About a week after the tableaux-vivants, Lili Verstraeten was sitting
in the small drawing-room, where the representation had taken place.
The room had long since resumed its usual appearance, and in the grate
burned a cheerful fire. Outdoors it was cold; there was a bleak wind,
and it threatened rain. Marie had gone shopping with Frédérique van
Erlevoort, but Lili had preferred to stay at home, and so she settled
herself cosily in a big, old-fashioned, tapestry-covered arm-chair. She
had taken Victor Hugo’s Notre Dame de Paris with her, but she did not
wish to force herself to read, if she did not care for it, and the
book, in its red calf cover and with gilt edges, lay unopened in her
lap. How nice it was to do nothing except dream the time away! how
stupid of Marie and Freddie to go out in such wretched weather! What
did she care about the weather! let it pour and blow outdoors as much
as it liked, indoors it was beautiful; the clouds subdued the light,
the low hanging curtains allowed it but a modest access. Papa sat
reading in the conservatory, where it was lightest; she could just
catch a glimpse of his dear gray head, and she noticed how quickly he
turned the pages; yes, he was really reading, not like her, who had
taken her book just for a make-believe. She never felt ennui, though
she did nothing at all; on the contrary, she enjoyed those musing
thoughts, rose-leaves wafted along by gentle breezes; soap-bubbles,
bright and airy, which she loved to watch, floating on high, and the
rose-leaves blew away, the bubbles broke, but she wished neither her
rose-leaf to be an ivy plant, clinging closely to her, nor her bubbles
to be a captive balloon. Mamma was still up-stairs, ever active—ah! she
could not lighten mamma’s work; she would do everything herself, though
Marie occasionally helped a little. She inwardly hoped no visitors
would come to disturb her in her dolce far niente. How jolly it was!
How nice to watch the flame curling and twisting round the live coal!
The grate was a miniature hell, the peat-blocks were rocks, and between
them there were yawning precipices, all fire and glowing embers—it was
like Dante! The souls of the damned hovered about the brinks of the
precipices, shuddering at the fiery mass.... And, smiling at the
wildness of her own fantasy, she averted her eyes, somewhat dazed with
staring into the fire. But a week ago, on that very spot yonder, they
had posed before their applauding acquaintances. How different it all
looked then! The scenes, the lyres, the cross, and all the rest of the
paraphernalia were stowed away in the lumber-room. The dresses were
nicely folded up by Dien, and put away in boxes. But it had been a
jolly time, what with the consultations beforehand with Paul and
Etienne, the rehearsals, and so forth. How they had laughed! what
trouble they had taken for the sake of a few moments’ entertainment!
Papa still read on, turning page after page. How the rain beat against
the window-panes! how it rushed down the pipe! Yes; Freddie and Marie
were out for their enjoyment ... how grand it was to be snug and safe
from all the wet. And her feet sought the soft warmth of the
hearth-rug; her fair head nestled deeper into the cushions of the old
chair.
Freddie was to go to a dance that evening. How could she stand it,
going out night after night! Yes; she was very fond of it herself—a
nice dance, a sociable soirée; but she liked staying at home too; to
read, to work, or to—do nothing. But as for ennui, she did not know
what it was, and her life flowed on like a limpid rivulet. She was so
entirely in love with her darling parents; she only hoped things would
ever remain as they were; she would not mind being an old maid....
Quasimodo, Esmeralda, Phœbus de Châteaupers—oh, why had she not taken
Longfellow with her? she did not care about the Cour des Miracles, but
she longed for Evangeline or the Golden Legend—
“My life is little,
Only a cup of water,
But pure and limpid——”
How poetic she was getting! she laughed at herself, and looked out into
the garden, where the dripping bare branches were swaying to and fro in
the wind. There was a ring at the bell, and light footsteps and
laughter echoed through the hall. Freddie and Marie were returning
home, they would go up-stairs she supposed; no—they were coming this
way, and entered the room, their wet wraps removed, but bringing with
them a rush of wind and a chill dampness.
