It was the fifth of December, and from early morn a mysterious stir and
excitement, a joyous whispering, an anxious stowing away from peering
eyes, had prevailed all day at the van Erlevoorts.
A little after seven in the evening the Verstraetens arrived; the two
cousins, Jan and Karel, who had taken part in the tableaux, accompanied
them; then came the van Raats and Eline, followed by old Madame van
Raat and Paul; Henk, however, and Jan Verstraeten did not enter the
drawing-room, but mysteriously disappeared in a little cupboard where
Marie and Lili had already laid a parcel of costumes.
In the large drawing-room Madame van Erlevoort received her guests, who
met with a jubilant welcome from the little van Ryssels and from
Hector, and neither Mathilde nor Miss Frantzen could succeed in their
efforts to stop the ear-splitting noise.
“Now, why did you not bring Ben with you?” Madame van Erlevoort asked
Betsy, indignantly.
“Really, madam, Ben is too young; he is only three, you must remember,
and it will be so late to-night.”
“He could have ridden home with our Martha. It’s a pity; I had
something for him just to suit him,” said Madame van Erlevoort, in a
tone of disappointment.
In the opposite drawing-room, where the girls, with Otto, Paul, and
Etienne, were talking and laughing, there was a stir, and the young van
Ryssels looked up with nervous curiosity. Martha had just come in, and
she had smilingly said something to Frédérique.
“Now, children and all good folks,” cried Frédérique, with a dignified
face, “silence! Santa Claus has arrived and wants to know if he may
enter. Do you agree, mamma?”
They all kept themselves as serious as possible, with many a furtive
glance at the little van Ryssels.
Meanwhile, Santa Claus made his appearance in his white gaberdine, and
long red cloak bordered with gold lace. His hair and beard were long
and white, and on his head he wore a golden mitre. With much dignity he
made his entry into the room, leaning on his staff, and his black page
behind him, dressed in a costume which those who had witnessed the
recent tableaux at the Verstraetens’ would probably have recognized.
The three women-servants and Willem followed them by way of rear-guard,
and remained in the room looking on.
The grown-up people all bowed, with a self-conscious smile, before my
lord bishop.
Santa Claus muttered a greeting, and all but stumbling over his
immensely long gaberdine, he walked up to the sofa, where old Madame
van Raat and Madame Verstraeten were seated, surrounded by Madame van
Erlevoort, Mr. Verstraeten, Mathilde, Betsy, and Otto. No one troubled
himself to rise from his seat, and Madame van Erlevoort welcomed the
illustrious guest with a most familiar smile.
“Why doesn’t grandma get up?” whispered Ernestine wondering, as she
raised her delicate intelligent little face to Marie’s. “I thought she
would have got up when such an old, strange gentleman came in.”
“Mais, écoute donc, comme elle est fine!” Marie whispered to Eline, who
stood next to her.
But Eline did not hear; she stood laughing with Paul and Etienne at
Santa Claus, whose gaberdine was certainly coming down, and already
quite covered his feet, whilst a streak of fair hair became visible
between his gray locks and his mitre.
Now Santa Claus raised his deep, full voice, and as, with an energetic
wrench, he pulled up his gaberdine into his girdle, he motioned the
little van Ryssels to come to him. They did not feel quite sure of the
business, but when Santa Claus took one of the bags from his little
servant’s hands, and opening it began to scatter its contents about,
the youngsters’ faces grew radiant with joy, they forgot their terror,
and one and all they threw themselves, tumbling over Hector, on the
floor, to scramble for what they could find—ginger-nuts, figs, nuts,
oranges, chocolate.
“Scramble away, scramble away,” Santa Claus cried encouragingly, “we’ve
got a lot more; look here! Come, you big boys, don’t you want something
too?”
The cousins Verstraeten did not wait for a second invitation, and
joined in the scramble.
“Will you save them for me, grandma?” screamed Nico, and poured a
torrent of sweet-stuff into his grandma’s lap; “then I’ll go and fetch
some more!”
“Nico, Nico!” remonstrated Mathilde.
“Never mind,” said Madame van Erlevoort kindly.
