The severity of the winter relaxed, and spring-time drew near, bringing
with it rain and chill mists, which enveloped the leafless trees in
damp cold shrouds. And everybody talked about Otto van Erlevoort, who
was so full of attention for Eline Vere. Oh yes; it would certainly end
in an engagement, thought the Eekhofs, the Hydrechts, the van Larens,
and Madame van der Stoor. Henk had been to Gelderland with Etienne;
they had stayed at the Huis ter Horze, the seat of the Erlevoort
family, where Theodore, the eldest son, lived summer and winter, with
his wife and children; and during that time Otto had been a frequent
visitor at the Nassauplein, being, ’tis true, mostly invited to spend
the evening there, in company with others; but still, was it not very
strange that he who generally led such a quiet life and went out so
little, should all at once visit the van Raats so frequently? However,
should it come to an engagement, it would be a capital match. Otto was
a nice boy, and had a good position; Eline was most charming, elegant,
rich, as was thought; they were cut out for each other; and besides,
Eline would be glad to get a baron for her husband. In fact people
thought them so well matched that they felt rather sorry at finding
nothing much to say against it, and they searched until at last they
found something. It was really Betsy’s doings, you see, for she did not
get along too well with her sister, and would not be sorry to see her
leave the house decently. Betsy encouraged Otto; it was true Eline
seemed willing, but if it had not been for Betsy, neither he nor she
would have thought of it. Oh yes; Betsy, she was all right in company,
but in the house a maîtresse femme? No, no; worse than that—a vixen!
Good stout Henk she had entirely under her slipper, and if Eline were
not so firm, and showed her teeth a little less, she too would have got
under her thumb. On the face of it, it seemed so nice, so kind, to take
a younger sister, an orphan, into the house, but to people who were so
wealthy as the van Raats that meant nothing. Besides that, the Veres
had money too, and nobody believed that it was all couleur de rose in
the house. Therefore, Betsy found it was time that Eline should marry.
She could have had the chance often enough already; but she was pretty
and hard to please, and so forth. Anyhow, it was her business, was it
not?
Eline was well aware that people talked about her in that way, but in
her calm dignity she troubled herself precious little about it. She
believed so too; Otto would propose to her, and she thought she had
better accept him. She felt no love, ’twas true—in the way that she
understood its meaning—for van Erlevoort, but there was not the
slightest objection to him. It would be a capital match; she might have
liked a larger fortune, but she thought that with her refined frugality
she would have sufficient tact to spread a semblance of luxury about
her.
But to say that Betsy encouraged Otto was going a little too far.
Betsy, although she looked upon such a marriage as very desirable, felt
no personal sympathy for Otto, who was too formal and precise to please
her; and she was polite and friendly towards him, but never betrayed
the slightest sign that she thought him a desirable brother-in-law.
At the van Erlevoorts’, too, some rather indiscreet questions had now
and then been put; but Frédérique merely shrugged her shoulders. She
knew of nothing; Eline had been engaged so often already—in the eyes of
her acquaintances at least—why then should she not be engaged for once
to Otto? she asked, so ironically that they could not guess at the
truth. And still she was aware that mysterious interviews sometimes
took place at home between Madame van Erlevoort, Mathilde, and Otto, a
sort of family council that seemed never to come to a decision. She
felt herself a little pushed aside, and she was too proud, now that
they despised her advice, and did not seem to care for her opinion, to
force herself upon them. Once even, when she had mamma, her sister, and
brother together after dinner, and had noticed they had suddenly ceased
speaking when she entered, while her hand was still on the handle of
the door—they had looked at her with some embarrassment—she had
disappeared, without saying a word, softly closing the door behind her,
in silent grief and chagrin. With Otto, too, after their conversation
about the fan, she sought no further confidence, for did he not look
upon her as a mere child? Very well, she would not trouble him with her
childishness. And only to Lili and Marie she gave herself vent about
Eline, that vain coquette, without a spark of feeling in all her smiles
and poses; but when Paul was present she was silent. He took her part,
too, another victim to Eline’s coquetry, just the same as Etienne, who
would not hear a word against her! What did all those boys see in her?
She could not understand it; she thought Eline nothing but
artificiality and affectation, an actress; in short, Eline was acting.
