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Rh "You see . . . when I arrived this morning . . ."

"Erzeele was with me."

"Yes."

"He's an old friend."

"I know."

"He came to make an appointment . . . to play tennis to-morrow."

"Yes, I heard him."

"There was nothing else."

"He was holding your hand."

"He's an old friend whom I knew as a girl, almost as a child."

"Yes, dear, I know . . . but . . . "

"What do you mean?"

"It is dangerous."

"What is?"

"To talk to him too much . . . while you're in your present frame of mind. If you're feeling unhappy, dear, about one thing or another . . . speak to Addie."

"I've spoken to him so often."

"Confide in him."

"I have."

"And not . . . not in Johan Erzeele."

Mathilde's eyes blazed:

"Mamma . . . you haven't the right!"

"Yes, dear, I have! I not only have the right to tell you this as Addie's mother, but above all I have the right because I understand you, because I am able to understand you, because I remember my own wretchedly unhappy years of despair, as a young married woman, unsatisfied, unhappy, desperate, though for other reasons, alas, than those between you and Addie! . . . Because I remember all this, Mathilde, because I can never forget, just because I remember, because I now remember