“Well, I never!” cried Marie; “my lady seated by the fire warming
herself. That’s right!”
“Would my lady like a pillow for her back?” asked Freddie teasingly.
“Yes; you laugh as much as you like,” murmured Lili with a smile, and
she nestled herself more snugly in the chair. “I am warm and jolly
here, and my feet are not cold and damp. You go and splash in the mud
by yourselves!”
Freddie went to speak to Mr. Verstraeten, and Marie thought she would
like a refresher, and she set about making a cup of tea. So the girls
sat down; yes, Lili would like a cup of tea too, although she had not
been out mud-splashing.
“How dark it is here, Lili! how could you see to read? Why, it’s enough
to blind you, peering away in the dark like this!” cried Marie.
“But I have not been reading,” replied Lili, enjoying her dolce far
niente.
“My lady has been musing,” mocked Freddie.
“Ah,” said Lili with a smile, “it’s grand, doing nothing at all—just
dreaming the time away.”
And they all three burst out laughing at such a confession of shameless
laziness, when Madame Verstraeten came down, looking for her bunch of
keys.
Frédérique said she had to go soon; she was asked to a dance at the
Eekhofs’ that evening, and there were one or two things she had to see
to yet, and Madame Verstraeten thought Lili much more sensible than
Freddie and Marie, who were foolish enough to go shopping in such
weather.
Again there was a ring at the bell.
It was Paul, bringing with him such a marked odour of wind and damp,
that he was sent out of the room again to wipe his feet better.
“There’s weather!” he sighed, as he sat down.
Madame Verstraeten left the young people to themselves, and sat down
beside her husband, who, however, on hearing that Paul had come, rose
and walked to the back drawing-room.
“Morning, uncle.”
“Ah! morning, Paul; how are you?—how is your mother?”
“Mother is very well. I lift her reading a book that Eline had sent
her.”
“And how is it—have you paid a visit to Hovel yet?”
“No, uncle, not yet.”
“But do so then. Don’t delay too long about it; Hovel wants to make
your acquaintance.”
“Paul, it’s four days ago that you said you were going to Hovel,” cried
Marie. “How can you be thinking so long about it? It isn’t such a great
journey.”
“I intended to go to-morrow.”
“Then go to-morrow, about half-past six. You are sure to find him at
home then. I should advise you not to fail,” said Uncle Verstraeten,
and in his usually so friendly dark brown eyes there gleamed something
like annoyance, when he turned to go back to the conservatory.
“Paul, Paul,” said Frédérique, shaking her head, “how can you be so
lazy? You are even lazier than Lili.”
“Oh, to-morrow will be quite time enough,” grumbled Paul, as he
finished drinking his cup of tea.
“Yes; but you’re very lazy, all the same. And I tell you frankly that
we don’t think it nice of you at all, any of us.”
“Go on, grandmother, give me a good sermon; that’s right.”
“Grandmother or no grandmother, that’s my opinion. And you see, I think
it’s a great pity that you should be like that; you could do a great
deal more if you only had a little energy. Mark my words, now, if you
don’t better yourself you will grow just like Henk—a dear good fellow,
but good for nothing. You know very well that I am not altogether in
love with Betsy, but I can quite understand that she must sometimes
feel terribly bored with that brother of yours, doing nothing all day
long.”
“Don’t you say anything against Henk now; Henk is a thorough good
fellow,” cried Marie. “And besides,” Marie continued, “you have much
more ability than Henk; and that’s just why I think that laziness and
want of energy are doubly inexcusable in you.”
“Come, Marie,” said Lili, rising, “don’t go firing away like that at
Paul, poor boy! You go to Hovel to-morrow, do you hear?” she whispered
in his ear; “then it will be all right.”
He laughed, and promised to better himself under the able guidance of
the three of them.
“And as I have evidently been placed under the guardianship of my
cousins and Miss Erlevoort,” said he good-humouredly, “may I ask if
they’ll allow their little protégé another cup of tea?”
