her to do that; she insisted on her privilege, her right.... Henri's
hesitation had not escaped her; but she had laid her hand upon her son's
shoulder, as though taking possession of him.

She did not know how long she waited, but it seemed very long; and she
had time to see every detail of the hall: the oak wainscoting; the three
or four family-portraits; a couple of old engravings of city-views; the
Delft jugs on an antique cabinet; the staircase leading to the floor
above; the oak doors of the rooms, which remained silent and closed. She
saw the pattern of the tiles in the passage and the colours of the wide
strip of Deventer carpet.... Then, at last, the door of the front room
opened and an old man appeared. Constance rose. The old man had Henri's
features, but more deeply furrowed, and his clean-shaven upper lip fell
in; his straight nose was more prominent and his ivory forehead arched
high above a scanty fringe of iron-grey hair. His eyes looked out blue
and hard, as Henri's eyes looked out. He was tall, Henri was short; his
shoulders were broad and bent in the long, dark coat, Henri was square
and straight. His hands were long, wrinkled and bony and they trembled;
and Henri's hands were short and broad.... She made her comparison in
two or three seconds, standing with her hand on her son's shoulder. Then
the old man said:

"Come in, Constance...."

She went, gently pushing Addie before her, and they entered the room.
She saw an old woman, with a large face that in no way reminded her of
Henri. The grey hair, parted in the middle, was set severely in a
silver-stiff frame; her complexion was yellow and waxen; her dark-grey
eyes were full of tears, and peered painfully through that misty haze.
Her figure was bent in the dark stuff dress; her legs seemed to move
with difficulty; and her stooping body was almost deformed. She was
holding Henri's hand....

"Constance," the old woman began; and her trembling hands were raised as
though for an embrace.

"Here is your grandson," said Constance, stiffly.

She pushed Addie a little nearer. The boy looked out of his steady eyes,
which were the eyes of Henri and of the old man, and said:

"How do you do, Grandpapa and Grandmamma?"

In the large, sombre room, his voice sounded dull and yet firm. The old
woman and the old man looked at the boy; and there was an oppressive
silence. They looked at the boy, and they were so struck with amazement
that they could not find