And although Etienne’s pleading for Eline annoyed her, she felt
herself, now that he was away at the Horze, lonely without him, in the
midst of the bustle of the little van Ryssels and the barking of
Hector, betwixt which Miss Frantzen made desperate efforts to restore
peace and quietness.
It was Sunday, and Paul van Raat sat before his easel, upon which there
lay a half-finished picture, representing some old Delft ware, an old
Bible, an antique Rhine wine-glass, and a silver ewer, that of
Vincent’s, which he had taken after all—the whole loosely arranged on a
broad, crumpled Smyrna table-cover. But the work proceeded very slowly;
the light was and remained faint, however he might raise or drop his
curtains, and he regretted to find that his fingers could with much
more ease arrange the objects tastefully, than they could afterwards
depict them on the canvas. It was all the fault of the weather! with
such a rainy sky there could sparkle no light in the wine-glass, whilst
it gave the silver ewer the appearance of tin. And he laid aside his
brush, and with his hands in his pockets, and whistling to himself,
walked up and down his studio, a little annoyed at his want of energy.
He would so gladly have finished it, but he could not, exert himself
though he might.
His room was one artistic chaos, even as his amateurish temperament was
a chaos, out of which a creation rarely came forth. Above a carved oak
cupboard hung a trophy of ancient weapons; the walls, up to the
ceiling, were covered with china, paintings, engravings, and etchings,
and female figures in marble and terra-cotta seemed to surround him, as
with a harem of milk-white and amber-coloured beauties. Books were
scattered about everywhere, out of untied portfolios peeped forth
sketches and engravings; on the ground, round about the easel, lay a
medley of brushes, pencils, and tubes. A large ash-tray was full of
ashes, and everywhere there was dust and rubbish. Leentje, the
parlour-maid, was seldom permitted to enter this room.
And whilst in his disappointment he walked up and down, it seemed to
him as though it would be a relief to clear away all this artistic
rubbish, throw his easel in the lumber-room, and never more think of a
brush. It seemed to him that when once his room were cleared of art, he
himself would have no further longing for art, and therefore suffer no
more disappointments. It was only a waste of time; he could find better
amusement than that eternal dabbling. And he thought how he would
re-arrange his room, simple and comfortable, so that one could move
about without throwing down a statue here, or stumbling over an Eastern
rug there. Still, the thought was tinged with sadness; it was all
illusion, long since shattered and cast down from its pedestal, the
last remnants of which he was now about to clear away.
All at once he heard Eline’s laughing voice in the hall, and he went
down-stairs into the back sitting-room, and kissed his mother; she had
come with Ben. Betsy invited Madame van Raat to come round that
evening; there would be no one there besides Madame Eekhof and her two
daughters, Ange and Léonie, Frédérique and her two brothers, and
Vincent.
“Of course, we depend on you also, Paul,” she said, as she gave him her
hand. “Cela s’entend, n’est-ce pas? Come, little madam, you had better
say yes; it won’t be nice at all of you to refuse; you may go at your
usual early hour, if you like. Ce n’est pas à refuser.”
Well, little madam would consent; but she really did not feel at home
with all that youth about her.
“That’s just the thing that does you good, a little cheerfulness. Look
at Madame van Erlevoort,” said Eline; “take example by her.”
The old lady was not proof against the temptation of her darling’s
voice, and gave herself over; Paul, too, promised to come. And Madame
van Raat looked at Eline, who sat beside her on the sofa, with some
curiosity, as though she were revolving something in her mind.
“I say, Eline, I must ask you something,” commenced Madame van Raat at
length, in a whisper. “Is it true?”
Eline felt a faint blush tinge her cheeks, but she acted as though she
did not understand the question.
“What, little madam? how do you mean?” The old lady smiled, but gave no
explanation. She only asked—
“Frédérique is coming too this evening, is she not?”
“I think so, at least——” began Eline.
“Alone?”
“No; with—as I said just now—with her brothers, Otto and Etienne.”
“Oh, indeed,” said the old lady indifferently; but she looked at her
askance, whilst something like joy played in her lustreless eyes.
Eline smiled, a little embarrassed.
“I think you are a very naughty old lady,” she said, stroking her muff.
