"Well—you see—I have a good deal to do." The elder brother's voice was tremulous, and his anxious eye asked his younger brother what he meant to do.
"They are waiting for you."
"Oh! There is—is my mother down?"
"Yes, it was she who sent me to fetch you."
"Ah, very well; then I will come."
At the door of the dining-room he paused, doubtful about going in first; then he abruptly opened the door and saw his father and mother seated at the table opposite each other.
He went straight up to her without looking at her or saying a word, and bending over her, offered his forehead for her to kiss, as he had done for some time past, instead of kissing her on both cheeks as of old. He supposed that she put her lips near but he did not feel them on his brow, and he straightened himself with a throbbing heart after this feint of a caress. And he wondered:
"What did they say to each other after I had left?"
Jean constantly addressed her tenderly as "mother," or "dear mother," took care of her, waited on her, and poured out her wine.
Then Pierre understood that they had wept together, but he could not read their minds. Did
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