Santa Claus and the little page shook out their big sacks, which had
been growing limper and limper by degrees, and turned them inside out,
as a proof that they were quite empty.
“Oh, now we are going to the dining-room!” cried Ernestine, and she
jumped up and clapped her little hands with pleasure.
“Oh yes; to our little tables!” Johan chimed in.
Every one rose, and they followed the Saint and the children to the
small drawing-room, and the girls giggled at Santa Claus’s falling wig,
but the Saint called out to the servants and Willem—
“Quick, throw open the doors; make haste!”
The folding-doors were opened, and the children stormed into the
well-lit room, where, instead of the dining-table, there now stood four
small tables; on each of them lay a name in letters of chocolate, on
each of them rose a tower of toys.
The Verstraetens and the van Raats whispered to the servants, and their
gifts to the youngsters were brought in also, one by one—hoops, whips,
balls, tin soldiers, and a cow that gave milk.
Meanwhile Santa Claus and his little slave took their departure, and as
it was close upon half-past eight, Mathilde considered it time to stop
the fun. But even with Miss Frantzen’s assistance she was not to
achieve her object very quickly. The children got muddled in their
attempts to collect their toys and dainties; from Ernestine’s pocket a
shower of nuts fell on the floor; Johan’s tin soldiers could not be got
into their box again, and Lientje with her hoop and Nico with a trumpet
rushed along the room followed by Hector, without troubling themselves
much more about the rest of their property, which was scattered all
around.
“Come, children,” cried Mathilde, “make haste now; ’tis getting
bed-time.”
But they heard nothing; the little van Ryssels, mad with joy, ran up
and down, scattering about in wildest disorder the toys which the
others had gathered together, and Frédérique joined in the fun, and
took Nico on her back, whilst he made a horse of her, and struck her on
the back with his whip.
The little Verstraetens, too, ran after Tina and Johan, along the
marble hall, making a furious stampede with their boots.
Mathilde clasped her hands in despair. No one took any notice of her.
Miss Frantzen was assisting the servant with the toys, and the young
girls were laughing with Paul and Etienne. Fortunately she caught sight
of Otto, who was speaking to Betsy and Madame Verstraeten, and she
walked towards him and took his hand.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Otto, do help me; the children must really go
to bed, and they won’t even listen to me. Mamma is not a bit of help
either.”
Madame van Erlevoort, in fact, was at that moment in the other room,
very busy filling Lientje’s toy tea-service with milk, water, and
sugar, and old Madame van Raat and Mr. Verstraeten stood looking on
with much amusement.
“Oh, I see; Otto is to act the bogey man again,” he said
good-humouredly.
“No, no bogey man; but really I shall go crazy if you don’t come to my
assistance. Did you ever see such uncontrollable creatures as those
children of mine, Betsy? Are you coming, Otto?”
Betsy laughed.
“You had better just go and assert your authority as uncle, Mr. van
Erlevoort,” said Madame Verstraeten.
Otto accompanied Mathilde, first to Freddie.
“Come, Freddie, Nico must go to bed. Come, Nico, quick; to-morrow you
may ride again on auntie’s back. Down, Hector!”
“You have nothing to do with my back, do you hear?” said Freddie; “do
you hear, little grandpapa? Come, Niek, little grandpapa says we must
leave off.”
Nico obeyed, pouting, as he asked for his trumpet. Otto went into the
hall, where he checked the two eldest in their mad race.
“Come, Tine and Jo; mamma wants you to go to bed now. Don’t be
disobedient now, or you will make mamma cross.”
“What a lot we’ve got this year, uncle!” cried Ernestine, out of
breath.
Mathilde came into the hall, leading Nico and Lientje by the hand.
“Just fancy, there was mamma, quietly playing at tea-parties with
Tine,” she said, and her despairing face made Otto smile. “Really if it
were midnight, mamma would——”
“Ma, dear, mustn’t we say good-night first to everybody?” screamed
Johan.
“No, no!” cried Mathilde, quite terrified, and grasped the little hands
close; “I shall wish all the people good-night for you. Thank you,
Otto.”
She gave him a friendly nod, and he nodded back with his genial smile
and his frank eyes.
And Mathilde took the children up-stairs.