“Oh, people talk so much, you know; don’t they? One hears this one day,
that the next; but still, sometimes one hears the truth too.”
“And what have you heard?”
“Something you ought to have told me long ago, if you had placed any
confidence in me. Now I had to learn it from Betsy.”
Eline started.
“Did Betsy say——?” she stammered.
“Yes, deary; and I had much rather have heard it from you first,”
repeated Madame van Raat, feeling hurt, as an old lady who has been
slighted.
Eline grew impatient. It was true Otto had asked her, but she could not
yet decide, and it annoyed her. How every one seemed to know about it,
and gave her unasked advice! how every one in veiled and open terms
dared to make all sorts of representations to Betsy! others, under the
cloak of intimacy, had even whispered in her sister’s ears that she
should urge Eline to declare herself. She now had had enough of these
indiscretions, and she was on the point of giving Madame van Raat a
sharp answer, but she restrained herself, and gave no sign of her
annoyance, whilst she murmured close to the old lady’s ear—
“Well, what should I have told you? It is true Erlevoort has proposed
to me; but I could not talk about it before I knew myself what I should
do.”
And she just glanced at Paul, but quickly turned her head away again,
feeling annoyed too with him, for he looked at her intently, as if he
wanted to catch her words. Anyhow, she was not going to satisfy their
unmannerly curiosity, and she rose and put a stop to Madame van Raat’s
chat—from which it appeared that the old lady liked Otto very much—with
a kiss and a few little words of endearment.
And the increased lovingness of Madame van Raat’s trembling kiss, no
less than the playfulness that twinkled in Paul’s eyes, annoyed and
irritated her, whilst she was waiting for Ben, as his grandma was still
caressing him in her arms.
No; Eline did not know how to decide. She shuddered at taking a step
that could make her happy or unhappy for life. It seemed to her as
though her future depended only on one single word, which she hesitated
to utter. She shuddered at the very idea of a mariage de raison,
because in her heart she felt a longing for love, much love, although
it was a feeling which she had done her best to repress after her
recent disappointment. And Otto—she had danced with him, had laughed
and joked with him, but never had his image held her thoughts even for
a moment, and she had always forgotten him as soon as she heard or saw
him no longer. When, however, she saw through his earnest simplicity of
character, when she guessed that he loved her, the idea was sweet to
her, and she told herself that it would pain her were she to cause him
grief, or to refuse him anything, even her hand. And whilst she thus
wilfully blinded herself, the rapture of his quiet passion for her
seemed to pour balm into her wounded heart.
The thought of becoming his wife, under the influence of her
self-deception, filled her with a serene joy; something like a sweet
vision arose to her mind, and—she began to look at the matter from a
financial point of view.
Yes; the idea was a cheering one. To be quite independent, to leave her
sister’s house, where, notwithstanding her own little private fortune,
she felt as though she were in fetters, something like a troublesome
guest, whose presence was tolerated for the sake of the world’s
opinion. But beneath all these various reasons which allured her to
welcome Otto with a calm pleasure, there lurked, like an adder as it
were, invisible to her own eye, the bitter regret at the ruin of her
shattered fantasies, and if ever she gave herself away to Otto, it
would be in order to be avenged on Fabrice, and on herself.
In the meantime, as soon as he had proposed, as soon as it became
necessary for her to reflect, and there was no overwhelming wealth of
passion to which she could yield herself up, she had stepped back full
of terror at the ordeal of giving her decision.
He, Otto, waited; he at least was discreet. For some days past he had
avoided the house of the van Raats, and she wanted to reward him for
his discretion; blushingly she had asked Betsy to send him a personal,
intimate invitation, as she did to Freddie and Etienne.
He would come, she would speak to him; and it seemed to her as if some
unseen power pushed her forward down a steep path; as if she would act
otherwise than she did, but that she was powerless to escape her fate.
It seemed to her as though, blindfolded, she groped about after her
happiness, stretching forth her hands in anxious, breathless suspense,
and listening to something that seemed like the echo of the happiness
that she was never, never to find.
Betsy poured out the tea. Madame van Raat and Madame Eekhof sat beside
her on a sofa, and conversed with Emilie de Woude. Henk, with his hands
in his pockets, was listening attentively to Vincent, and Eline, Ange,
Léonie, and Paul were turning over some music at the piano, when Otto
and Etienne entered.