The heavy rain had ceased, but the wind still shook the dripping
branches.
It was half-past five when the door-bell rang once more.
“Half-past five!” exclaimed Frédérique. “I must go; I ought to have
gone long ago; I have some bows to fix on my dress. Oh! I shall look
bewitching to-night, all in flot de tulle! Where are my parcels,
Marie?”
“There goes the bell; I wonder if there are any visitors,” said Lili.
Frédérique was about to go, when Dien came in to say that Mr. de Woude
van Bergh was there.
“What! that unspeakable bore!”
“Oh, he’s not so bad,” said Paul.
“Well, I don’t care; I’m going to close the folding doors. I don’t wish
to see him!” she continued, and she was just about to suit the action
to the word.
“Come, Lili, don’t be so silly; come this way,” said Marie.
“No, thanks; you go by yourself,” she answered and closed the doors,
just as de Woude entered the front drawing-room, where Marie received
him.
Paul and Frédérique laughed, and took leave of Lili, and all three
passed through the dining-room to the hall.
“Good-bye; give my regards to uncle and aunt, and tell uncle that I
shall go to Hovel to-morrow for certain,” said Paul.
“Remember me to them also, and tell them I really had to go,” said
Freddie.
“All right; much pleasure to-night in your flot de tulle. Boo! how cold
it is here in this hall!”
Paul and Freddie left, and Lili returned through the dining-room. And
Georges de Woude, what had he come for? No; she could not bear him at
all. So affected and formal. How could Paul see anything in him? Paul
she thought ever so much nicer and manlier. And how Marie did lecture
him! he was a good boy, too; and what if he were a little lazy—he had
money, and might just as well enjoy himself a little now; later he
could look out for a situation, and he would soon find one, that was
certain. Yes; she would tell pa Paul had promised to go to Hovel
to-morrow, and he always kept his word.
She sat down once more in the old chair, and poked the fire. She warmed
her fingers and rubbed her little hands, soft as satin. Through the
closed doors she could hear the sound of voices, amongst which that of
Georges prevailed—he seemed to be telling them a long story. She must
have a look for one moment, and she rose and cautiously pushed one of
the doors aside a little. Yes; that would do; pa and ma she could not
see, but Marie she could just see in the face, and of Georges she got a
back view. What fun it would be if Marie were to catch sight of her;
but no, she appeared to be all attention for that little fop. Lili
could just admire his shining white collar, and the tails of his
coat—superfine, all of it! There—Marie looked up—there—she just caught
sight of her through the crack in the door: “Hallo! bon jour;” she
shook her finger at Marie, then she curtseyed and made grimaces, until
Marie had to compress her lips, so as not to burst out laughing.
As it was getting dark, Frédérique hurried home to the Voorhout. On
arriving, she rushed up the broad staircase. She nearly stumbled over
Lientje and Nico, two children of Madame van Ryssel, her eldest sister,
who since her divorce from her husband had been living with her four
children at Madame van Erlevoort’s.
“Miss Frantzen, do look after the children, they will fall!” said
Frédérique, out of breath, to the bonne, whom she met on the first
landing, searching high and low for the youngsters.
“Do you know where Ernestine and Johan are?” asked Miss Frantzen.
“No; I have only just come home,” answered Frédérique, quite indignant,
and she hurried further, flew into her room, threw off her cloak, and
with nervous fingers proceeded to open one of the little parcels she
had brought with her in her muff and her pockets.
“I shall never be ready!” she muttered, and she drew aside the green
damask curtains from her bedstead, disclosing her ball dress, spread
out on the bed—a diaphanous cloud of light-blue tulle.
That morning Frédérique’s dress had been sent home from the dressmaker,
but she wanted to add a bow here and there herself, although she almost
feared to touch it, lest she should tangle the filmy, web-like stuff.
