ed words of that old man who was not used to writing that his
father was implacable towards Constance. Constance felt it and so did
Addie. And, when Addie, offended on his mother's behalf, said, angrily,
that she was being left behind alone, she replied:

"It's better that you should go with Papa, my boy."

She thought it advisable for him, the grandson, the heir, not to provoke
his grandfather. But she had never spent a week without him before:

"What can I do?" she thought. "He is growing bigger, older; I shall see
less of him still as time goes on."

Yes, he had grown bigger, older; he was now fourteen. He was broad; and
his voice was so curiously deep sometimes, was changing; but he remained
small for his age. The pink childishness of his skin was becoming downy
with a sort of blond velvet bloom; and that blond velvet was more
clearly defined above his upper lip. But he was still a child in the
innocent freshness which, despite his seriousness, wafted from all his
being like a perfume.

"I'm going to Driebergen for a week with Papa," he said to Paul, to
Gerrit, to Adeline. "Will you take pity on Mamma, Uncle, while I'm away?
Will you, Auntie?"

They promised, smiling. Constance remained calm and peaceful. After
those gently happy moods there had come to her, since Addie's quarrel
with Jaap about the nickname and what had happened after the quarrel, a
nameless depression that silently gnawed at her heart. She did not speak
about it, did not mention it to Addie, nor to Gerrit, nor to Paul. She
entombed it in the depth of herself.

Father and son went away; and the grandparents thought that the little
boy had grown. The grandmother feared that the children of the villa
close by would be too childish, after all, for Adriaan to play with. She
said this with an air of disappointment, but also of astonishment and
admiration; and, although Henri said that Addie could play very nicely
with his Uncle Gerrit's fair-haired little tribe, even if he was a
little paternal with them, yet the old woman sent no message to the
villa.

It was beautiful at Driebergen and Zeist; and Van der Welcke enjoyed
being there. And, as they had brought their bicycles, they went on long
expeditions....

When alone with his father, Van der Welcke spoke out more and more. He
spoke of the past, humbly, as though once more asking forgiveness of
that stern father who to him, the son, seemed almost supernatural in his
absolute virtue and stain