“And Frédérique?” asked Betsy with surprise, as she held out her hand
to Otto.
“Frédérique felt a little tired; she is very sorry,” he answered
simply.
“She is often out of sorts lately,” said Etienne, as though to add some
weight to his brother’s words.
Eline felt her heart beat. She was very nervous, although she
effectually concealed her nervousness under her happy cheerfulness. It
suddenly seemed to her as if every one were looking at her, were
guessing at her thoughts, and she nearly shuddered to raise her eyes,
out of fear at seeing the glance of all directed upon her. But still,
when she looked up, the aspect of the room was quite unchanged; the old
ladies were still chatting with Betsy and Emilie, Vincent was speaking
almost in whispers to Henk, and the girls and Paul were shaking hands
with Etienne.
But Otto approached her. She scarcely knew how to carry herself, and
fancied she looked very awkward; but it was just that very hesitancy
that lent something coy to her slender little figure, and gave her a
new charm. She heard how he simply bade her good evening, but in his
voice there sounded something full and rich, like the promise of a
great affection. She suddenly felt conscious of a fresh emotion, a
melting tenderness in her heart which she could not understand.
He remained standing there, by the piano, at her side; but entered into
conversation with Ange, while Léonie was engaged in boisterous fun with
Etienne. Once or twice Otto glanced at Eline to make her participate in
their chat, and she smiled, without hearing what passed. She could no
longer follow her thoughts; they fluttered about in her mind like a
swarm of butterflies, and it seemed to her as though a chorus of voices
was singing in her ears. She understood that she might not allow
herself to be drawn into the luxurious softness which seemed to
encircle her as with velvet arms, that she durst not give herself up to
dreams in the midst of a room full of people. And after a few laughing
words she turned away, wondering at the subdued tone of her voice,
which sounded as though she was speaking through a veil.
“Vincent, you play too, don’t you?” she heard Betsy ask, and she saw
the old ladies and Emilie rise, and caught sight of Henk seated at the
card-table in the opposite room, and busily picking out the pearl
card-counters from a Japanese box. She seemed to be moving as in a
dream; she saw the cards spread out on the red cloth-covered table in
the form of a big S; she saw the wax candles burning at the corners of
the table, and Madame Eekhof’s bejewelled fingers drawing a card.
It seemed to her as though she herself was far away from it all.
Vincent sat down opposite Madame van Raat, Henk was to have Madame
Eekhof for a partner. Betsy returned with Emilie, they would join in
later on.
“Madame van Raat, shall we be disturbing them if we have a little
music; or is it such a terribly serious card-party?” Léonie asked of
Betsy, pointing to the card-table.
“Oh no, not at all, amusez vous toujours,” answered Betsy, and she led
Otto and Emilie with her to the sofa. To strangers she was always most
amiable.
“Come, Eline, do let us hear you; deary, we are dying for your
ravishing melodies!” Léonie continued, with unextinguishable vivacity.
“I will accompany you with my fairy fingers.”
“No, Léo; not this evening, please. I am not in voice.”
“Not in voice? I don’t believe a word of it! Come! allons, chante ma
belle! what shall it be?”
“Yes, Eline, do sing!” cried Madame van Raat from the opposite room,
and then in an embarrassed voice asked her partner what were trumps.
“Really, little madam; really, Léo, I can’t. I can always tell when I
can’t sing. I don’t as a rule refuse, do I? But you have brought some
music with you, have you not?”
“Yes; but they are not the sort of songs to commence with, they are for
later in the evening. Something serious first; come, Eline, allons!”
“No, no; positively not,” said Eline, shaking her head; it was really
impossible. She felt as though in a fever, which brought a faint blush
to her cheeks, caused her eyelids to droop languidly, made her pulses
beat, her fingers tremble.
“Positively not?” she heard softly repeated, and she glanced round. It
was Otto, who, seated beside Betsy and Emilie, asked her, and looked at
her with his honest, expressive eyes. Once more she shook her head,
still, so she thought, awkwardly; but really with unconscious grace.
“Really, I could not.”
And she turned away directly, fearing that he would suspect why.