“Oh, what shall I do!” she cried; then a sudden thought seemed to
strike her, and she rushed out of the room, and on the landing she
cried—
“Tilly, Tilly, Mathilde!”
One of the doors opened, and her sister, Madame van Ryssel, entered in
some alarm.
“Freddie, what is the matter? why do you scream so? is the house on
fire?”
“No; if it were I shouldn’t call for your help. But do help me a bit,
or I shall never be ready.”
“Help you? what with?”
“With my ball-dress. I want to put on a bow or two. It’s so bare at the
side, and I bought some ribbon.”
Madame van Ryssel was about to reply, when the door of Madame van
Erlevoort’s room opened, and the old lady came out to ask what was the
matter. At the same moment a shrill burst of laughter and a sound of
children’s voices re-echoed from the landing, there was a loud tripping
of little feet, and a girl of seven came half tumbling down the stairs,
followed by a lad of six.
“Mamma, mamma!” the child cried, as she jumped down the last steps.
“I say, Tine, Johan, what a noise you are making! What are you doing,
you two?” asked Madame van Ryssel severely.
“Jo is always teasing me; Jo wants to tickle me, and he knows I can’t
bear it,” panted the girl, and she hid herself behind her grandma’s
petticoats, whilst Frédérique caught hold of Johan.
“I told you before that I won’t have all that running and noise in the
house!” resumed Madame van Ryssel. “I wish you would remember that
grandma cannot bear it.”
“Never mind,” said Madame van Erlevoort kindly, “they were only
playing; eh, Tine?”
“Look out, do you hear, or I’ll tickle you!” cried Frédérique, and she
tickled Johan under his little arms, so that he fell, struggling and
crowing, on the floor.
“Mais comme vous les gâtez, toutes les deux! ne les choyez donc pas,
quand je suis fâchée. Je perdrai tout mon pouvoir, si vous continuez
ainsi!” exclaimed Madame van Ryssel despairingly, as she glanced over
the banisters, for down below Madeline and Nikolaas were giving Miss
Frantzen a terrible trouble and would not go up-stairs with her.
“Lientje, Nico!” cried Madame van Ryssel in her severest tones.
“Come, Mathilde, do leave the children alone for a moment, and come and
look at my dress!” Freddie implored.
“I can’t keep them in order any longer, really,” said Mathilde, with a
sigh of despair.
“Make haste, Freddie; we dine rather earlier to-day,” said Madame van
Erlevoort.
The street door was being opened; it was Otto and Etienne van Erlevoort
who were coming home, and their cheerful voices mingled with the
laughter and screams of the children, the chiding tones of Miss
Frantzen, and the barking of Hector, Otto’s dog.
“Come, Mathilde, do just have a look at my dress,” Freddie pleaded, in
coaxing tones.
Mathilde thought it best to give up all attempts at exerting her
maternal influence in that Babel of confusion, and yielded to
Frédérique’s coaxing.
“Really, I mean it, I have no more control over them——”
“Come, children, don’t fight any more now; be good!” said Madame van
Erlevoort to Ernestine and Johan. “Come with us down-stairs, ’tis
enough to freeze you here.”
Madame van Erlevoort had always been used to excitement and hubbub, and
it never seemed to upset her. Herself mother of seven children, she had
always been surrounded by noisy laughter, turmoil and excitement, and
she could not have understood how a large family could have existed in
any atmosphere that was calmer than her own. From the first, her house
had been filled with the shrill voices, the boisterous laughter, and
the continual running to and fro of her children, until they grew up,
in all the joyful freshness of their youthful spirits. Then with the
death of her husband, Théodore Otto, Baron van Erlevoort ter Horze,
member of the Second Chamber of the States General, commenced a period
of unwonted calm and peacefulness, which grew even more so when her
four children, one after another, left her house and got married. The
first to go was Théodore, the eldest, who now managed their estates in
Gelderland, and who, in the midst of his numerous family, lived at the
Huis ter Horze the life of a gentleman-farmer and of a youthful
patriarch combined. He was followed by her third daughter, Mathilde,
whose brief married life had been very unhappy; after her, the two
eldest girls, Cathérine and Suzanne, left their mother’s home, the
former married to an English banker, Mr. Percy Howard, living in
London, the other to Jonkheer Arnold van Stralenburg, Recorder at the
Court of Justice at Zwolle.
