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40 was a sort of nightmare, an obsession. Auntie, dear Auntie, is everything all right now?"

"Yes, certainly, child."

"Really all right? . . . Are you coming to us again . . . and may I come and see you . . . and will you ask me to dinner again soon? Is everything all right, really all right?"

She snuggled up to her aunt like a child, putting her head against Constance' knees, stroking her hands:

"You will ask me again soon, Auntie, won't you? I love coming to you, I simply love it. I should have missed it so, I can't tell you how much . . ."

Her voice broke, as she knelt by Constance' side, and she suddenly burst into tears, sobbing out her words so excitedly that Constance was startled, thinking it almost unnatural, absurd:

"I was nearly coming to you before Papa and Mamma had been . . . But I didn't dare . . . I was afraid Papa would be angry . . . But I can come now, it's all right now . . ."

"Yes, it's all right now . . ."

She kissed Marianne. But the door opened and Van der Welcke entered.

"How do you do, Uncle?"

He always thought it odd when Marianne called him uncle, just like that:

"Is it you, Marianne? . . . Constance, did I leave my Figaro down here?"