She hid her face with her hands, terrified. Then she recovered herself, but her pale face flushed red with shame:

"You don't know what you're saying!" she said, haughtily, trying to withdraw into her maidenly reserve. "You don't know what you're saying. But your manners are only put on, for strangers. And at heart you're a cowardly cad, a cowardly cad, who strikes and insults women."

He made an angry movement at her words.

"You're not going to strike me, I suppose?" she said, drawing herself up haughtily. "You've insulted me: isn't that enough for you?"

She made an effort to turn away calmly, walked out of the room, up the stairs. The sobs welled up in her throat; she could no longer keep them back:

"O G.o.d!" she thought. "Everybody knows it. Everybody sees it. I can't keep it hidden: I love him, I love him!... Hush! Hush! I must suppress it, deep, deep down in myself. But, if I love him, if I love him ... if I am happy when I see him.... Oh, hush, hush!"

She pressed her two hands to her breast, as though to thrust her emotion deep down in her soul. She wiped her eyes, had the strength to return to the drawing-room. She talked gaily and pleasantly, as the daughter of the house, but she suddenly felt tired to death:

"Everybody knows it, everybody sees it," she kept on thinking; and she tried to read in the faces of the guests what they saw, what they knew.

It was over at last. The butler was continually coming to the door, announcing the carriages. Those people would not remain much longer. It was ten o'clock; and they began to say good-bye. They followed one after the other, at short intervals, as is proper at big dinner-parties.... There was only one of the ministers left, talking earnestly to Van Naghel, in a low voice, probably about some government matter: he was not thinking yet of going.... But at last he also hastened away, apologizing. And Van Naghel and Bertha, Marianne, Frances and Otto all listened while he put on his overcoat downstairs, said a word to the butler.... The front-door slammed. They were alone.

They looked at one another....

And, as if driven by an irresistible impulse, Van Naghel went downstairs, to his son-in-law, and Bertha and Marianne upstairs, to Emilie....

"Mamma, have you come to me at last?" said Emilie, plaintively. "Mamma, I shall stay here: I won't go back...."

She was clutching Henri desperately; and Marianne went up to her, comforted her, kissed her.

"Marianne," said Henri, "here, a minute...."

He led her out into the pa.s.sage:

"Marianne," he said, "you don't know how fond I am of you ... almost as fond as of Emilie. Marianne, let me just say this to you: be sensible; everybody's talking about it...."

"Everybody?" she asked, frightened; and she did not even ask what it was, because she understood.

"You even know it yourself then?" he asked, quickly, to take her by surprise.

She withdrew into the mysterious recesses of her little soul, which was too transparent, reflected its radiance too much; she wanted to veil that radiance from him and from the others:

"What?" she said. "There's nothing to know!... Everybody? Everybody who? Everybody what?..."

"Everybody's talking about it, about Uncle Henri's making love to you?"

She tried to laugh; and the little silver bells sounded shrill and false:

"Making love to me?... Uncle Henri?... People are mad!"

"You were out with him yesterday ... in a motor-car."

"And what is there in that?"

"Don't do it again."

"Why not?"

"Everybody's talking about it."

Again she tried to laugh; and the little silver bells sounded shrill and false:

"Uncle Henri!" she said. "Why, he might be my father!"

"You know you don't mean what you say."

"Uncle Henri!"

"He is a young man.... Marianne, tell me that it's not true...."

"That he makes love to me? I'm fond of him ... just as I'm fond of Aunt Constance."

"That you love him. There, you can't deny it. You love him."

"I do not love him," she lied.

"Yes, you do, you love him."

"I do not love him."

"Yes, you do."

"Very well, then, I do!" she said, curtly. "I love him. What then?"

"Marianne...."

"I like being with him, like talking to him, cycling with him, motoring with him: what then? There's no harm in it; and ... I love Aunt Constance too."

"Marianne, I've warned you," he said, sadly. "Be sensible."

"Yes," she answered. "But you be sensible also."

"How do you mean?"

"Be sensible with Eduard! Control your temper, Henri! It can only make things worse, if you don't control your temper."

"I will control myself!" he promised, clenching his fists as he spoke.

"Henri...."

"I hate the bounder ... I could murder him, wring his neck."

"Henri, be quiet, I hear Papa coming."