“Then you can bear all that noise and turmoil?” asked old Madame van
Raat of Madame van Erlevoort, and she looked at her smilingly, but
wondering, with her sad, lack-lustre eyes.
There was a sudden calm after the exodus of the children. They left the
dining-room, where the toys were still scattered about; the apartment
was closed, and the guests went into the double drawing-room, where
Madame van Erlevoort poured out tea.
“Can I bear it, madam? I feel myself live again under it; it
rejuvenates me. I need the life of youth about me. I never spent a
drearier time than when my daughters and my son Théodore were married,
and yet I still had three children left me. But I must see those little
beings fluttering about me; there is nothing that keeps one in a
brighter condition like their wild gaiety. May I pour you out another
cup?”
Madame van Raat handed her cup, and envied Madame van Erlevoort her
youthful vivacity with her gray hairs. She compared her with herself,
and her own melancholy solitude, the effect of which she felt doubly
keen, after her former life of cloudless happiness, and her present
existence stood out in cruel contrast to the joy-surrounded old age of
that happy grandmamma.
“And you don’t know how sorry I am that I see so little of Théodore’s
six. The boy is in love with country life, and won’t hear of it when I
attempt to persuade him to come and live in the Hague.”
“Your daughter in England has only one child, has she not?” asked
Madame Verstraeten and Madame van Stralenburg.
Madame van Erlevoort bent down to Madame Verstraeten, and whispered
something mysterious in her ear, whilst in reply to Mr. Verstraeten,
who nodded to her smilingly, she archly winked her eye.
Thereupon Madame van Erlevoort related how the little van Ryssels had
placed their shoes aside the previous evening, when Henk and Jan
Verstraeten came in, both smiling, and Henk with a very red face.
Mathilde too came back, and many nice things were related about the
children. All at once there was a furious ringing at the house-bell.
All eyes turned to the door as it opened. Willem, Truitje, and Rika
between them dragged a big box into the room, towards Madame van
Erlevoort.
“Oh!” exclaimed Frédérique; “that is the box from London!”
Madame van Erlevoort informed Madame van Raat that every year at St.
Nicholas, her son-in-law Howard sent her a big box containing something
for everybody. Willem, armed with crowbar and pincers, and assisted by
Etienne, removed the screws and nails. Every one was on the watch, and
the shower of presents commenced.
Eline made a little heap of her presents. Oh, how she was being spoilt,
she declared, radiant with smiles. From Martha’s hand she took another
packet; slowly she broke the string, cautiously looking about for a
seal, or some stray letter or cipher, to give her a clue to the sender.
But she found nothing of the kind, the address ran simply—“Mdlle. E.
Vere.” It was a gray leather case; she opened it, wondering who could
have sent it. Inside the case, resting on the gray velvet, lay a fan of
beautifully-carved mother-of-pearl. She took it up, and slowly opened
it; she looked at it in admiration.
“Bucchi!” she softly said, as she read the name of the painter at the
bottom; “Bucchi!”
The fan was, in fact, painted by the Italian artist, a fantasy of roses
and fairies on a groundwork of ivory satin.
“From whom can this come?” she said. “How splendid!”
Every one rose, every one crowded round Eline, who carefully held the
fan open, and the costly gift attracted general admiration. Eline was
astonished. From Madame van Raat she had had a scent set, that she
knew; from Henk and Betsy——
“Betsy dear, must I thank you for this?” she asked, rising.
Betsy shook her head.
“Parole d’honneur—not me, Eline.”
Of course she had had a bracelet from Betsy and Henk; but who, then,
sent this fan?
“Would it be from—Vincent perhaps?” she asked.
“From Vincent? No, no; what put that into your head now? What young man
would make such a present? Let me look at it.”
Eline handed her the fan.
“’Tis really magnificent,” said Betsy.
Eline shook her head, quite at a loss for a clue. Meanwhile the fan was
passed from hand to hand, and Eline carefully scanned every one’s face,
but she could gather not the least sign from any of them. But suddenly
Frédérique raised her head, with a look of surprise on her face. She
quickly recovered herself, and with apparent indifference approached
Eline.
“May I see the case one moment?” she asked.
