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212 "Yes, Bertha?"

"Are you fond of Marianne?"

"Yes, very."

"Still?"

"Yes, still."

"Constance . . ."

"Yes, Bertha?"

"It is just as well . . . that we are going to Baarn . . . Tell me, Constance: Van der Welcke . . ."

"Well?"

"What sort of a man is he?"

"What do you mean, Bertha?" asked Constance, gently.

"Is . . . is it his fault? . . . Is he a gentleman?"

Constance defended her husband calmly, but not without astonishment that Bertha could speak so frankly about that. . . as if they both knew all about it:

"No, Bertha, I don't think that Henri . . . that it is Henri's fault. I don't think it's Marianne's fault either. Bertha, I don't believe they can help it. They have an attraction for each other, a very great attraction . . ."

A tenderness came over her soul, like a glow, like a glowing compassion.

"Constance, they must not let themselves go. They must struggle against it."