Thus Madame van Erlevoort was left with her two sons, Otto, assistant
clerk at the Ministry of the Interior, Etienne, studying for the bar at
Leiden, and her youngest child, Frédérique; and without the novel charm
and refreshing emotions of her grandmothership, the comparative calm by
which she was surrounded would certainly have made her ill with ennui,
used as she was to the tripping of light feet and the song and laughter
of clear young voices.
A few years after her marriage, Mathilde with four children returned to
Madame van Erlevoort, the children being assigned to her on her divorce
from her husband. Since then, van Ryssel had been living abroad, and
little more was heard of him.
Madame van Erlevoort sympathized deeply with her daughter, who had so
long and with such dignity sustained her part of neglected and
misjudged wife, and she received her with the greatest love, inwardly
happy in the new, fresh-budding life which the four grandchildren had
brought into her house. She spoilt them all, as she had never spoilt
her own children. Try what she would to be cross with them, their
wildest pranks failed to provoke her anger, whilst Mathilde they often
drove to desperation, for she feared what would become of them with so
much indulgence. She begged Madame van Erlevoort not to oppose her when
she meted out some well-deserved punishment; Madame van Erlevoort
promised readily enough, but as quickly forgot her promise on the first
opportunity; whilst Frédérique, herself a spoilt child, always thought
Mathilde right in her complaints, but for the rest did little to
encourage a firm discipline. It was only from Otto that Mathilde could
now and then expect a little support, and accordingly it was for Uncle
Ot alone that the four young rascals had any respect. With his mother’s
kindliness of disposition he combined his father’s common sense and
practical nature, and in the unruffled calm of his demeanour he
appeared older than he really was; but over his manly features there
lay such a charming geniality, there was so much that was sympathetic
and trustful in his bright dark eyes, that his earnestness and his
sound sense attracted rather than appeared too severe in a young man of
eight-and-twenty. Etienne, on the other hand, was all gaiety and
thoughtlessness, and his mother’s idol, in fact her nature seemed to
bask in the glow and sunshine of his character. Frédérique loved both
her brothers passionately, but Otto she was fond of nicknaming papa,
whilst with Etienne she would romp about much as Lientje did with Nico,
and Tina with Johan.
Madame van Erlevoort wished to dine a little earlier that day,
intending to have her siesta before going to dress. In the evening she
was going with Freddie and her two sons to the ball at the Eekhofs’,
whilst Madame van Ryssel stayed at home, a quiet, saddened young woman,
whose smile but faintly lit up her wax-like face, and who lived but for
her children.
By Mathilde’s express desire, the four noisy customers always dined in
a separate room, with Miss Frantzen. As for Madame van Erlevoort, there
was nothing she would have liked better than to have sat at table with
the whole batch of them, Miss Frantzen included, not caring one iota
whether her damask table-cloths were swimming in gravy, her glass ware
broken to bits, or the preserves mauled about by a set of greasy little
fingers. Thus Mathilde had been unable to prevent the children, who
dined earlier and whose meal was over sooner, from running in one after
another into the dining-room, to the despair of Miss Frantzen, whose
round face and terrified eyes would then appear at the half-open door.
This sort of thing Madame van Erlevoort in her kindliness having
tolerated once or twice, soon became the rule, and Mathilde was obliged
with a sigh to resign herself to the inevitable. As for Etienne and
Frédérique, they only helped to make the youngsters noisier than ever.
Otto also played with them, and Mathilde with a smile shrugged her
shoulders; she could not help it, let things go as they would.