Besides, she felt very embarrassed when her glance met his, although
there was not the slightest reproach in it. And it seemed to her as
though there was something awkward in the bearing of the people who
filled the rooms with their chat and laughter, something that was
unusual and strange; but still, so she thought, only Betsy and Madame
van Raat knew that Otto had proposed to her, and that she would give
him her answer that evening. Whatever the others might suspect, they
would not let a word escape her that could compel her to lift the veil
from her secret before she chose. And this confidence in their
well-bred discreetness reassured her.
Léonie however pouted, and thought Eline a tiresome girl. Paul and
Etienne cried that Léo must sing, and were going to fetch her music,
which the girl, with an affectation of shyness, had left in the hall.
All three rushed laughing to the door, but Léonie would not permit them
to look for the music, and they caused a sudden, cheerful stir, that
made the whist-players in the next room look up smiling from their
cards. Etienne however triumphed, and soon returned, carrying in his
uplifted arms the score of The Mascotte. The young Eekhofs were
persuaded, and laughing and halting they warbled, with their thin,
shrill little voices, the duet of Pipo and Betinna—
“O, mon Pipo, mon Dieu, qu’t’es bien!”
whilst Etienne accompanied them, with frequently doubtful chords.
Still the duet was a success, and with rising gaiety they soon warbled,
all four of them—Ange, Léonie, Etienne, and Paul—with a delightful
disregard both of time and tune, now the languishing
“Un baiser est bien douce chose!”
then the comic
“Le grand singe d’Amérique!”
and their music was wafted—a fluttering of airy melody—gaily through
the rooms. Eline had seated herself on a stool next the piano, and she
leaned her feverish little head against it, almost deafened with
Etienne’s noisy voice. Her hand kept time on her knee, thus still
showing some little interest in what was going on. She heard the chords
of the piano drumming in her ears, and the sound of it prevented her
from thinking and coming to a decision. Constantly she swayed from one
resolution to another. Yes, she would accept; his love, though not
requited, would yet be her happiness; it was her destiny. No; she could
not force herself, she could not without a shadow of love allow herself
to be bound in this way. And it seemed to her as though her thoughts
were continually swayed to and fro, as if a clock were constantly
ticking in her ears: yes—no—yes—no. It would be a relief to grasp at
anything, however blindly. No; she must only decide after calm
deliberation. Oh, if that clock would only cease! she could not
struggle thus with herself; she had not the strength. She would reflect
no longer; she would let herself be carried away by the invisible
powers that drove her down the steep path; she would yield herself up
entirely to the stress of circumstances; they must decide for her. And
she felt a cold shiver overtake her when their glances met, and she
rose.
Vincent addressed her.
“Well, Elly, have you committed any folly yet; anything outrageously
mad?” asked Vincent, mocking her voice.
Round the piano it was quieter. Léonie was seated beside Emilie, and
was giving her a vivid description of a little dance at the van
Larens’. Etienne had turned himself round on the piano-stool and was
joking with Ange, who had tumbled on the ottoman in a burst of
laughter, and covered her face with both her little hands. Paul joined
in the laughter and turned over the pages of music.
“How? what? how do you mean?” stammered Eline, who did not understand.
“Did you not tell me, a little while ago, that you were about to do
something desperately absurd? now I ask you whether you have hit upon
anything yet? I should like to join you.”
His banter grated on her ears. In her present unusually serious mood,
the remembrance of that period of frivolity seemed to her like an echo
of vanished wishes. No; she no longer had any desire to give herself
over to equivocal absurdities; she would be sensible and practical, as
Otto was. Equivocally absurd, her disappointed passion—if she might
give that name to her folly—had been more than enough; in future she
would not let herself be carried away. And she crushed the feeling of
bitter remorse that rose in her heart with the sharp sting of an adder.
While she was searching for some light phrase in answer to Vincent’s
question, a sudden alarm seized her. A new thought struck her. No, it
was no longer possible; she could not go back. Otto, Betsy, all
expected her to accept; they could not help doing so. If she did not
intend to accept him, why then did she have an express invitation sent
him? It was settled. It could not be otherwise, and after her sudden
alarm a great calm came over her whole being.
“But, my dear girl, I believe you suffer from absent-mindedness,” cried
Vincent laughing. He had asked her why Georges de Woude was not there,
and she had languidly replied—
“Oh, yes; that is true.”
