"How people will talk!" Uncle Ruyvenaer whispered to Karel and Van Saetzema, with whom he was sitting in the second coach.
"Having a nephew who becomes a clown...."
"And then, it seems, goes and gets murdered in Paris...."
"Yes ... some obscure story about a girl ... in Paris."
"We really don't know anything. Constance wrote no particulars."
"In any case, it's not over-respectable."
"Constance has gone on ahead with Emilie."
"Yes, it was because of _him_ that she left her husband. And now--no doubt through his own imprudence--stabbed, I suppose...?"
"Van Raven, after all, was a decent fellow."
"Van Raven? I believe you! Van Raven was a _very_ decent fellow."
"Those young Van Naghels never had a sensible bringing-up...."
"No, I bring my boys up very differently."
"Then why did they put us in the second coach?"
"I daresay, but it's not the thing. Uncle ought to be in the first coach."
"Well ... I daresay it's a mistake. The thing wasn't arranged...."
"No; but when Van der Welcke has to arrange a thing...!"
"It was that young bounder who arranged things."
"Oh, so that young bounder arranged things!"
"Look here, what are we to say to Mamma?"
"Well, I don't intend to mention it. For that matter, I know nothing."
"The best thing will be not to say anything."
"Yes, it's best not to say anything to Mamma."
"Lord, what a day!... And to have to ride for an hour in this weather at a foot's pace ... behind the body of an undergraduate who has been sent down from Leiden and must needs run away to Paris with his sister and become a circus-clown...."
"And go getting murdered into the bargain! But we mustn't tell anybody that. No, no, we won't speak about it. We'll merely say that he was taken ill. After all, it's a rotten incident ... for us."
"If things con-tin-ue like _this_ ... _I_ shall leave the _Hague_," said Karel. "Ca-teau said so _too_."
He copied his wife's voice: he always copied her voice, unconsciously, when he talked about her.
The carriage containing Constance had driven on ahead of the procession. Emilie leant against her, feebly and listlessly, without speaking or hearing. When they approached the Kerkhoflaan, Emilie said:
"Is this life? My life has never been anything but stupid chance! The little pleasure I had ... and the sorrow ... was all stupid chance! I am now so miserable; and it's all ... all stupid chance!... Oh, Auntie, I shall never be able to live ... not now, when Henri's death will always ... will always haunt me like an accusing ghost!... Auntie ... do other people have so much stupid chance in their lives?... If I hadn't gone to Paris!... If Henri had not ... oh, I can't say it, I can't say it! Auntie, we shall never know! It's _too_ awful, what happened! I can never tell you ... what I think!"