“No, thank you, Otto, nothing more,” said Frédérique, at the
dinner-table. “I can never eat when I am going to a ball; you know
that.”
“Is it still like that?” asked Otto. “I always thought that it was only
very young girls who could not eat at their first entrée into society.
Are you still so nervous? Poor girl!”
“Freddie, what have you been doing to your dress? I hope you have not
spoilt anything?” asked Madame van Erlevoort, with some anxiety.
“No, ma; I took Mathilde’s advice and did not touch it at all. Ah! you
shall see me this evening,” she continued to Otto; “I shall look quite
ethereal in my blue tulle—just fit to be blown away, you know. Hallo!
there they come, the young Vandals!”
This was meant for the four little van Ryssels, who now came storming
into the room, Nico with an ear-splitting trumpet in his mouth. They
came to eat their orange with wine and sugar. Madame van Erlevoort took
Nico next to her and gave him his plate full of fruit, and ere long the
young rascal was sucking away at the luscious morsels, varying the
repast with an occasional blare from his trumpet.
Ernestine, Johan, and Etienne were picking their hardest from one dish,
and amid loud laughter their forks got jangled one in another, whilst
Freddie told Otto who were coming to the Eekhofs’ that evening.
“There are the Hydrechts, Eline Vere, the van Larens, Françoise
Oudendyk. Don’t you think Françoise prettier than Marguerite van Laren?
Eh, Otto, which of the two are you going to mash? Oh, Nico! my nerves!
Nico!”
Tootterootoo, too, went the trumpet.
“Nico, you will drive me crazy with that blaring noise. Put that thing
down now, and eat properly. There, it’s all running down your jacket!”
cried Mathilde.
“Oh, he is only making a little music; eh, little dot?” said Madame van
Erlevoort, and she drew her arm round the child, who, without much
respect for his grandma, blew his trumpet right into her ear.
After dinner Freddie and Etienne romped about with the children, whilst
Madame van Erlevoort retired to her boudoir, and Otto sat down to smoke
his cigar beside Mathilde, who took up some embroidery. Rika, the
servant, cleared the table, much hampered in the process by Nico, and
in fear and trembling for the safety of the tray upon which she had
placed the dirty plates and glasses. At last the clock struck eight,
and Miss Frantzen came to fetch the children.
“Ciel de mon âme!” cried Frédérique, half smothered on the sofa between
Ernestine, Johan, and Lientje, and with an effort she extricated
herself from the labyrinth of arms and legs that twined itself about
her like an octopus. “I must get up-stairs; Mathilde, will you help
me?”
“Yes; I am coming,” answered Mathilde, rising. “And you, children, you
be off to bed, quick!”
“No, I won’t; I want to see Aunt Freddie look pretty first,” cried
Ernestine, in a little whining voice. “And I want to help auntie, too.”
“Auntie can do without your help, and pretty she always is. Come now,
go up-stairs, all of you, with Miss Frantzen; allons, like good
children.”
Freddie ran off, and as Madame van Erlevoort was asleep, Mathilde could
for once exert her influence, and the four of them were bundled off up
the stairs, with an admonition on each step, as Nico wanted to run down
again, and Lientje remained sitting on the floor, playing with Hector.
“I am coming directly, Freddie!” cried Mathilde; “as soon as the
children are up-stairs.”
Freddie was already in her room, brushing out the wavy masses of her
hair. Mathilde was to dress it: she did it so deftly. And she set about
arranging everything—her fan, her gloves, her handkerchief, her
pale-blue satin shoes. A nervous blush suffused her clear pale face, as
she looked at herself in the mirror and smiled, until in each cheek
there formed a little dimple. “Yes; it would be all right,” she said.
In half an hour Mathilde came back with Martha, the chamber-maid, and
Frédérique sat down in front of the glass, in her white under-bodice
and blue shoes.
“Just as simple and fetching as last time you did it, Tilly,” coaxed
Frédérique, as Martha handed her the comb, the curling-tongs, or a
hairpin, as they were wanted. “Oh! it’s quite cold here! Do wrap
something round my shoulders, Martha!”