Now she laughed in her turn; she was coming to in the blissfulness of
that calm.
“I beg your pardon, I have a little—” and she placed her hand on her
forehead.
“Oh! headache, I suppose? Yes; I know the disease,” he interrupted
ironically, and gave her a searching glance. “That headache is a family
complaint with us; we suffer a great deal from headache.”
In some alarm she looked at him; surely he could not suspect anything.
“I too got a headache whilst playing, under the hammering of the piano.
It was as though I saw all kinds of colours—green, yellow, orange. When
that little lively girl there—Léonie—sings, I always see orange
colour.”
“And when I sing?” she asked coquettishly.
“Oh, then it is quite different,” he resumed, more seriously. “Then I
always see before me a harmonious climax, from faintest pink to purple,
until the whole is fused together in one delightful coalescence. Your
low notes are pink, your high ones purple and brilliant. When Paul
sings ’tis all gray, with a tinge of violet sometimes.”
She laughed gaily, and Paul—who had heard him—also.
“But, Vincent, these are visions of an over-excited imagination.”
“Perhaps so; but sometimes ’tis very pretty. Have you never experienced
it?”
She reflected for a moment, while Ange and Etienne, who had heard the
latter part of their conversation, came nearer and listened, as did
Paul.
“No; I don’t think I have.”
“And have you never felt that some notes remind you of some particular
odour—for instance, opoponax or mignonette? The tones of an organ are
like incense. When you sing that scena of Beethoven, ‘Ah, Perfido!’ I
always smell the scent of verbena, especially in one of the concluding
high passages. When you sing it again, I shall show you.”
Ange roared with laughter.
“But, Mr. Vere, how lovely to be perfumed like that!”
All joined in the laugh, and Vincent too seemed in a good humour.
“’Tis true, parole d’honneur.”
“No; but I tell you what, some people remind me of different animals,”
whispered Etienne. “Henk, for instance, reminds me of a big dog, Betsy
of a hen, Madame van der Stoor of a crab.”
They screamed with laughter. Otto, Emilie, and Léonie rose from their
seats and approached nearer.
“What is all this about?” asked Emilie inquisitively.
“Madame van der Stoor is a crab!” yelled Ange, with tears in her eyes
through laughing.
“And tell me, Eetje, of what do I remind you?” asked Léonie with
glistening eyes.
“Oh, you and Ange are just like two little pups,” cried Etienne. “Miss
de Woude, with her double chin, is a turkey!” he whispered, wild with
his success, in Ange’s ear, who nearly choked with laughter. “Miss
Frantzen is also a turkey, of another kind. Willem the servant is a
stately stork, and Dien, the cook at the Verstraetens’, a cockatoo.”
“’Tis a menagerie, a Noah’s ark!” screamed Léonie.
“And Eline?” Paul asked at last.
“Oh, Eline,” repeated Etienne, and reflected. “Sometimes a
peacock—sometimes a serpent—at this moment a little dove.”
They shook their head at his extravagant fancies, but still they
laughed gaily.
“Etienne is always jolly,” said Eline to Otto, when the little groups
were broken up, and she nodded smilingly at Madame van Raat, who had
given her seat at the card-table to Emilie. Vincent in the meantime
became the butt of the little Eekhofs, who asked him if he were going
to open a perfumery store.
“Yes,” answered Otto. “He has no reason to be otherwise, has he? He has
all that he desires.”
There was something sad in his words, as if that was not the case with
himself, and Eline could find nothing to reply. For a while they stood
close together, in silence, whilst her trembling hand clasped the fan
at her side, and again her thoughts began to stray.
“Have you nothing to say to me?” he whispered softly, but without a
tinge of reproach.
She took a deep breath.
“Really, oh—I—I cannot yet; forgive me, but really—later, later.”
“All right, later; I will be patient—as long as I may be,” he said, and
his calm tone brought a little peace to her whirling brain. No; refuse
she could no longer—but still, she could not yet decide.
And she could not help admiring his quiet tact, as he conversed with
her on subjects in which neither of them took the slightest interest.
