While the old princess preceded Van Oudijck into the office, Léonie examined the letters in the middle gallery. They were lampoons couched in foul language, about her and Addie and Theo. Always wrapped in the selfish dream of her own life, she never troubled greatly about what people thought or said, especially as she knew that she could always and immediately win every one again with her personality, with her smile. She possessed a tranquil charm which was irresistible. She herself never spoke ill of others, out of indifference; she made amiable excuses for everything and everybody; and she was loved ... when people saw her. But she considered these dirty letters, spat out from some dark corner, tiresome and unpleasant, even though Van Oudijck did not believe them. Suppose that one day he began to believe things? She must be prepared for it. She must above all retain for that possible day her most charming tranquillity, all her invulnerability, all her inviolability. Who could have sent the letters? Who hated her so much, who could be interested in writing like this to her husband? How strange that the thing should be known!... Addie? Theo? How did people know? Was it Oorip? No, not Oorip.... But who then? And was everything actually known? She had always thought that what happened in the secret chambers would never be known on the housetops. She had even believed--it was simple of her--that the men never discussed her with one another, that they might discuss other women, but not herself. Her mind harboured such simple illusions, despite all her experience, in a simplicity which harmonized with the half-perverse, half-childish poetry of her rose-hued imagination. Could she then not always keep hidden the secrets of her mystery, the secrets of reality? It annoyed her for a moment, that reality, which was being revealed despite her superficial correctness.... Thoughts and dreams always remained secret. It was the actions that were so troublesome. For an instant she thought of being more careful in future, of refraining. But she saw before her, in imagination, Theo and Addie, her fair love and her dark love; and she felt that she was too weak for that. She knew that in this she could not conquer her passions, though she controlled them. Would they end by proving her destruction, notwithstanding all her tactfulness? But she laughed at the thought: she had a firm faith in her invulnerability. Life always glided off her shoulders.