Martha wrapt a fur cape about her. With deft fingers, Mathilde had soon
completed her task.
“There!” said she, and arranged the frizzy fringe in front. “Simple,
tasteful, and fetching—are you satisfied?”
Frédérique looked at herself, and with the tips of her fingers she just
touched her hair.
“Rather!” she said. “And now—my flot de tulle.”
The fur cape was thrown on the floor, and Martha arranged the confused
mass of garments which were spread about the room. Mathilde lifted up
the cloud of delicate azure, and light as a sigh she let it glide about
Freddie’s shoulders.
“There’s something fairy, something naiad-like about me!” said Freddie,
raising her arms, and Tilly and Martha knelt down and drew open the
folds of silky gauze. “La, la, la——” and Freddie’s little feet kept
time to the tune she hummed.
“Freddie, Freddie, do be quiet now! Martha, a pin; here, that bow is
undone.”
“How do I look, Martha?”
“Sweetly pretty, miss.”
“Doesn’t it look bare at the side, Tilly?”
“Oh, dear, no; ’tis all bows and ribbons. Come, Freddie, do sit still a
moment, now.”
All at once the door opened slowly, with a creaking sound.
“What now?” cried Mathilde impatiently, and her anger rose when she
caught sight of Ernestine, shivering in her white nightgown, making her
appearance behind the door, a little frightened, but with an elf-like
impudence.
“Oh, ma, I want so much——”
“But, Tine, ’tis enough to get your death of cold, running about like
that! I don’t know how you can be so disobedient.”
“Get into my bed, Tine, quick; but mind my bodice!” cried Freddie.
“Never mind, Tilly, let her alone,” she whispered.
Tine crept into the bed, and nestled herself like a dove in the
blankets, and her little fingers passed over the blue satin of
Frédérique’s corsage, which was lying on the pillow.
Mathilde shrugged her shoulders with a sigh, resigned as usual, but the
bodice she took away. Madame van Erlevoort appeared in the open door,
rustling in silk moiré.
“Oh, how nice mamma is looking!” cried Frédérique excitedly; “you will
see, Tilly, I shall be the last again to be ready. Make haste a bit,
do!”
Mathilde laced in the satin bodice, and Madame van Erlevoort smiled in
admiration at her airy Undine. But what was that shuffling sound behind
her? Looking round, she caught sight of Johan and Lientje, both numbed
with cold, and in their nightgowns.
“No; this is really too bad. ’Tis enough to drive one mad,” cried
Mathilde, and she left Frédérique standing with her bodice half-laced,
and rushed away to the young rascals. “How can you be so naughty, all
of you, and worry ma so! To-morrow you will all be ill. Come, up-stairs
at once!”
She spoke with much annoyance, and the children half began to cry; but
Madame van Erlevoort came to the rescue.
“Never mind, Mathilde, let them stop a little while.”
“In my bed—get in, quick!” cried Frédérique, laughing her hardest; “but
don’t you touch my tulle; hands off there!” and she drew back in fear
from the outstretched hands of the little Vandals, who were burning to
tumble the filmy gauze, and pull at the long bows.
Mathilde could see well enough for herself that Freddie’s bed was the
best place for the children, and so for the thousandth time she gave
in, as with a sigh she set about lacing up Freddie’s corsage. Johan and
Lientje quickly crawled alongside Tine under the quilt, and with eyes
asparkle with life and fun, they all three sat staring at the blue
fairy.
“Are you going to put something over all this, auntie?” asked Johan,
“or will you keep as you are, naked like that?”
“Go on, you stupid boy!” cried Tine indignantly, and she gave him a
push, so that he tumbled over Lientje, and in a few moments
Frédérique’s bed was a chaos of woollen blankets, fair curls, pillows,
and bare pink legs and arms, all tumbling and wriggling about to the
accompaniment of loud screams and yells.