That simple, quiet tact constituted his greatest charm; he was so
entirely himself that it seemed as if his manly frankness concealed
nothing that the eyes of the world might not see. Whilst he spoke, he
attempted to cajole neither himself nor her that there was anything
interesting in the conversation; he seemed only to continue it because
he liked to be near her and speak with her. It was so evident in the
full tones of his voice. His thoughts were not in his conversation, and
he made no attempt to conceal the fact. And for the first time she felt
something like pity for him; she felt that she was cruel, and that he
was suffering, and this feeling again aroused within her that melting
tenderness which she could not understand. Refreshments were handed
round.
“Will you take a lemonade, madam, and a cake?” Eline asked Madame van
Raat, who was sitting somewhat deserted on the sofa, now and again
smiling at the joyous group of young people who were engaged telling
each other’s fortunes.
“Wait a moment,” she continued to Otto; “the old lady is all alone; I
shall go and keep her company.”
He gave her a friendly nod and went to listen to Paul’s horoscope,
which Ange was drawing for him.
Eline took a lemonade, laid a cake on a dish, and offered it to Madame
van Raat. Then she sat down next to the old lady, and took her hand.
Madame van Raat, however, never touched the refreshments, but looked
Eline straight in the eyes.
“Well, how is it?” she asked.
In her present mood of melting tenderness, Eline could not feel annoyed
at the indiscreet question. And she answered, very softly, almost
inaudibly—
“I—I shall accept.”
She sighed, and the tears rose in her eyes, when for the first time she
made that resolution. She would accept. And she could find nothing more
to say to the old lady; that one word filled her mind so completely,
that it absorbed every other thought. For a moment, therefore, they sat
next each other in silence, a little turned away from the joyous group
round the cards. And Eline could hear Ange’s shrill, laughing voice, as
she laid down the cards, one by one, on the table.
“Now just listen, Mr. Erlevoort. I am much cleverer than Madame
Lenormand. Here is yours, king of diamonds. You are surrounded by much
tears, but they are turned into smiles; you will have much money, and
will go and live in a château in the Pyrenees. Or would you rather buy
a villa near Nice? Ah, there she is! queen of hearts, you see. You are
rather wide apart, but all the intermediate cards are favourable. You
will have to struggle against many obstacles before you can reach her,
for she is rather sought after, you see; but—the king of clubs, king of
diamonds, a plebeian even, a social democrat; knave of spades!”
“Black Jack!” cried Léonie. “Ah, fi donc!”
Eline smiled, a little frightened, and wiped away a tear from her
lashes; and Madame van Raat, who had also been listening, smiled too.
“There, just see how beautiful those aces lie,” Ange went on. “No fear,
Mr. Erlevoort, no fear; ’tis all clearing up nicely.”
“The cards seem favourable,” whispered Madame van Raat.
Eline gave a little smile of contempt, but she felt a little upset;
Black Jack had reminded her of Fabrice.
The company had risen from the whist-table, and the conversation became
lively and general. The fortune-telling had given an impetus to the
gaiety all round, and Etienne was loud in his protestations to Ange,
who prophesied that he would be an old bachelor. Not he; he declined
with thanks.
Ange and Léonie persuaded Paul to sing something else, and Léonie
accompanied him in one of Massenet’s songs. In the meantime Betsy
looked attentively at her sister and Otto, and thought she could see
that nothing had yet transpired between them. How Eline did
dilly-dally, to be sure! No; she had managed it better herself. She had
quietly accepted van Raat when he in his clumsiness had proposed to
her. What was Eline thinking about? why in Heaven’s name shouldn’t she
accept Erlevoort? They were quite cut out for one another. And she
worried herself about that sentimental hesitation on the part of her
sister, when she had the chance of marrying into a good family, and a
man in a fair position. Her eye glanced coldly on Eline’s slender form,
to which that hesitating coyness lent an additional charm, and she
remarked it, as she also remarked the unwonted earnestness that seemed
to be diffused over her beauty. What a lot of to-do about such a simple
matter! But when she caught sight of her husband, who was talking to
Otto, she felt even more annoyed; how stupid he was, to be sure! Had he
really no notion as yet why Otto was there that evening?
Madame van Raat left later than she usually did, still feeling
uncertain in her mind about Eline’s decision. She had to some extent
anticipated a sort of family evening, and she felt decidedly
disappointed.
