"What do you say?" he now repeated. "What do you say?"
"Uncle, are you ill?" asked Addie.
"Ill? Ill? No, I'm not ill, my boy. But . . . telegram? Telegram?"
"Papa and Mamma will be back to-morrow morning; they're bringing Henri's body with them, Uncle; and they're bringing Emilie; and I've been to the undertaker's . . . to arrange to have the body fetched at the station at once. . . . I've seen to everything. . . . And I must go to all the uncles now: to Uncle Karel and Uncle Saetzema. . . . I've telegraphed to Otto; I don't know if Aunt Bertha will come or not. . . . It's very sad, Uncle, and it'll be very sad for Grandmamma when she knows everything: Henri . . . Henri was murdered; he was drunk, it seems; and . . ."
"He drowned himself and he was quite blue?
"No, Uncle, he was murdered: stabbed with a dagger. . . . Mamma is bearing up, Papa writes, but she is terribly overwrought . . . on Emilie's account also. Emilie is quite beside herself. Papa fortunately is keeping calm: he is doing all that has to be done; he has been to the legation. . . . But, Uncle, you're not at all well; you're shivering; you've caught a chill. Oughtn't you to go home and get into bed? . . ."
"Yes, yes, I'm going home."