Eline handed her the case, and Frédérique eagerly scrutinized and felt
the gray leather and the gray velvet.
“Have you got the slightest idea who could have sent me that?” asked
Eline, and she raised her arms in mock despair.
Frédérique shrugged her shoulders, and laid the case down.
“No—I really don’t know,” she said, somewhat coolly, and she looked
with some curiosity into Eline’s hazel eyes.
An indefinable antipathy seemed to her to radiate from out of those
gazelle-like eyes, and to lie hidden in the mock despair at the unknown
giver. She cast not another glance at the universally admired fan, and
during the remainder of the evening she was quieter than ever she had
been before.
The torrent of presents had ceased. Madame van Erlevoort asked her
guests to leave her two terribly disarranged drawing-rooms, full of
paper, straw, bran, and rubbish, when Willem once more opened the doors
of the dining-room, and the table, ready laid for supper, looked bright
and inviting enough.
It was a gay and lively supper-party. Mr. Verstraeten kept Madame van
Erlevoort and Betsy, between whom he was seated, amused with his jokes,
and Mathilde, next to Betsy, often joined in the laughter. Henk, seated
between his mother and his aunt, wanted nothing; whilst Otto and Eline
were busily engaged in conversation, and Etienne chattered noisily with
Lili and Marie.
“Freddie, how quiet you are, chère amie,” said Paul, as he took
possession of a lobster salad, seeking in vain to set his little
neighbour, generally animated enough, a-talking. “Didn’t receive enough
presents to your liking, perhaps?”
“Quiet? am I quiet? How can you say such a thing?” answered Freddie,
and she began to chatter with an overpowering animation, which sounded
like an echo of Etienne’s. But still there was something artificial
about it; her laugh was not always a hearty one; and every now and then
she stole a furtive glance at Eline, as she sat there, brilliant in her
beauty, in lively chat with Otto. Yes, there was something very
fascinating about her, something of a siren’s charm; her beautiful
dreamy eyes half closed, as she laughed, while the soft line of her
delicate lips faded away in two small dimples. And those beautiful
hands, peeping out so white from amid the black lace and the dark red
bows of her bodice, and that coquettish-looking diamond, one single
brilliant stone, trembling like a drop of crystal in the black tulle
round her throat. Yes, Frédérique thought her bewitching; but still,
she could not help it, she thought her antipathetic; and almost with
anxiety her eyes followed those of Otto, whose glance seemed riveted to
the siren.
Meanwhile, however, she continued laughing and talking with Paul, with
Etienne, and Lili, and Marie, and old Madame van Raat declared across
the table that the family’s arch-elf of fun was thoroughly sustaining
her reputation.
The champagne streamed into the glasses, and Mr. Verstraeten drank a
toast to the ever-youthful hostess, with her beautiful white hair, and
thanked her with a kiss for the jolly evening. Eline and Otto drank
together to some toast of which Frédérique could not catch the words,
and which she would gladly have given her best present to understand;
but still she did not ask.
“Etienne, what a noise you’re making!” she cried, with some impatience,
to her brother, who, with all the strength of his lungs, sang something
about—
“Buvons jusqu’a à la lie!”
while his glass nearly spilt its contents over Lili’s plate. But when
she had said so much, she was sorry for it; why should not others enjoy
themselves, if she could not?
The supper was over, the carriages were waiting for the guests, who
left one by one, laden with the presents each had received. Mathilde
felt tired, and soon went up-stairs, whilst Madame van Erlevoort and
Otto were packing the presents together.
“What a state the rooms are in!” said Frédérique, as she kicked a
cardboard box aside. Then she approached the table; ah, where was the
fan? Eline had taken it away with her. Then she kissed her mother and
Otto, playfully rumpled Etienne’s hair, and took her presents
up-stairs.
Slowly she undressed herself, so slowly that the chill air made her
shiver. And as she, trembling with cold, crept under her blankets, she
once more saw Eline before her, in all her bewitching grace, in her
black lace, smiling at Otto. It all began to whirl before her eyes,
like a confused kaleidoscope—Henk, in his dress as Santa Claus, with
his falling gaberdine, and Jan Verstraeten as the little page, the box
from London, the fan by Bucchi.