u! But it shan't happen to you, my boy. There is something about
him which makes me see that that sort of thing can never happen to him.
He will go far: wait and see if he doesn't!... What does he get from me
and what from Constance? Difficult, this question of heredity. I always
think of it when I look at him like this. He takes after me, physically.
That seriousness is his grandfather's. Now what does he get from the Van
Lowes? Perhaps that tinge of melancholy he sometimes has. But he's a Van
der Welcke, he's a regular Van der Welcke.... He's singularly
well-balanced, that boy: what is harsh and rugged in Papa is ever so
much softened in him. Perhaps that's from the Van Lowes.... It's enough
for me to sit and look at him working. Constance doesn't know I'm here.
She thinks we are sitting apart, each in his own room.... How can the
boy stick it, working so long on end? What is he working at? Greek? Yes,
Greek: I can see the letters. I always used to get up a hundred times: a
fly was enough to put me off; and I never really studied: I just
crammed, prepared for my examination in a fortnight, helped by Max
Brauws.... Brauws! What's become of that chap, I wonder? Oh, one's old
friends!... I simply could not study. Without Max Brauws, I should never
have got there.... Yes, what's become of him?... But this beggar studies
so peacefully, so industriously. He's a dear boy.... Oh, if he only had
more young people about him, bright, cheerful youngsters! If only it
doesn't do him harm later: this gloomy boyhood between parents who are
always squabbling.... I restrain myself sometimes, for his sake. But
it's no use, no use.... Heavens, how the fellow's working! I think I'll
just ask him something. Or no, perhaps I'd better not: he always puckers
up his forehead so solemnly, as though I were the child, disturbing him,
and he the father.... Well, I'd better have another cigarette...."

And Van der Welcke, through the clouds of his fourth cigarette, watched
his son's back. In the light of the lamp on the table, the boy's curly
young head bent over his books and exercises as fervently as though the
Greek verbs were the world's salvation; and Van der Welcke, a little
irritated by all this industry, all this peace, all this quietness for
two hours on end, became jealous of the Greek verbs and, rising at last,
unable to restrain himself, said suddenly, with his hand on Addie's
shoulder and something parental in his voice, though it was no