d, the military set, the Indian set--and, just because of
these connections in more than one set, there arose a cross-fire of
criticism and condemnation, neither of which had lost any of its
sharpness, even though people had not given a thought to Constance for
years. On the contrary, the gossip was a sort of raking up of all that
could be remembered of former days, a repetition of all the criticism
and all the condemnation which these very people, for the most part,
fifteen years ago, had passed among themselves, from one to another, as
so much current coin. If it had sometimes seemed to Constance as though
the period of her absence contracted and was no longer twenty years, to
all those people who knew her, or knew her relations, or knew relations
of her relations, that interval had no existence whatever; and it was as
though the scandal dated from yesterday, as though she had married her
lover, Van der Welcke, yesterday. And, while she herself, in her gentle
happiness and melancholy contentment at being back among her kinsfolk,
in her country, for which she had longed so greatly abroad, while she
noticed nothing of this cross-fire, through which she walked quietly--in
the street, at the time of the two weddings, at Scheveningen and now--it
continued among all those people--acquaintances, friends,
relations--continued, never ceased fire. To all of them she had remained
the Mrs. De Staffelaer of old, who had never returned to the Hague since
her marriage and who was now back with Van der Welcke. At visits, at
tea-parties, at evening-parties, at the Witte or the Plaats, at
Scheveningen, everywhere, the rapid cross-fire began, as a pleasant
sport for all of them:

"You know, Mrs. De Staffelaer...."

"Van Lowe that was...."

"Yes, the one who went off with Van der Welcke...."

"Yes, I remember: she married him...."

"Yes, she's back."

"Yes, so I hear."

"Yes, she was out driving yesterday with old Mrs. van Lowe."

"So she's back again?"

"Yes, she's back!"

In this way the cross-fire began, suavely and rapidly, as a
conversational sport.

"And so she is received by her relations?"

"Yes. And even at Driebergen."

"Is it really twenty years ago?"

"No, it can't be as long as that."

"She has a child."

"Yes, a boy; but not by Van der Welcke."

"The father's an Italian, I hear."

"Yes, an Italian diplomatist."

In this way the fire continued, brisk, crackling, fiercer and fiercer,
until it went o