It was now long past twelve, and Madame Eekhof and her daughters,
together with Emilie, Vincent, and Paul, prepared to go, the girls,
amid much laughing banter, being conducted by Henk and Etienne through
the hall to their carriage. Betsy, Eline, and Otto remained behind in
the little boudoir, and the silence somewhat embarrassed them. But
Betsy purposely rose and walked into the drawing-room towards the
card-table, as though to gather up the scattered counters. To Eline it
seemed as if the ground was giving way under her. She could not hide
her confusion from Otto’s eyes, and he, although he had had no
intention that evening of reverting to his request, did not feel
himself strong enough to resist the temptation of the moment, now that
they were alone together.
“Eline,” he whispered, in a broken voice; “oh, must I leave you like
this?”
Almost in terror she gasped forth her pent-up breath in a trembling
sigh.
“Otto—really, truly—I—I cannot, not yet.”
“Adieu then; forgive me, pray, for having worried you a second time,”
he said, and with that he lightly pressed her fingers and went.
As for her, however, she felt herself suddenly relenting into a melting
tenderness. Trembling and shaking all over, she all but fell to the
floor, but she saved herself by rushing towards the door, where she
clung to the heavy draperies, and altogether yielding herself up to her
emotions, she cried—
“Otto! Otto!”
He could not repress a light cry. He quickly turned back and caught her
in his arms, and with his face all aglow with pleasure he led her back
into the boudoir.
“Eline, Eline!” he cried: “is it true?”
She made no reply, but flung herself sobbing on his bosom, her spirit
utterly broken with her inward struggles.
“You will—you will be my little wife, then?”
She just ventured to lift up her face, whilst she lay trembling in his
arms, her only reply being her tearful glance and her faint smile.
“Oh—Eline—my darling!” he whispered, and his lips pressed her forehead.
Voices were heard in the drawing-room. Henk and Etienne were coming out
of the hall, Etienne carrying his overcoat and hat in his hand.
“But where is Otto all this time?” Eline heard him exclaim, and she
could at the same time distinguish Betsy’s voice, who whispered
something.
Otto looked smilingly down upon the little weeping head, which,
suddenly alarmed, was pressed against his bosom.
“Come, shall we go, then?” he asked, and in his simplicity he beamed
with joy.
Slowly, very slowly, she let him lead her away, still sobbing in his
arms, her head hid on his shoulder. Betsy met them with a laugh, and
pressed Otto’s hand with a significant glance. Henk and Etienne were
somewhat surprised.
“Van Raat, may I—may I introduce you to my intended?” said Otto.
It was Henk’s turn to smile now, and Etienne’s, who opened his eyes
wide with amazement.
“There’s a sly old customer!” he cried, and held his finger up
threateningly. “Who would have expected that this evening, now? what do
you think of that?”
Eline, however, still sobbing, relieved herself of Otto’s arm, and
clasped Henk round his neck. He kissed her, and his big voice muttered
kindly—
“Well, I will congratulate you, sissy, with all my heart. But the
deuce! come, don’t cry like that—what’s the idea of that now? Come,
give us a laugh now, for a change.”
In confusion she covered her face with her hands, and now Betsy thought
that it was her turn to give her a kiss, and she just touched the
dishevelled little locks.
“I am very satisfied with my little soirée, very satisfied!” she said
significantly.
Henk wanted Otto to stay a little longer, Etienne was discreet enough
to take himself off, but Eline whispered beseechingly that she was very
tired, and Otto did not insist. He was too happy to wish for anything
more; he would go, brimful of joy. And she thought it very nice of him
that he took leave only with a shake of the hand, as she feared he
would have kissed her before all of them.
The two brothers left, and Eline fled to her room, where she found
Mina, who was just lighting the lamp. The servant-maids had heard the
news from Gerard, who had come into the drawing-room at a very
inopportune moment, and Mina congratulated her, and looked at her with
an inquisitive smile about her lips.
“Thank you—thank you, Mina,” stammered Eline.
At last she was alone. She glanced in the mirror, and she started when
she saw the tearful pallor of her face. Yet it seemed to her as though
her soul glided away in a still, blue lake, that noiselessly covered
her with its waters, a spot where an eternal peace seemed to reign, a
Nirvana, the calm rapture of which was to her a new happiness.