only son, towards their only grandson. She
was not thinking of herself; she asked for no affection from them, only
for cold civility. She felt so much resentment, so much resentment that,
when she thought of it, she almost choked. And, over an