"Lost me? Why?"

"A son...."

"You've always been afraid ... of losing me. But you never have lost me."

"No, never.... Tell me, dear, am I to blame? I am to blame, am I not?"

"How?"

"About Mathilde."

"No, you're not to blame.... But, _if_ she comes back, later, with the children, Mamma, let us try...."

"Yes, dear, yes."

"We will, won't we? We must try ... to bring ourselves into harmony with her as far as possible...."

"Yes, yes, I will try."

"And all of us."

"Yes, all of us."

"That's so, Gerdy, isn't it? We must all...."

"What did you say, Addie?"

"I was saying, Gerdy, _if_ Mathilde comes back, later on...."

"Yes...."

"Would you be willing to try ... with all of us, with Papa and Mamma, with every one of us ... to get into harmony with her as far as possible, so that she...."

"Yes, oh, Addie, yes! I'll try!"

"You will?"

"Oh, yes!... If she comes back, I'll try, Addie, I'll try."

"My dear, listen to it blowing."

"That's _our_ wind, Mamma."

"Yes, always."

Marietje and Adeletje had now gone into the dining-room; Adeline and Emilie came after them.

"Why is it so dark in there?" asked Marietje.

"Grandmamma's taking a nap."

"We must take her to bed," said Constance.

Adeletje turned up the gas.

"Auntie!" cried Marietje, in alarm.

"What is it, dear?"

"Oh, Auntie, Auntie ... come here!"

Constance came in, with Addie and Gerdy.

"Is Grandmamma ... is Grandmamma...?" stammered Marietje, aghast.

They all looked at the old woman. She was sitting as usual, sitting quietly in her big chair, with her veined and wrinkled hands folded in her black lap. Her head hung back, framed white in her white hair. All knowledge was hers now; and her old mouth smiled because of it, encouragingly....