the
thought that such things were being published about her and hers, that
next week more things would be printed about her in that libellous
paper. She was at her wits' end what to do, when, vaguely rolling her
terrified eyes, she caught sight, among the bills and circulars, of
another paper, which said:

/$
"NOTICE!!!
"Why not become a subscriber to the
_"DWARSKIJKER?_
"Terms of subscription:
"50 guilders quarterly, post-free."
$/

The notice was printed in the cynical capitals of blackmail; and she at
once understood; she understood what that subscription of two hundred
guilders a year to a scurrilous rag meant! But she also understood that,
even if she sent the fifty guilders or the two hundred guilders that
moment, it would be no safeguard against further defamation or
extortion; and she did not know what to do....

She at first thought of concealing the paper from Van der Welcke; but
she was so upset all day that, after dinner, when Addie had gone
upstairs, she showed it to her husband. He grew furious at once, giving
way to his naturally irritable temper, which he usually kept under
control so as not to have too violent scenes with his wife. He swore,
clenched his fists, walked up and down the room in impotent rage,
longing to break something or to go out and revile the Hague, its
streets and its people. To him also the printed libel--especially
because it was printed, for every one to read--was a terrible disgrace,
which he felt that he would have done anything to avoid. It also
occurred to him to go to the office of the _Dwarskijker_ and horsewhip
the editor. And, without really knowing why or how, he allowed himself
to utter that unpremeditated, illogical phrase, the phrase of a naughty
child which does not stop to think when its temper is roused:

"It's all your fault!"

"My fault!" she echoed, vehemently. "And why, in Heaven's name? Why is
it my fault?"

"It's your fault! You would come and live here, with that morbid craving
of yours for your family. In Brussels, nobody knew us and nobody talked
about us; and our life if not happy, was at least quiet. Here there's
always something, always something! It's no life at all, our life here!"

"And you, weren't you longing to come back? Was I the only one who
longed?" she cried, hurt by his unreasonableness.

But he did not hear her; and all his pent-up bitterness burst forth:

"I