Madame van Erlevoort and Frédérique nearly cried with laughing at the
scene, to the great confusion of Mathilde, who, do what she would,
could not manage to get the laces tied, and Madame van Erlevoort called
Otto and Etienne, who in evening dress and overcoats were coming
down-stairs, to go in and have a look at the scene.
“Get in here with us, Uncle Eetje; come along, do!” screamed Johan; but
Etienne declined the honour; he was much too pretty now to romp about
like that.
“You look like a fairy queen, Freddie!” said Otto smiling; “fit to——”
“To be blown away, eh? But, Tilly, aren’t you finished yet with those
laces?”
“Well, Freddie, you won’t stand still for one minute.”
At last Tilly was ready, every one was ready, and Madame van Erlevoort
went down-stairs, as the carriage had just arrived.
“Now, children, stop in bed, and don’t run about in the cold,” cried
Mathilde commandingly, while Frédérique, with Martha’s help, wrapped
her sortie about her, Otto took charge of a fan, and Etienne of a
glove.
“Come, Freddie, mamma has gone down-stairs long ago,” said Otto, and he
beat the fan impatiently on his hand.
“Freddie, haven’t you forgotten anything?” asked Mathilde.
“I say, where is your other glove, Freddie, or are you only going to
wear one?” cried Etienne as loud as he could, to make himself heard
above the noise and the din the children were making in the bed.
“Oh! how you are worrying me, all of you!—I have already got it half
on, my second glove! Martha, my handkerchief! Thanks; everything right?
Yes? Well, good-bye, you pets!”
“Freddie, you have forgotten something!” cried Etienne.
“What is it, then?”
“Your umbrella, here.”
“Silly boy! Mamma is waiting in the carriage, and you delay me with
stupidities! Well, good-bye, Tilly! good-bye, dearies! yes, Otto, I am
coming.... Good-bye, Tilly, thanks for your assistance. Good-bye,
Martha!”
“Much pleasure, miss.”
“Much pleasure, Freddie.”
Freddie went, followed by Otto and Etienne. Ernestine sprang out of the
bed, followed by Johan and Lientje.
“Here, children, come here!” cried Mathilde.
She threw some wraps about them, shawls, blankets, whatever she could
find.
“And where is Miss Frantzen, that you have all come in here like this?”
she asked, dissatisfied.
“In her own room, with Nico, ma; Nico is asleep,” said Tine. “Come, ma,
don’t be angry,” and she raised her little arms fondly up to her
mother.
Mathilde smiled, and allowed herself to be embraced.
“Come away now, all of you, to bed,” she said, somewhat conciliated.
“There’s a state Miss Frédérique’s bed is in,” said Martha, shaking her
head; “I can just go and make it all over again, naughty rascals!”
“Good rascals!” cried Lientje.
Mathilde took her up in her arms, and Tine and Johan followed,
stumbling as they went over their strange garments, and screaming with
laughter at the success of their ruse.
“Hush! hush! or you will wake Nico!”
Miss Frantzen knew nothing about it; she was sitting near Nico’s
bedside, with Hector at her feet, and engaged in knitting, and was not
a little upset when she saw the caravan approaching. Those naughty
children, to slip away slily like that; she was under the firm
impression that they were all nicely asleep in the next room!
The three were put to bed, shivering and numbed, but mad with fun, and
Miss Frantzen requested them not to talk any more, but to go to sleep.
And Mathilde bent down over the cot of her Nico, lying there with
closed eyes in the blankets, the moist lips half open, and the little
fair curls straggling over the pillow. Pet of a boy he was!... And the
rest too, real darlings, terrible worries to be sure they were, and
quite uncontrollable, especially with such helpers as mamma and
Freddie. But still, how happy she was that she had them, the four of
them.
And she bent down and just touched Nico’s little lips and felt his
soft, warm breath on her cheek like a caress, and her tears fell on his
forehead, so transparent and white, so soft .... the darling boy....