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days later, Addie went to meet his father at the station.

“Daddy, Daddy!” he shouted, as Van der Welcke stepped from the train.

They embraced; Van der Welcke was much moved, because it was fifteen years since he had been in Holland. Addie helped Papa with his luggage, like a man; and they drove away in a cab.

“My boy, it’s ten days since I saw you!”

“What kept you so long, Daddy?”

“Everything’s settled now.”

“And are we going to hunt for a house?”

“Yes.”

He looked at his child with a laugh of delight, threw his arm over Addie’s shoulder, drew him to him, full of a strange, oppressive sadness and content, because he was back, in Holland.

They pulled up at the hotel. Constance was waiting for them in her room.

“How are you, Constance?”

“How are you, Henri?”

“I’ve done everything.”

“That’s good. Your room is through here.”

“Capital.”

He rang, ordered coffee.

Her face at once became stiff and drawn. Addie poured out the coffee: