CHAPTER IV.

[Contents]CHAPTER IV.When, the morning after her passionate outburst, Eline came down to breakfast, Henk had already gone out, bound for the stables, to look after his horses and hounds. In the breakfast-room there was no one but little Ben, eating, or rather playing with a slice of bread-and-butter. Betsy she could hear running to and fro with much animation, and giving her hurried instructions to the cook.Frans and Jeanne Ferelyn, and Miss de Woude van Bergh and her brother, were coming to dinner that day.Eline was looking very neat and dressy in a gown of dark gray woollen material, a gray ribbon round her waist, and a small golden[20]arrow glittering at her throat. She wore neither rings nor bracelets. About her forehead curled a few fine locks, in frizzy garlands, soft and glossy as frayed silk.With a friendly nod she walked round to where the child was seated, and lifting up his face with both hands pressed a loving kiss on his forehead. Then she sat down, feeling well at ease with herself, her senses agreeably soothed by the soft warmth thrown out from the glowing hearth, while outside the snow-flakes were silently wrapping a down-like mantle around them. With an involuntary smile of satisfaction she rubbed her slim white hands, and glanced at her rosy, white-tipped finger-nails; then casting a glance outside, where an old woman, almost bent double, was pushing a barrow of snow-covered oranges in front of her, she cut open a little breakfast-roll, the while listening, with amused indifference, to the angry dispute going on between Betsy and the cook.Betsy entered, an ill-humoured expression in her heavily-shaded, twinkling eyes, her short thick lips compressed with annoyance. She carried a set of cut-glass dessert trays, which she was about to wash, as the cook had broken one of them. Carefully, notwithstanding her anger, she placed the trays on the table, and filled a basin with warm water.“That fool of a girl! Fancy washing one of my fine glass dishes in boiling water! But it serves me right for trusting those idiots to do anything.”Her voice sounded harsh and rasping, as she roughly pushed Ben out of the way. Eline, in unusually good humour, offered her assistance, which was readily accepted by Betsy. She had a great many things to do yet, she said; but all the same she sat down, watching Eline carefully washing and drying the dishes one by one, with light graceful movements, without moistening her fingers or spilling one drop; and she was conscious of the contrast between her own rough-and-ready way of doing things—the outcome of robust health—and Eline’s languid grace, mingled as it was with somewhat of fear of tiring or bespattering herself.“By the bye, when I was at the Verstraetens’ yesterday, I heard they were not going to the opera this evening, as they were tired from last night; aunt asked me if I would like the box. Do you care to go to the opera?”“And what about your visitors?”“Jeanne Ferelyn is going early, because her child is unwell, and[21]I wanted to ask Emilie and her brother to come too. Henk can stay at home. It is a box for four, you know.”“Very well; I don’t mind.”Well satisfied with herself, Eline was just putting down the last tray, when all at once a violent altercation broke out in the kitchen, accompanied by the silvery clattering of forks and spoons. It was Grete and Mina engaged in rather forcible argument. Betsy hurried out of the room, and very soon, curt commands and impudent answers followed each other in rapid succession.Ben in the meantime remained standing open-mouthed, and somewhat drowsily, on the spot where his mother had pushed him, full of silent alarm at all the hubbub.“Come, Ben, to auntie’s room,” said Eline, and smilingly she held out her hand towards him. He came, and both proceeded up-stairs.Eline occupied two rooms on the ground floor, a bedroom and a boudoir. With the economy and good taste which were common to her nature, she had succeeded in imparting to these rooms a semblance of luxury, with somewhat of an artistic polish. Her piano occupied an angle in the wall; the heavy foliage of a giant azalea cast a softening shade over the low, damask-covered couch. In a corner stood a small table laden with innumerable precious trifles. Statuettes, pictures, feathers, palm branches, filled every nook. The pink marble mantelpiece was crowned with a miniature Venetian mirror, suspended by red cords and tassels. In front stood an Amor and Psyche, after Canova, the group depicting a maiden in the act of removing her veil, and a love-sick, light-winged god.When Eline entered with Ben, the ruddy glow from the hearth shone on her cheeks. She threw the child a few tattered volumes of engravings, and he settled himself on the sofa, soon absorbed in the pictures. Eline entered her bedroom, the windows of which were still covered with daintily-formed leaves and flowers, the effect of the night’s frost. Yonder stood a toilette duchesse—a vision of tulle and lace—touched up here and there with the satin bows of old ball bouquets, and laden with scent phials of Sèvres and fine cut-glass. In the midst of all this wealth of pink and white the mirror glittered like a sheet of burnished silver. The bedstead was hidden among red draperies, and in the corner against the door a tall cheval glass reflected a flood of liquid sunshine.[22]For a moment Eline glanced round, to see if her maid had arranged everything to her satisfaction; then shivering in the chilly atmosphere she returned to her sitting-room and closed the door. With its semi-Eastern luxury the room was a most pleasant one, its comfort seemingly enhanced by the cold white glare reflected from the snow outside.Eline felt as though brimming over with melody—a feeling which could only find adequate expression in song. She chose the waltz fromMireille. And she sang it with variations of her own, with modulations now swelling into a full, rich volume of melody, now melting away into the faintest diminuendo, with brilliant shakes and roulades clear as those of a lark. She no longer thought of the cold and snow outside. Then suddenly remembering that she had not practised for three days, she commenced singing scales, brightening her high notes, and trying a difficult portamento. Her voice resounded with a metallic ring, somewhat cold, but clear and bright as crystal.Ben, though well used to these jubilant tones, which reverberated through the whole house, sat listening in open-mouthed wonder, without bestowing a further glance on his pictures, now and again giving a sudden start when some exceptionally shrill highsiordowould penetrate his ears.Eline was herself at a loss to account for her sadness of yesterday. How and whence came that fit of melancholy, without any definite cause? what was the overwhelming joy too that could have so suddenly chased those clouds away?To-day she felt animated, happy, joyous; she was sorry that she had not seen the tableaux yesterday, and she feared that Mr. and Madame Verstraeten did not take her indispositionau sérieux. What a nice, pleasant man he was, Mr. Verstraeten, always full of fun! and Madame Verstraeten, what a dear good soul! She knew no one like her, so charming and kind. And then, seated at her piano, now practising a shake, then a chromatic scale, she allowed her thoughts to wander to other nice people amongst her acquaintances. Yes; all had their good qualities: the Ferelyns, Emilie de Woude, old Madame van Raat, Madame van Erlevoort, even Madame van der Stoor. As for Cateau she was a doll.And the idea struck her that she would rather like to join that[23]company of players. Yes; they had an admirable conception of the amenities of life. Frédérique, Marie, Lili, Paul and Etienne, ever gay, ever together, full of droll plans for their amusement. Indeed, it must be very nice, prettily arrayed in romantic costumes, to be the objects of general admiration. Paul had a very pretty voice, it would be splendid to sing duets with him. It quite slipped her memory that only a few days ago she had assured her singing-master that his voice was absolutely void of tone. But to-day she was in a pleasant humour, and sang a second waltz, that of “Juliette” in Gounod’s opera. She adored Gounod.It had just struck half-past ten when there was a knock at the door.“Come in,” she cried, and looking round she let her slender fingers rest on the keyboard. Paul van Raat entered.“Bon jour, Eline. Hallo, young rascal!”“What, Paul, you?” She rose, somewhat surprised to see him. Ben ran towards his uncle and hoisted himself up on his knees.“How early you are! I thought you were coming to sing this afternoon. But you are welcome all the same; do you hear? Sit down and tell me about the tableaux,” Eline exclaimed with much animation; then, remembering her illness of the previous day, she continued in a languid voice—“I was awfully sorry I was so ill yesterday. Had a terrible headache.”“You don’t look much the worse for it.”“It’s true, Paul, really. If I had been well, don’t you think I should have come and admired your talent? Come, tell me—tell me all about it,” and she drew him with her to the sofa and threw the pictures on the floor.Paul had some difficulty in freeing himself from Ben, who clung to his legs.“Come, let go, Ben. And is the headache better now?”“Oh yes; quite gone. This afternoon I’ll go round to Mr. Verstraeten to give my congratulations. But, Paul, do tell me——”“I was just about to tell you that I was not coming to sing this afternoon; do you hear, Elly? I couldn’t bring out a note; I am quite hoarse with the howling and screaming of yesterday. But we managed splendidly,” and he commenced describing the tableaux.It was all his idea, and much of it the work of his own hands; but the girls too had been hard at it for the last month—getting[24]up the dresses, attending to a thousand trifles. That afternoon Losch was coming to take a photograph of the last group; so that, even had he been in good voice, he could not have come to sing. And how stiff in his joints he felt! for he had slaved away like a navvy, and the girls must be quite exhausted also. No; he had formed no part in the grouping, he was too busy making all the arrangements. He fell back a little on the rich damask cushions of the sofa, under the shading branches of the azalea, and stroked his hair.Eline thought how much he resembled Henk, although he was ten years younger, more slender in figure, livelier, with more delicate features, and an expression of much greater intelligence. But a simple gesture or movement, a raising of the eyebrows, would now and again very distinctly illustrate that resemblance, and although his lips were thinner under his light moustache than Henk’s heavily-bearded upper lip, his laugh was deep and full as that of his brother.“Why don’t you take painting lessons of a good master, Paul?” asked Eline. “Surely if you have talent——”“But I have not,” he laughed. “It would not be worth the trouble. I just dabble a bit in it, just as I do with my singing. It amounts to nothing at all, any of it.” And he sighed at his Lick of energy to make the most of the little talent he might possess.“You remind me of papa,” she said, and her words assumed a tone of sadness, as the idealized image of her father rose to her memory. “Yes; he had great talents, but latterly his health failed him, and he could not produce the great creation of which his soul was capable. I well remember that he was engaged on an immense canvas, a scene from Dante’sParadisoI believe, when—when he died. Poor papa! But you are young and strong, and I can’t understand why you don’t do something great, something out of the common.”“You know, I suppose, that I am going to be engaged at Hovel’s. Uncle Verstraeten has arranged it for me.”Hovel was a barrister, and as Paul had, at a somewhat early age, and after a period of alternate studying and idleness, passed the law examination, Uncle Verstraeten thought he would be doing the young barrister a good turn if he recommended him to his friend.[25]It had therefore been arranged that Paul should continue working at Hovel’s office, until he could go in practice for himself.“At Hovel’s? A very nice man; I like his wife very much. Oh, that will be splendid, Paul.”“I hope so.”“But still, if I were a man I should try and become famous. Come, Ben, don’t be troublesome now; go and look at the nice pictures on the floor. Wouldn’t you think it splendid to be famous? Really, if I weren’t Eline Vere I should become an actress.” And she gave vent to a series of brilliant shakes, which fell from her lips like a sparkling chain of diamonds.“Famous!” and with a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders. “What a silly idea, to be sure. Famous! No; I don’t want to be famous, not a bit. But for all that I should like to paint well, or sing well, or something.”“Then why don’t you take lessons, either in painting or music? Shall I speak to my master?”“No, thanks; not that old growler of a Roberts, if I can help it. And besides, Eline, it isn’t really worth while; I should never be able to keep it up whatever it was. I am subject to sudden fits, you see. Then I think I can do anything, then I am anxious to hit upon some great subject for a picture——”“Like papa,” she interrupted with a sad smile.“At other times the fit moves me to make the most of what voice I have; but before long all those grand ideas have died their own death of sheer inanition, and then I continue in the same old jog-trot as before.”“You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”“Henceforth I shall go and hide the aspirations of my genius in law cases,” he answered with a laugh, as he rose from his seat. “But now I must be off to the Princesse-gracht, to the Verstraetens’. So don’t expect me this afternoon; we have several details to arrange yet before Losch comes. Adieu, Eline; bye-bye, Ben.”“Bon jour; I hope you’ll soon get over your hoarseness.”Paul went, and Eline once more sat down at the piano. For a while she sat thinking what a pity it was Paul had so little energy, and from him her thoughts reverted again to Henk. But she felt altogether too light-hearted this morning to do much philosophizing, and, full of exuberant spirits demanding an outlet, she continued[26]her singing, until the mid-day gong summoned her and Ben down-stairs.Paul had told his mother that he would not be home that afternoon for coffee, as he would be at the Verstraetens’. He lodged at Madame van Raat’s, in the Laan van Meerdervoort. Madame van Raat, an elder sister of Madame Verstraeten, was a stately dame, with pensive, light-blue eyes, and hair of silver gray, dressed in old-fashioned style, whilst over her whole being there was suffused, as it were, a calmness, a placid resignation, that unmistakably spoke of former days free from troubles and disappointments. As walking exercise was becoming irksome to her, she was mostly to be found seated in her high-backed arm-chair, the dull-gray head drooping on her bosom, the blue-veined hands folded in her lap. Thus she continued to lead a quiet, monotonous existence, the aftermath of a placid, all but cloudless life, by the side of her husband, on whose portrait she frequently allowed her eyes to dwell, as it hung before her yonder, in its smart general’s uniform; a good-looking, frank, manly face, with a pair of truthful, intelligent eyes, and an engaging expression about the firm, closed mouth. To her, life had brought but few great sorrows, and for that, in the simplicity of her faith, she felt piously grateful. But now, now she was tired, oh! so tired, her spirit quite broken by the death of that husband to whom, to the last, she had clung with an affection constant and calm as the bosom of a limpid stream, into the placid waters of which the impetuous waves of her youthful love had flowed away. After his death, she began to worry over every trifling circumstance, petty vexations with servants and tradespeople. All these she connected, until to her mind they formed an unbroken chain of irksome burdens. Yes, she felt she was growing old; time had little more to give her, and so, in silent egoism, she mused her life away in the long-vanished poesy of the past. She had had three children: her youngest, a girl, was dead.Of her two sons, her favourite was Henk, who, strong and big, reminded her the most of his father, whilst in her eyes his sleepy good-nature had more of open, frank manliness, than Paul’s finer-strung fickleness and airy geniality. Paul she had always found too unsettled and nervous: formerly, in his constantly interrupted studies at Leyden—at last, thanks to a little moral pressure on the part of Uncle Verstraeten, crowned with promotion—as well as[27]now with his staying out late at night, his rage for painting,tableaux-vivantsand duets, or his fits of indolence, when he would lounge away a whole afternoon on the sofa, over a book he did not read.Before his marriage, Henk, being of a more staid and homely character than Paul, felt himself better at ease in his mother’s house; although he was quiet, his silence never irritated her; it was like the silence of a faithful dog, watching with half-closed eyes over his mistress. She felt so at her ease with Henk. She disliked being alone, for it was in solitude that the memories of the past contrasted in their rosy brightness too sharply with the leaden-gray that was the prevailing hue of her present life, and Paul she saw but rarely, except when hastily swallowing his dinner, in order to keep an appointment. She seldom went out, unaccustomed as she had grown to the noisy traffic of the streets, and the hum of many voices.Henk was her pet, and with her mental vision unimpaired, wherever at least her son was concerned, she regretted his marriage with Betsy Vere. No; she was not a fit wife for her child, and knowing that, she could not bring herself to give him her hearty approval or her parental blessing, when he told her of his engagement. Still, she refrained from opposing her beloved son in his choice, fearing lest she should be the cause of unhappiness; it was therefore under a false assumption of frankness, at which she was surprised herself, that she had concealed her ill-feeling against the intruder, and welcomed her as her daughter. All the same, she felt deeply concerned about Henk. Madame Vere she had known slightly; passionate and domineering, she never found anything attractive in such a personality, and this daughter reminded her too much of that mother. Although, in her eyes, Henk was possessed of much more firmness of character than Vere, of whom she could not think but as a pallid, ailing sufferer, only too glad to allow his wife to think and act for him; although Henk, as she thought, had all the frank manliness of character of his father, and would not allow himself to be domineered over; still, happy as she had been with van Raat, it would never behislot to be. And at that thought she would sigh and her eyes would grow moist; her mother’s love, despite her blindness to his failings, was the instinct which gave her an inkling of the truth, and if she could have taken his place, she would gladly have given up her own former happiness to her son, and have suffered for him.[28]Her thoughts ran away with her as she saw Leentje, the servant, laying the cloth for lunch for herself alone, and with a weary resignation at the hateful loneliness of her days, she sat down. To-morrow would be to her as to-day; what remained of her life was but an aftermath of summer, and though autumn and winter might be free from storms, yet the only promise they held out was that of a barren, soulless lethargy. To what end did she live?And so weary did she feel under the leaden pressure of this soul-killing loneliness, that she could not even muster up the energy to scold Leentje for her clumsiness, although she could not help noticing the damage that was done to one of her old china dishes.Much earlier than she was wont to go out, Eline went to the Verstraetens’ that afternoon. It was near the end of November, and winter had already set in with extreme severity. There was a sharp frost; the snow, still white and unsullied, crackled under Eline’s light, regular tread, but her feet preferred to feel the smoothness of the clean-swept pavement; the delicately-gloved hands were hidden away in the small muff. At times bestowing a friendly nod, from under her veil, on some passing acquaintance, she proceeded along the Java-straat to the Princesse-gracht. She still felt in a happy humour, which was quite undisturbed by the little tiff she had had with Betsy about some trifling question with the servants. These little bickerings were not of such rare occurrence lately, although they always irritated Henk beyond measure.But Eline had not taken much notice of Betsy’s words, and had replied to her with less sharpness than was her wont; she did not care to allow such trifles to spoil her good-humour: life was too dear to her——And feeling glad that she had curbed her temper, she turned the corner of the Java-straat.At the Verstraetens’ there still prevailed an unusual disorder. Dien was loth to admit her, but Eline took no notice, and passed inside to the large reception-room, where she found Madame Verstraeten, who apologized for being in her dressing-gown. Losch, the photographer, half hidden under the green cloth of his apparatus, was taking a view of the group representing the Five Senses. The girls, Etienne, and Paul smiled their welcome to Eline, who said it was splendid still to be able to see something of the tableaux. But now, in the chill snow-reflected daylight, the scene no longer[29]created the vivid, glowing impression of the previous evening, nor had it the same wealth of colouring, with which a plentiful application of Bengal fire had endowed it. The draperies hung in loose and crumpled folds; Frédérique’s cloth of gold had a smudged, faded tint, her ermine had more the appearance of white and black wool. Etienne’s fair wig was decidedly out of curl. Lili, representing the sense of Smelling, lay half dozing in her pillows.“I am afraid it won’t come to much,” said Marie, as Losch was arranging her draperies; but Toosje van der Stoor thought otherwise and remained lying motionless, with a terribly cramped feeling, owing to her difficult attitude.Eline, unwilling to disturb the artistes in their grouping, sat down beside Mr. Verstraeten. He laid away his book and removed his eye-glasses, and with his sparkling brown eyes glanced with unfeigned pleasure at the graceful girl.“Do you know,” she said, as she unhooked the little fur-lined cloak, “do you know, I am really jealous of that little group there. They are always together, always happy and jolly, and full of fun and amusing ideas—really I feel quite old by the side of them.”“Just fancy that!” answered Madame Verstraeten, laughing. “You are of the same age as Marie, three-and-twenty, aren’t you?”“Yes; but I was never spoilt as Marie and Lili are being now, and yet I think I should not have minded a bit. You know, of course, when I was a child—papa was mostly ill, and naturally that threw a damper over us; and afterwards at Aunt Vere’s house—aunt was a dear, good woman, but much elder than papa, and not very jolly certainly——”“You must not say anything about Aunt Vere, Eline!” said Mr. Verstraeten; “she was an old flame of mine——”“Andyoumust not laugh at her; I was very fond of her; she really was a second mother to us, and when that long illness ended in her death, I felt the loss keenly, I was as alone in the world. You see, all these things were not exactly calculated to make my youth a very gay one.” And she smiled a saddened smile, whilst at the thought of all she had been deprived of, her eyes glistened with moisture. “But when you look at Paul and Etienne, and the girls, it’s nothing but laughter and pleasure—really, enough to make me jealous. And that Toos, too, she is a dear child.”The artistes came down from the platform. Losch had finished.[30]Paul and Etienne, with Freddy, Marie, and Cateau came forward, whilst Lili went to bed, thoroughly exhausted with the excitement of the last two days.“Good morning, Miss Vere,” said Cateau, as she held out her little hand to Eline.Eline felt a sudden, indescribable, unreasoning sympathy for that child, so simple and so unconsciously engaging, and as she rose to go, she was obliged to hide her emotion by playfully embracing the child.“Good-bye, darling,” she said dotingly. “I am going, Madame Verstraeten; there is still plenty left for you to do, now that all that excitement is over. Ah! yes—I promised Betsy to ask you for the tickets. May I have them?”It was still early, only half-past two, and Eline thought what a long time it was since she had visited old Madame van Raat, and she knew that the old lady liked her, and was always glad to have a chat in the afternoon. Henk never failed to visit his mother every morning after his ride, and the two boarhounds, whom his wife had banished from his home, followed him undisturbed up the stairs in his mother’s house. As for Betsy, of her the old lady saw very little; Betsy was well enough aware that Madame van Raat did not care for her. Eline, however, had succeeded in winning her affections, by means of a certain most engaging manner she had when in the company of aged ladies; in the tone of her voice, in her little attentions, there was a something, a delicate flavour of respect, which charmed the old dame.Eline returned through the Java-straat to the Laan van Meerdervoort, and found Madame van Raat alone, seated in her high-backed chair, her hands folded in her lap. And in the young girl’s eyes she appeared such a picture of mute sadness; over the rich faded furniture there hovered such a melancholy shadow of past comfort; the whole apartment was filled with such an atmosphere of sorrow, and about the folds of the dark green curtains there hung such a mist of melancholy, that on entering, Eline felt her heart grow cold within her, as though a voice had told her that life was not worth living.But she struggled against the feeling. She recalled those thoughts which in the morning had brought her such lightness of heart. She smiled, and her tone assumed that vague respect, mingled with[31]somewhat of love and pity, and with much animation she spoke about Paul, about the tableaux, about that evening’s dinner, and the opera—and promised Madame van Raat to send her some books, nice light literature, in which one looked at the world through rose-coloured glasses.It pained her to chatter in this way; she would much rather have sat and cried with the old dame, in sympathetic melancholy, but she controlled herself, and even plucked up courage to touch upon a more serious subject. With her engaging, respectful manner, she took Madame to task for having been discovered by her with moistened eyes, which now she would not own; she was not inquisitive, but she would so gladly console and cheer her, if she could; and why did she not again make her her confidante, as she had done before, and so on.And the old lady, already placed at her ease by this charm of manner, smilingly shook her head; really, there was nothing the matter at all; she only felt a little lonely. Ah, it was her own fault, she feared, for there was very little in which she still took any interest. Other old people read the papers and continued to take an interest in things generally; but not she. Yes, it was all her own fault; but Elinewasa dear girl; why could not Betsy be a little like her?And with increased animation, she began to talk about her dear husband; over there was his portrait.…It was past four when Eline hurried away; it was growing dark, it was thawing, and the lowering clouds threatened to fall upon her and choke her. That old lady had been happy, very happy.… and she, Eline, was not happy, even at her age—oh! how would she feel when she too would be old, ugly, and shrivelled up! To her even the memories of the past would bring no comfort, nor yet the solacing thought that happiness did exist, that she had tasted its sweets; to her all would be dull and leaden as the clouds above! “Oh, God, why live, if life were void of happiness?—why, why?” she whispered, and she hurried on to dress for dinner.It was to be a simple, homely little dinner. At half-past six the Ferelyns came, and shortly after, Emilie and Georges. Betsy received them in the drawing-room, and asked Jeanne how the child was.“She is much easier now, the little dot; the fever is gone, but still[32]she is not quite better. Doctor Reyer said she was getting on. It’s very nice of you to have invited us; a little change is really necessary for me. But you see, I took your word for it that it would be quite a family party, so I haven’t dressed for it.” And with some misgiving her eyes wandered from her own plain black dress to Betsy’s gown of gray satin.“Really, there is no one else coming but Emilie here, and her brother. But you told me you would be going home early, so we have arranged, later on, to look in at the opera, in Uncle Verstraeten’s box. So you need not be uneasy, you were quite right to come as you are.”Henk, looking jolly and contented, entered in his smoking-jacket, and on seeing him Jeanne felt more reassured than by all Betsy’s protestations. With Emilie, lively as ever, she was on the most intimate terms, and it was Georges alone, with his immaculate shirt-front, and his big gardenia, who made her feel somewhat uneasy at her own simple dress.Frans Ferelyn, an East-Indian official, was in Holland on furlough, and his wife was an old school-mate of Eline’s and Betsy’s.Jeanne seemed a homely little woman, very quiet and depressed under her domestic troubles. Delicate, emaciated, and pallid, with a pair of soft brown eyes, she felt crushed under the double burden of pecuniary embarrassment and anxiety for her three ailing children, and she felt an irresistible longing for India, the land of her birth, and for the quiet life she led there. She suffered much from the cold, and numbered the months she would still have to pass in Holland. She told Emilie of her life at Temanggoeng in the Kadoe—Frans was Comptroller first-class—in the midst of a menagerie of Cochin-China fowls, ducks, pigeons, a cow, two goats, and a cockatoo. “Just like Adam and Eve in Paradise,” remarked Emilie. Then she told them how each morning she used to look after her Persian roses and her pretty azaleas, and gather her vegetables from her own garden, and how her children, immediately on their arrival in Holland, were taken ill and began to cough. “’Tis true, in India they looked rather pale, but there at least they were not obliged to be in constant fear of draughts and open doors.” And she was sorry that, owing to the expense of the voyage, she had had to come away without her baboo, Saripa. She was now in service at Samarang, but she[33]had promised to come back to her “as soon as we are home again,” and she was to bring her over some pretty frocks from Holland.Emilie listened attentively, and did her best to set her talking; she knew how those Indian reminiscences could draw Jeanne out of her usual quiet reserve. Betsy considered her out of place in company, so when she did ask her, it was always together with her husband, and if possible, with one or two others. The fact was, she thought her a bore, generally ill-dressed, and her conversation flat and uninteresting, but still she could not help occasionally inviting her, more with a kind of pity than anything else.While Frans Ferelyn was speaking to Henk about his forthcoming promotion to Assistant Resident, and Georges was listening to Jeanne telling him about Frans’s horse one day stepping right into their room to fetch hispisang, Betsy lay back in her chair, thinking how long Eline was. She would have liked to have dined early, so as not to be so very late at the opera, and she inwardly hoped that the Ferelyns would not be indiscreet and stay too long. Amusing they certainly were not, she thought, and she rose, concealing her impatience, to fix a bunch of peacock feathers in one of the vases, a few of the knick-knacks on the little centre table; then with her foot she arranged the tiger-skin rug in front of the flaming hearth, all the time feeling annoyed at Eline’s delay.At length the door opened and Eline entered, and Jeanne could not help noticing how pretty and elegant she looked in her pink rep silk frock, simple but rich, with a neat little bow here and there on her V-shaped corsage, on the short sleeves, and at the waist. In her light-brown, back-combed hair she wore atouffeof wavy pink feathers with a small aigrette; her nimble feet were encased in small pink shoes; a single string of pearls encircled her throat. In her hands she held her long gloves, her fan of pink ostrich feathers, and herbinocleset in mother-of-pearl.Ferelyn and de Woude rose, and she shook hands with them, and kissed Emilie and Jeanne, at the same time inquiring about little Dora. She noticed how all, even Henk and Betsy, took stock of her, from head to foot, struck as they were with the rich simplicity of her dress: and when Jeanne spoke to her about her child, she smiled upon the struggling little woman, all conscious of the effect of her brilliant charms.At table, Eline chatted pleasantly with de Woude, next to whom[34]she was seated. Betsy sat between her two gentlemen guests, Emilie between Henk and Frans, Jeanne between Eline and Henk. In the somewhat sombre dining-room, with its antique furniture, the table glistened with snowy damask, with silver and fine glass, whilst the rays of gas-light glinted on decanters and glasses, making the dark-red or amber-coloured wine appear to quiver under the glow of its radiance. From amid a nest of flowers in a silver basket rose the prickly crown of a splendid pine.De Woude commenced telling Eline about the soirée at the Verstraetens’, and in glowing terms described how well Miss van Erlevoort had looked her parts, successively as Cleopatra and the sense of Sight. With Emilie, Frans, and Betsy the conversation turned on India. In this Jeanne joined every now and again, but she sat too far away, and her attention was diverted by de Woude’s chattering and the little shrill laugh of Eline, who was engaged in a mild flirtation.Henk drank his soup and ate his fish in silence, occasionally addressing a short monosyllable to Jeanne or Emilie. And Jeanne grew more and more silent, as much from feeling ill at ease, as from fatigue at her long talk to Emilie after a day full of worries. She felt very much out of place, next to that coquettish couple. Eline in full toilet, de Woude in his evening dress, to which her own little black dress offered a shabby contrast. Still, she was glad she sat next to Henk, and in her ownmalaiseshe was conscious of a vague sort of sympathy for him, who was as much out of place there as herself.And she could not help comparing herself with Eline and Betsy: she, struggling with her three children and her husband’s slender furlough allowance; Eline and Betsy, on the other hand, unhampered, and ever moving in a whirl of pleasures and excitement. Where was the old, happy friendship that united them in one bond, when all three used to go hand-in-hand to school, Eline with the cape of her mackintosh filled with cherries, and she herself under Betsy’s leadership giving free vent to her childish spirits in naughty answers to the governess? She felt herself repelled by that young wife, with her self-conscious, indifferent manner, and her domineering tone towards her husband; repelled also by that young girl, who appeared to her frivolous and vain in her conversation, full of brilliant nothings; and by that dandy. Eline, especially, she could not understand; in her she found something uncommon, something[35]indefinable and puzzling, and certain attributes which seemed ever at war with one another. Her laughter about nothing at all wearied her, and she wondered how it was that a girl who, as they said, sang so divinely, could have such an unpleasant and affected laugh. Oh! if they would but be silent for a moment!.… And in her heart she longed to be back once more in her humble apartments, with her little Dora. Why had she accepted that invitation? ’Tis true Frans had insisted, now that the child was out of danger, that she should have some change and relaxation, but this dinner-party gave her no relaxation; on the contrary, it made her nervous and confused, and she declined Henk’s offer of sweetbreads and asparagus which he recommended her.“Did I hear aright, Miss Emilie; is Mr. de Woude a brother of yours?” Frans asked softly. It was the first time that he had met either Emilie or Georges, and he was as much struck by their resemblance as by the contrast between them.“Certainly,” whispered Emilie; “and I am proud of him too. He is an awful swell, but a nice boy; he is engaged at the Foreign Office. Be careful, don’t you think bad of him!” she laughed, and held up her finger threateningly, as though she read Ferelyn’s thoughts.“I have scarcely exchanged more than half a dozen words with Mr. de Woude as yet, so I should be sorry to express any opinion about him so soon,” he said, a little alarmed at Emilie’s brusqueness.“That’s right; most people get a very different opinion of Georges after they have known him some time, from that formed when they first met him. You see, like a loving sister, I take my brother’s part. Just fill my glass, please.”“Yes; you champion him even before he is attacked!” resumed Ferelyn smiling, as he filled her glass; “but thus much I can see already, that he is a spoilt pet of the ladies, not only of his sisters, but also of Madame van Raat and Miss Vere.”Betsy joined in the conversation with Eline and Georges, feeling attracted by the latter’s lively manner, as he chatted away, skimming over all sorts of subjects; a conversation without substance, without actual wit, but light as foam, airy as soap-bubbles, sparkling as firework crackers. In such a conversation she was in her element; serious talk, be it ever so spirited, was too burdensome for her; but this tintinnabulation of sparks and foam-flecks,[36]like wine glistening through crystal beakers, charmed her exceedingly. She thought Georges much more amusing than he was yesterday at the Verstraetens’, where he had twice observed that the effect of red light was more flattering than that of green. To-day he did not repeat himself, but rattled on, interrupting her with laughing impudence, and rounding off his sentences with truly French vivacity.Several times Eline tried to lead Jeanne into that circle of sparkling nothings, but in return Jeanne had only smiled a faint smile, or just answered with a single monosyllable, and at length Eline gave up the attempt to draw her out. The conversation grew more general; Emilie joined in with her easy nonchalance and airy banter; and Frans, in the midst of this charmed circle, could not help throwing in a stray spark of fun, although his eyes frequently rested with an anxious look on his quiet little wife.To Jeanne it seemed as though the dinner would never come to an end. Although she had not the slightest appetite, she did not like to continue refusing, so she took of the truffled chicken, of thegâteau Henri IV., of the pines, and the choice dessert; her wine, however, she merely touched with her lips. Henk, next her, ate much, and with evident gusto, wondering why she helped herself to such small portions. De Woude ate but little, his continued talking prevented that; but Emilie did her share, and was not sparing with the wine.It was past eight when they rose, and the ladies retired to the drawing-room. Frans joined Henk and de Woude in a cigar, as Jeanne had expressed her desire to stay another half-hour. Betsy had asked her to do so; she could not let her guests go so soon, and there would be plenty of time for the opera.“Is Dora often ill, Jeanne?” asked Eline, as with a rustle of her red silk she sat down on the sofa beside her, and took her hand. “Last time I saw her nothing ailed her, and even then I thought she was looking very pale and delicate.”Jeanne gently withdrew her hand, and felt something like irritation at such a question after the conversation at table. She made but curt reply. But Eline persisted, as though she intended by her present amiability to make good her former neglect; and she managed to impart such a sympathetic tone to her voice, that Jeanne felt quite touched. Jeanne began to express her fears that Doctor Reyer had not examined her little girl as carefully as he[37]might; and Eline, whilst sipping her coffee, listened with evident interest to her maternal plaints. Emilie and Betsy had meanwhile gone into the adjoining boudoir, to look at some fashion-plates.“Poor girl! what a lot of cares and worries you have, and scarcely three months in Holland yet! You only arrived in September, did you not?” asked Eline, as she placed the little china cup on the round table in front of her.Jeanne was silent; but all at once she rose up, and in her turn grasping Eline’s slender fingers, she remarked, in her longing for affection—“Eline, you know I have always been pretty straightforward and frank; may I ask you something?”“Of course you may,” answered Eline, rather surprised.“Well, then—why we are no longer to each other what we were formerly, when your parents were still living? It is now four years since I married and went to India, and now that we have returned, now when I see you again, all seems so different between yourself and me. I have no acquaintances, and but few relations in the Hague, and I should so much like to keep my old friends to myself.”“But, Jeanne——”“Yes; I know you think it foolish of me to talk like that; but at times I feel so terribly depressed with all that flummery and false excitement, I do so long to unburden myself to some dear true friend—for of course I cannot say all I wish to my husband.”“Why not?”“Oh, he has enough of his own worries; he is ill, and—peevish.”“But, Jeanne, I really don’t see what change has come between us.”“Perhaps it is only my fancy after all. You see, formerly we used to be oftener together, now you move in such a different circle. You go out a good deal, and I—well, you see, we have become much estranged from one another.”“But considering that we have not seen each other for four years——”“But we kept up the correspondence.”“What value is there in three or four letters in the course of a year? Doesn’t it seem natural that one’s ideas change, as one gets older, and is placed in different circumstances?[38]Yes; I have had my cares and worries too. First it was dear papa, then Aunt Vere, whom I attended in her illness——”“Are you happy here? can you get along with Betsy?”“Oh yes, admirably, or I should not stay with her, of course.” Eline, with her usual reserve, deemed it unnecessary to say more about it.“You see, there is no need for you to trouble yourself about anything,” Jeanne continued; “things come about just as you wish them; you are free and unfettered, and live only for your pleasures—it is all so different with me.”“But surely all that does not justify you in saying that we have become estranged from each other. In the first place, I think ‘estranged’ is a most unpleasant word, and secondly, it is not true, whatever word you may use.”“Oh yes.”“Oh no. I assure you, Jeanne dear, if I can be of service to you in any way, you will find me quite at your disposal. Do you believe me?”“Yes, I do, and I thank you very much. But, Eline——”“Well?”Several questions rose to Jeanne’s lips. She felt eager to ask her to tell her more about herself, to be more free and open with her; but the studied cordiality of the smile that hovered about the delicate lips, and was reflected in those dreamy, almond eyes, effectually silenced her. And she felt a sudden regret at her frankness towards such a coquette of a girl deftly playing with her fan; it was mere waste of time in talking to her. Why had she allowed herself to yield to the first impulse? for they were entirely unsuited to one another.…“Well?” Eline repeated, at the same time fearing what the next question might be.“Another time, when we are alone again!” stammered Jeanne, and she rose, dissatisfied, annoyed with herself, feeling ready to burst into tears, after that unsociable dinner and fruitless conversation. Betsy and Emilie were just leaving the boudoir.Jeanne thought it was time to be going. The three gentlemen came in, and Henk assisted her with her cloak. With a forced cordiality she took her leave, thanking Betsy for her invitation, and again she shivered with annoyance when Eline kissed her cheeks.“What an awful bore she is, that Jeanne!” said Betsy, after the[39]Ferelyns had gone. “She scarcely opened her mouth. What were you talking about together, Eline?”“Oh—about Dora, and her husband, nothing else.”“Poor girl!” said Emilie pityingly. “Come, Georges, just fetch my cloak.”Mina, however, was just coming in with the ladies’ wraps, and de Woude put on his ulster, whilst Henk rubbed his big hands, well pleased at the prospect of spending the evening at home after a nice dinner. The carriage had already been waiting outside in the thawing snow for the last half-hour, with Dirk the coachman and Herman the footman seated on the box, half smothered in their big fur capes.“Oh, Frans, never ask me to accept another invitation of the van Raats!” said Jeanne, in an imploring voice, as, on her husband’s arm, she shiveringly went splashing along the muddy streets, while, with her little hands benumbed with cold, she constantly endeavoured to keep her cloak fastened, each time that a gust of wind blew the ends open. “Really I don’t feel at home any more with them, with Betsy and Eline.”He shrugged his shoulders and said nothing. They plodded on with their mud-bespattered shoes, in the flickering light of the street lanterns, whose dull rays were reflected with monotonous regularity in the numerous puddles they had to pass.The third act ofLe Tribut de Zamorahad just commenced, when Betsy, Emilie, Eline, and Georges entered their box. There was a full house, and their arrival broke in upon the silence that prevailed in the listening auditorium; there was a rustling of silk and satin; a hundred eyes and opera-glasses were directed to their box, and here and there the question was whispered, “Who are they?”Emilie and Eline sat down in front, Betsy and Georges behind them, while Eline laid down her fan and her pearl-rimmedbinocle. Then she slowly commenced to untie her white plush, red satin-lined cloak, and as a cloud of pink and white it glided from her shoulders, and de Woude folded it over the back of her fauteuil. And in the triumph of her beauty it did her good to see how she was stared at and admired.“What a number of people there are here this evening! we are[40]fortunate,” whispered Emilie. “There’s nothing, I think, so wretched as to see an empty house.”“You are right!” said Betsy. “Look, there are the Eekhofs, Ange and Léonie, with their mamma. They were at the Verstraetens’ too yesterday; next week they are giving asoirée dansante.” And she nodded to the girls.“The new baritone from Brussels, Théo Fabrice, sings this evening,” said de Woude to Eline. “You know that since the débuts commenced, two have been dismissed; he makes the third.”“How terribly long those débuts are this winter!” remarked Eline, in an indifferent tone.“The tenor robusto was all right from the first, but they say Fabrice is very good too. Look, there he comes.”The chorus of Ben-Saïd’s odalisques was ended, and the Moorish sovereign entered his palace, leading Xaïma by the hand. But Eline paid little attention; she glanced round the theatre, and gave a friendly nod of recognition as her eyes met those of some acquaintance, and she did not cast another glance in the direction of the stage until Ben-Saïd and his slave were seated under the canopy, and the ballet commenced. That attracted her, and her eyes followed thedanseuses, as, gliding along on the tips of their toes, they ranged themselves in groups beneath the Moorish arches, and under the uplifted veils and fans of silver fringe, their forms encased in corsages of glossy satin, and all a-glitter with the spangles on their gauze-like frocks.“A pretty ballet!” said Emilie, yawning behind her fan, and she leaned back cosily in her fauteuil, somewhat under the generous influence of her choice dinner.Eline nodded her head, and while at the back of her she could hear Betsy and Georges whispering together, she still followed the clever gyrations of thepremière danseuse, as with graceful movements she hovered beneath the waving fans of the dancers on the tips of her pointed, satin-clad feet, a dazzling aigrette of diamonds in her hair.With her dreamy, idealistic nature, Eline was passionately fond of the opera, not only because it afforded her the opportunity of being the object of general admiration, not only because of the music, or that she was anxious to hear one or another aria sung by some celebratedprima donna, but also because of the intricate, romantic-coloured plot, the somewhat rudely-painted melodramatic[41]effects, full of hatred and love and revenge, the conventionality of which did not trouble her, and in which she did not even look for any truth. There was no need for her to forget for one moment that they were but actors and actresses whom she saw before her, and not knights and noble ladies; that she was seated in a crowded, brilliantly illumined theatre, looking at painted scenes, and listening to the harmony of a visible orchestra, and not living with hero and heroine through some more or less poetic period of the middle ages; but none the less did she enjoy herself, if the actors did not sing too badly, nor play with too much prosy conventionality.Betsy, on the other hand, went to the opera with the object only of seeing and being seen; Eline’s intense enjoyment she would have voted childish in the extreme, but Eline enjoyed in secret, for she suspected Betsy’s opinion, and so left her sister in the belief that she, like herself, found no pleasure in the theatre but to see and to be seen by friends and acquaintances.The ballet was at an end. Ben-Saïd and Xaïma descended from their throne, and he sang the recitative—“Je m’efforce en vain de te plaire!”and then the air:“O Xaïma, daigne m’entendre!Mon âme est à toi sans retour!”The new baritone’s voice was full and sonorous, more like that of a basso cantante, and in his song he enveloped it as with a veil of melancholy.But in his rich Moorish dress he had a heavy appearance; and neither in his attitude nor in his acting did he succeed in imparting even the merest semblance of amorous homage, and he looked at theprima donna, in her dress of cloth of silver, and her long pearl-clad fair hair, with more of threatening rage in his glance than with the humility of a tender devotion.Eline was not insensible to the shortcomings in his acting; but still, the very contrast between the expression of haughty superiority in his demeanour and the tone of humility in his voice pleased her. She followed every note of the song, and when at the sudden fortissimo of Ben-Saïd’s metallic organ, the actress appeared to tremble with terror, Eline asked herself the question—“Why is she so frightened, I wonder?—what is the matter? He does not look so bad.”[42]And during the applause that followed the song she glanced round the theatre, when by accident her eye fell upon a group of gentlemen standing just at the entrance to the stalls. She noticed how they stared at her box, and with her graceful languor she was about to draw back a little, when she saw one of them look at her with a smile of recognition. For a moment she looked at him with wide-opened eyes, and in her surprise did not return the salutation, but with a quick movement she turned round, laid her hand on Betsy’s shoulder, and whispered in her ear—“Just look, Betsy; do you see who is standing there?”“Where? who?”“There, in the stalls—Vincent—don’t you see?”“Vincent!” Betsy repeated, amazed in her turn. “So it is, Vincent!”They both nodded to Vincent, who laughingly fixed them with his glass, upon which Eline hid her face coquettishly behind her fan.“Who is it? who is Vincent?” asked Emilie and Georges.“Vincent Vere, a first cousin,” Betsy answered. “Oh, such a silly boy; nobody ever knows where he is; sometimes you don’t see him for months at a time, then all at once he stands before you again. I had no idea at all that he was at the Hague. Eline, for gracious sake, don’t fidget so with that fan.”“I don’t want him to stare at me,” said Eline; and with a graceful turn of her shapely arm she held her fan before her face.“When did you see your cousin last, Madame van Raat?” asked Georges.“Oh, more than eighteen months ago. I think he was going to London, where he was to be a reporter on a paper, or something of that sort. Fancy, they say he was in the Foreign Legion in Algeria for some time, but I don’t believe it. He has been everywhere, and he never has asou.”“Yes; now I remember, I have seen him before,” said Emilie, with a yawn. “A curious customer.”“Yes, that he is. But you see here, at the Hague, where he has relations, he knows he must be on his best behaviour, so we tolerate his presence.”“Yes,” remarked Emilie, very philosophically, “you generally find a black sheep like that in every family.”[43]Eline smiled, and slowly closed her fan.The third act came to an end without her understanding much about the scena withManoël, but the grand duo between Hermosa and Xaïma afforded her a clue: it was the mutual recognition of mother and daughter after the air—“Debout, enfants d’Ibérie!”and the curtain fell amid thunders of applause, and the two actresses were called to the front, and each received her share of bouquets.“Mr. de Woude, do tell me what the plot is really about?” asked Eline, turning to Georges. “Je n’y vois pas encore clair.”But Betsy proposed to go into thefoyer, and so they rose and left their box. In thefoyer, seated on a divan, Georges related to her the plot of the opera, to which Eline listened with more attention than she cared to show. Now she knew why Xaïma shuddered in Ben-Saïd’s presence, and she would have liked to see the auction of maidens in the first act, and the sale of Xaïma as slave in the second.All at once they observed Vincent, who was coming up the steps of thefoyer, and approaching them free and unconcerned, as though he had seen his cousins but yesterday.“Hallo, Vincent, have you dropped from the clouds again?” exclaimed Eline.“Hallo, Eline; hallo Betsy! charmed to see you once more. Miss van Bergh and Woude, I think?” and he shook hands with them.“I admire your memory; I had forgotten you,” answered Emilie.Betsy introduced them: “Mr. de Woude van Bergh, Mr. Vere.”“Very pleased. And how are you?”“A little astonished,” laughed Eline. “I dare say you are off again to-morrow, aren’t you? To Constantinople, or St. Petersburg, or somewhere, I suppose.”He looked at her, with a smile in his pale blue eyes, like faded china, behind theirpince-nez. His features were handsome and regular, rather too handsome for a man, with their finely-chiselled Grecian nose, the small mouth, about which there generally lurked somewhat between a sneer and an audacious smile, lightly shaded by the thin, fair moustache; but the charm of the handsome face was[44]completely spoilt by the unhealthy yellowish tint, and the expression of lassitude that was suffused over it. Of slender form and delicate proportions, he looked tasteful in his dark, plain clothes, whilst none could fail to note the smallness of his feet, and the finely-shaped hand, with its slender, white fingers, the hand of an artist, and which reminded Eline very much of her dead father. He sat down beside them, and in a languid voice told Eline that he had arrived at the Hague the previous day, on a business matter. His last employment had been at Malaga, in a wine business; before that he had been engaged in an insurance office in Brussels; previous to that he had for some time been a partner in a carpet manufactory in Smyrna, but the firm failed. Nothing would do. Now he was tired of all that rushing about; he had given proof enough of energy and perseverance, but fate was against him; whatever his hands touched seemed to bring him ill-luck. He expected, however, to obtain a situation in a chemical manufactory in Java, but he must first have some more information. To-morrow morning he hoped to call on van Raat, whom he wanted to see. Upon this Betsy asked whether he was coming to coffee, as van Raat was never at home in the morning, only in the afternoon. He gladly accepted the invitation, and then commenced talking about the opera.“Fabrice? oh, that is the baritone, is it not? Yes; a nice voice, but an ugly, fat customer.”“Do you think so? No; I think he shows off very well on the stage,” observed Emilie.“No, Miss de Woude, you don’t mean that.”Emilie abided by her opinion, and Eline laughed at their disagreement. The tinkling of the bell warned them that the fourth act was about to commence, and Vincent took his leave, although Georges politely offered him his seat in the box.“No; thank you very much; I don’t want to rob you of your place, I am comfortable enough in the stall.Au revoir. To-morrow then, eh? Adieu, Betsy, Eline;au plaisir, Miss de Woude; good evening, Mr. de Woude.”He bowed, pressed Georges’ hand, and slowly went away, lightly swinging his bamboo walking-stick in his hands.“A strange boy!” said Eline, shaking her head.“I am continually in fear that he will do something to scandalize us,” Betsy whispered into Emilie’s ears; “but up to now he has[45]kept himself quiet enough. Besides, you see I want to be nice and friendly to him, so as not to make him an enemy. I am a little afraid of him, one never can tell what a fellow like that may do, you see.”“I can’t say he is a prime favourite of mine,” said Emilie, and they rose to return to their seats.“Come, Emmie, you only say so because he did not say any nice things about Fabrice,” Georges chimed in, in a teasing voice.Emilie shrugged her shoulders, and they passed into the vestibule.“Oh, there is no fifth act! I thought there were five acts,” said Eline, with some disappointment, to de Woude, who told her the end of the plot.The fourth act commenced, and Eline felt much interested in the moonlit garden scene, in Manoël’s cavatina, in his duet with Xaïma, and in the trio with Hermosa; but her interest grew when the Moorish monarch appeared at the gates of his palace, and commanded his guard to seize Manoël, whilst, deaf to his entreaties, he dragged Xaïma away with him, in a sudden burst of passion. The last scene in the opera, where Ben-Saïd is murdered by the mother, who comes to her child’s rescue, affected her much more than she would have cared to confess. In his scenas with the two female characters, the new baritone played with an amount of fire and power which lent the melodrama a glow of poetic truth, and when, fatally wounded, he sank down on the steps of the pavilion, Eline fixed her glasses, and gazed at his dark face, with the black beard and drooping eyes.The curtain fell, but the four actors were re-called, and Eline saw him once more, bowing to the audience with a calm, indifferent expression, in strong contrast to the beaming smiles of the tenor, the contralto, and the soprano.The audience rose, the doors of the boxes opened. Georges assisted the ladies with their wraps, and they proceeded through the corridor, and down the steps, until they reached the glass doors, where they waited until their carriage was announced.“I shouldn’t think that theTributis one of Gounod’s best operas; do you, Eline?” asked Emilie, when they were in their carriage. “It is not to be compared withFaustorRomeo and Juliette.”[46]“I don’t think so either,” Eline answered cautiously, afraid to show how much she was affected; “but it is so difficult to judge music on hearing it for the first time. I thought some of the melodies very pretty. But then, you must bear in mind that we only saw half of it.”“Yes; it’s very nice just to go and see a couple of acts; but to have to sit out a whole opera I think an awful bore, I must admit,” said Betsy yawning.And Georges hummed the refrain—“Debout, enfants d’Ibérie.”The de Woudes were taken home first to the Noordeinde, and Betsy and Eline rode on, snugly ensconced in the satin cushions of the landau, to the Nassauplein. They spoke a little about Vincent, and then both were silent, and Eline let her mind wander musingly to the waltz inMireille, to her dispute with Betsy that morning, to the group of the Five Senses, to Madame van Raat and de Woude, to her pink dress, and Ben-Saïd.

[Contents]CHAPTER IV.When, the morning after her passionate outburst, Eline came down to breakfast, Henk had already gone out, bound for the stables, to look after his horses and hounds. In the breakfast-room there was no one but little Ben, eating, or rather playing with a slice of bread-and-butter. Betsy she could hear running to and fro with much animation, and giving her hurried instructions to the cook.Frans and Jeanne Ferelyn, and Miss de Woude van Bergh and her brother, were coming to dinner that day.Eline was looking very neat and dressy in a gown of dark gray woollen material, a gray ribbon round her waist, and a small golden[20]arrow glittering at her throat. She wore neither rings nor bracelets. About her forehead curled a few fine locks, in frizzy garlands, soft and glossy as frayed silk.With a friendly nod she walked round to where the child was seated, and lifting up his face with both hands pressed a loving kiss on his forehead. Then she sat down, feeling well at ease with herself, her senses agreeably soothed by the soft warmth thrown out from the glowing hearth, while outside the snow-flakes were silently wrapping a down-like mantle around them. With an involuntary smile of satisfaction she rubbed her slim white hands, and glanced at her rosy, white-tipped finger-nails; then casting a glance outside, where an old woman, almost bent double, was pushing a barrow of snow-covered oranges in front of her, she cut open a little breakfast-roll, the while listening, with amused indifference, to the angry dispute going on between Betsy and the cook.Betsy entered, an ill-humoured expression in her heavily-shaded, twinkling eyes, her short thick lips compressed with annoyance. She carried a set of cut-glass dessert trays, which she was about to wash, as the cook had broken one of them. Carefully, notwithstanding her anger, she placed the trays on the table, and filled a basin with warm water.“That fool of a girl! Fancy washing one of my fine glass dishes in boiling water! But it serves me right for trusting those idiots to do anything.”Her voice sounded harsh and rasping, as she roughly pushed Ben out of the way. Eline, in unusually good humour, offered her assistance, which was readily accepted by Betsy. She had a great many things to do yet, she said; but all the same she sat down, watching Eline carefully washing and drying the dishes one by one, with light graceful movements, without moistening her fingers or spilling one drop; and she was conscious of the contrast between her own rough-and-ready way of doing things—the outcome of robust health—and Eline’s languid grace, mingled as it was with somewhat of fear of tiring or bespattering herself.“By the bye, when I was at the Verstraetens’ yesterday, I heard they were not going to the opera this evening, as they were tired from last night; aunt asked me if I would like the box. Do you care to go to the opera?”“And what about your visitors?”“Jeanne Ferelyn is going early, because her child is unwell, and[21]I wanted to ask Emilie and her brother to come too. Henk can stay at home. It is a box for four, you know.”“Very well; I don’t mind.”Well satisfied with herself, Eline was just putting down the last tray, when all at once a violent altercation broke out in the kitchen, accompanied by the silvery clattering of forks and spoons. It was Grete and Mina engaged in rather forcible argument. Betsy hurried out of the room, and very soon, curt commands and impudent answers followed each other in rapid succession.Ben in the meantime remained standing open-mouthed, and somewhat drowsily, on the spot where his mother had pushed him, full of silent alarm at all the hubbub.“Come, Ben, to auntie’s room,” said Eline, and smilingly she held out her hand towards him. He came, and both proceeded up-stairs.Eline occupied two rooms on the ground floor, a bedroom and a boudoir. With the economy and good taste which were common to her nature, she had succeeded in imparting to these rooms a semblance of luxury, with somewhat of an artistic polish. Her piano occupied an angle in the wall; the heavy foliage of a giant azalea cast a softening shade over the low, damask-covered couch. In a corner stood a small table laden with innumerable precious trifles. Statuettes, pictures, feathers, palm branches, filled every nook. The pink marble mantelpiece was crowned with a miniature Venetian mirror, suspended by red cords and tassels. In front stood an Amor and Psyche, after Canova, the group depicting a maiden in the act of removing her veil, and a love-sick, light-winged god.When Eline entered with Ben, the ruddy glow from the hearth shone on her cheeks. She threw the child a few tattered volumes of engravings, and he settled himself on the sofa, soon absorbed in the pictures. Eline entered her bedroom, the windows of which were still covered with daintily-formed leaves and flowers, the effect of the night’s frost. Yonder stood a toilette duchesse—a vision of tulle and lace—touched up here and there with the satin bows of old ball bouquets, and laden with scent phials of Sèvres and fine cut-glass. In the midst of all this wealth of pink and white the mirror glittered like a sheet of burnished silver. The bedstead was hidden among red draperies, and in the corner against the door a tall cheval glass reflected a flood of liquid sunshine.[22]For a moment Eline glanced round, to see if her maid had arranged everything to her satisfaction; then shivering in the chilly atmosphere she returned to her sitting-room and closed the door. With its semi-Eastern luxury the room was a most pleasant one, its comfort seemingly enhanced by the cold white glare reflected from the snow outside.Eline felt as though brimming over with melody—a feeling which could only find adequate expression in song. She chose the waltz fromMireille. And she sang it with variations of her own, with modulations now swelling into a full, rich volume of melody, now melting away into the faintest diminuendo, with brilliant shakes and roulades clear as those of a lark. She no longer thought of the cold and snow outside. Then suddenly remembering that she had not practised for three days, she commenced singing scales, brightening her high notes, and trying a difficult portamento. Her voice resounded with a metallic ring, somewhat cold, but clear and bright as crystal.Ben, though well used to these jubilant tones, which reverberated through the whole house, sat listening in open-mouthed wonder, without bestowing a further glance on his pictures, now and again giving a sudden start when some exceptionally shrill highsiordowould penetrate his ears.Eline was herself at a loss to account for her sadness of yesterday. How and whence came that fit of melancholy, without any definite cause? what was the overwhelming joy too that could have so suddenly chased those clouds away?To-day she felt animated, happy, joyous; she was sorry that she had not seen the tableaux yesterday, and she feared that Mr. and Madame Verstraeten did not take her indispositionau sérieux. What a nice, pleasant man he was, Mr. Verstraeten, always full of fun! and Madame Verstraeten, what a dear good soul! She knew no one like her, so charming and kind. And then, seated at her piano, now practising a shake, then a chromatic scale, she allowed her thoughts to wander to other nice people amongst her acquaintances. Yes; all had their good qualities: the Ferelyns, Emilie de Woude, old Madame van Raat, Madame van Erlevoort, even Madame van der Stoor. As for Cateau she was a doll.And the idea struck her that she would rather like to join that[23]company of players. Yes; they had an admirable conception of the amenities of life. Frédérique, Marie, Lili, Paul and Etienne, ever gay, ever together, full of droll plans for their amusement. Indeed, it must be very nice, prettily arrayed in romantic costumes, to be the objects of general admiration. Paul had a very pretty voice, it would be splendid to sing duets with him. It quite slipped her memory that only a few days ago she had assured her singing-master that his voice was absolutely void of tone. But to-day she was in a pleasant humour, and sang a second waltz, that of “Juliette” in Gounod’s opera. She adored Gounod.It had just struck half-past ten when there was a knock at the door.“Come in,” she cried, and looking round she let her slender fingers rest on the keyboard. Paul van Raat entered.“Bon jour, Eline. Hallo, young rascal!”“What, Paul, you?” She rose, somewhat surprised to see him. Ben ran towards his uncle and hoisted himself up on his knees.“How early you are! I thought you were coming to sing this afternoon. But you are welcome all the same; do you hear? Sit down and tell me about the tableaux,” Eline exclaimed with much animation; then, remembering her illness of the previous day, she continued in a languid voice—“I was awfully sorry I was so ill yesterday. Had a terrible headache.”“You don’t look much the worse for it.”“It’s true, Paul, really. If I had been well, don’t you think I should have come and admired your talent? Come, tell me—tell me all about it,” and she drew him with her to the sofa and threw the pictures on the floor.Paul had some difficulty in freeing himself from Ben, who clung to his legs.“Come, let go, Ben. And is the headache better now?”“Oh yes; quite gone. This afternoon I’ll go round to Mr. Verstraeten to give my congratulations. But, Paul, do tell me——”“I was just about to tell you that I was not coming to sing this afternoon; do you hear, Elly? I couldn’t bring out a note; I am quite hoarse with the howling and screaming of yesterday. But we managed splendidly,” and he commenced describing the tableaux.It was all his idea, and much of it the work of his own hands; but the girls too had been hard at it for the last month—getting[24]up the dresses, attending to a thousand trifles. That afternoon Losch was coming to take a photograph of the last group; so that, even had he been in good voice, he could not have come to sing. And how stiff in his joints he felt! for he had slaved away like a navvy, and the girls must be quite exhausted also. No; he had formed no part in the grouping, he was too busy making all the arrangements. He fell back a little on the rich damask cushions of the sofa, under the shading branches of the azalea, and stroked his hair.Eline thought how much he resembled Henk, although he was ten years younger, more slender in figure, livelier, with more delicate features, and an expression of much greater intelligence. But a simple gesture or movement, a raising of the eyebrows, would now and again very distinctly illustrate that resemblance, and although his lips were thinner under his light moustache than Henk’s heavily-bearded upper lip, his laugh was deep and full as that of his brother.“Why don’t you take painting lessons of a good master, Paul?” asked Eline. “Surely if you have talent——”“But I have not,” he laughed. “It would not be worth the trouble. I just dabble a bit in it, just as I do with my singing. It amounts to nothing at all, any of it.” And he sighed at his Lick of energy to make the most of the little talent he might possess.“You remind me of papa,” she said, and her words assumed a tone of sadness, as the idealized image of her father rose to her memory. “Yes; he had great talents, but latterly his health failed him, and he could not produce the great creation of which his soul was capable. I well remember that he was engaged on an immense canvas, a scene from Dante’sParadisoI believe, when—when he died. Poor papa! But you are young and strong, and I can’t understand why you don’t do something great, something out of the common.”“You know, I suppose, that I am going to be engaged at Hovel’s. Uncle Verstraeten has arranged it for me.”Hovel was a barrister, and as Paul had, at a somewhat early age, and after a period of alternate studying and idleness, passed the law examination, Uncle Verstraeten thought he would be doing the young barrister a good turn if he recommended him to his friend.[25]It had therefore been arranged that Paul should continue working at Hovel’s office, until he could go in practice for himself.“At Hovel’s? A very nice man; I like his wife very much. Oh, that will be splendid, Paul.”“I hope so.”“But still, if I were a man I should try and become famous. Come, Ben, don’t be troublesome now; go and look at the nice pictures on the floor. Wouldn’t you think it splendid to be famous? Really, if I weren’t Eline Vere I should become an actress.” And she gave vent to a series of brilliant shakes, which fell from her lips like a sparkling chain of diamonds.“Famous!” and with a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders. “What a silly idea, to be sure. Famous! No; I don’t want to be famous, not a bit. But for all that I should like to paint well, or sing well, or something.”“Then why don’t you take lessons, either in painting or music? Shall I speak to my master?”“No, thanks; not that old growler of a Roberts, if I can help it. And besides, Eline, it isn’t really worth while; I should never be able to keep it up whatever it was. I am subject to sudden fits, you see. Then I think I can do anything, then I am anxious to hit upon some great subject for a picture——”“Like papa,” she interrupted with a sad smile.“At other times the fit moves me to make the most of what voice I have; but before long all those grand ideas have died their own death of sheer inanition, and then I continue in the same old jog-trot as before.”“You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”“Henceforth I shall go and hide the aspirations of my genius in law cases,” he answered with a laugh, as he rose from his seat. “But now I must be off to the Princesse-gracht, to the Verstraetens’. So don’t expect me this afternoon; we have several details to arrange yet before Losch comes. Adieu, Eline; bye-bye, Ben.”“Bon jour; I hope you’ll soon get over your hoarseness.”Paul went, and Eline once more sat down at the piano. For a while she sat thinking what a pity it was Paul had so little energy, and from him her thoughts reverted again to Henk. But she felt altogether too light-hearted this morning to do much philosophizing, and, full of exuberant spirits demanding an outlet, she continued[26]her singing, until the mid-day gong summoned her and Ben down-stairs.Paul had told his mother that he would not be home that afternoon for coffee, as he would be at the Verstraetens’. He lodged at Madame van Raat’s, in the Laan van Meerdervoort. Madame van Raat, an elder sister of Madame Verstraeten, was a stately dame, with pensive, light-blue eyes, and hair of silver gray, dressed in old-fashioned style, whilst over her whole being there was suffused, as it were, a calmness, a placid resignation, that unmistakably spoke of former days free from troubles and disappointments. As walking exercise was becoming irksome to her, she was mostly to be found seated in her high-backed arm-chair, the dull-gray head drooping on her bosom, the blue-veined hands folded in her lap. Thus she continued to lead a quiet, monotonous existence, the aftermath of a placid, all but cloudless life, by the side of her husband, on whose portrait she frequently allowed her eyes to dwell, as it hung before her yonder, in its smart general’s uniform; a good-looking, frank, manly face, with a pair of truthful, intelligent eyes, and an engaging expression about the firm, closed mouth. To her, life had brought but few great sorrows, and for that, in the simplicity of her faith, she felt piously grateful. But now, now she was tired, oh! so tired, her spirit quite broken by the death of that husband to whom, to the last, she had clung with an affection constant and calm as the bosom of a limpid stream, into the placid waters of which the impetuous waves of her youthful love had flowed away. After his death, she began to worry over every trifling circumstance, petty vexations with servants and tradespeople. All these she connected, until to her mind they formed an unbroken chain of irksome burdens. Yes, she felt she was growing old; time had little more to give her, and so, in silent egoism, she mused her life away in the long-vanished poesy of the past. She had had three children: her youngest, a girl, was dead.Of her two sons, her favourite was Henk, who, strong and big, reminded her the most of his father, whilst in her eyes his sleepy good-nature had more of open, frank manliness, than Paul’s finer-strung fickleness and airy geniality. Paul she had always found too unsettled and nervous: formerly, in his constantly interrupted studies at Leyden—at last, thanks to a little moral pressure on the part of Uncle Verstraeten, crowned with promotion—as well as[27]now with his staying out late at night, his rage for painting,tableaux-vivantsand duets, or his fits of indolence, when he would lounge away a whole afternoon on the sofa, over a book he did not read.Before his marriage, Henk, being of a more staid and homely character than Paul, felt himself better at ease in his mother’s house; although he was quiet, his silence never irritated her; it was like the silence of a faithful dog, watching with half-closed eyes over his mistress. She felt so at her ease with Henk. She disliked being alone, for it was in solitude that the memories of the past contrasted in their rosy brightness too sharply with the leaden-gray that was the prevailing hue of her present life, and Paul she saw but rarely, except when hastily swallowing his dinner, in order to keep an appointment. She seldom went out, unaccustomed as she had grown to the noisy traffic of the streets, and the hum of many voices.Henk was her pet, and with her mental vision unimpaired, wherever at least her son was concerned, she regretted his marriage with Betsy Vere. No; she was not a fit wife for her child, and knowing that, she could not bring herself to give him her hearty approval or her parental blessing, when he told her of his engagement. Still, she refrained from opposing her beloved son in his choice, fearing lest she should be the cause of unhappiness; it was therefore under a false assumption of frankness, at which she was surprised herself, that she had concealed her ill-feeling against the intruder, and welcomed her as her daughter. All the same, she felt deeply concerned about Henk. Madame Vere she had known slightly; passionate and domineering, she never found anything attractive in such a personality, and this daughter reminded her too much of that mother. Although, in her eyes, Henk was possessed of much more firmness of character than Vere, of whom she could not think but as a pallid, ailing sufferer, only too glad to allow his wife to think and act for him; although Henk, as she thought, had all the frank manliness of character of his father, and would not allow himself to be domineered over; still, happy as she had been with van Raat, it would never behislot to be. And at that thought she would sigh and her eyes would grow moist; her mother’s love, despite her blindness to his failings, was the instinct which gave her an inkling of the truth, and if she could have taken his place, she would gladly have given up her own former happiness to her son, and have suffered for him.[28]Her thoughts ran away with her as she saw Leentje, the servant, laying the cloth for lunch for herself alone, and with a weary resignation at the hateful loneliness of her days, she sat down. To-morrow would be to her as to-day; what remained of her life was but an aftermath of summer, and though autumn and winter might be free from storms, yet the only promise they held out was that of a barren, soulless lethargy. To what end did she live?And so weary did she feel under the leaden pressure of this soul-killing loneliness, that she could not even muster up the energy to scold Leentje for her clumsiness, although she could not help noticing the damage that was done to one of her old china dishes.Much earlier than she was wont to go out, Eline went to the Verstraetens’ that afternoon. It was near the end of November, and winter had already set in with extreme severity. There was a sharp frost; the snow, still white and unsullied, crackled under Eline’s light, regular tread, but her feet preferred to feel the smoothness of the clean-swept pavement; the delicately-gloved hands were hidden away in the small muff. At times bestowing a friendly nod, from under her veil, on some passing acquaintance, she proceeded along the Java-straat to the Princesse-gracht. She still felt in a happy humour, which was quite undisturbed by the little tiff she had had with Betsy about some trifling question with the servants. These little bickerings were not of such rare occurrence lately, although they always irritated Henk beyond measure.But Eline had not taken much notice of Betsy’s words, and had replied to her with less sharpness than was her wont; she did not care to allow such trifles to spoil her good-humour: life was too dear to her——And feeling glad that she had curbed her temper, she turned the corner of the Java-straat.At the Verstraetens’ there still prevailed an unusual disorder. Dien was loth to admit her, but Eline took no notice, and passed inside to the large reception-room, where she found Madame Verstraeten, who apologized for being in her dressing-gown. Losch, the photographer, half hidden under the green cloth of his apparatus, was taking a view of the group representing the Five Senses. The girls, Etienne, and Paul smiled their welcome to Eline, who said it was splendid still to be able to see something of the tableaux. But now, in the chill snow-reflected daylight, the scene no longer[29]created the vivid, glowing impression of the previous evening, nor had it the same wealth of colouring, with which a plentiful application of Bengal fire had endowed it. The draperies hung in loose and crumpled folds; Frédérique’s cloth of gold had a smudged, faded tint, her ermine had more the appearance of white and black wool. Etienne’s fair wig was decidedly out of curl. Lili, representing the sense of Smelling, lay half dozing in her pillows.“I am afraid it won’t come to much,” said Marie, as Losch was arranging her draperies; but Toosje van der Stoor thought otherwise and remained lying motionless, with a terribly cramped feeling, owing to her difficult attitude.Eline, unwilling to disturb the artistes in their grouping, sat down beside Mr. Verstraeten. He laid away his book and removed his eye-glasses, and with his sparkling brown eyes glanced with unfeigned pleasure at the graceful girl.“Do you know,” she said, as she unhooked the little fur-lined cloak, “do you know, I am really jealous of that little group there. They are always together, always happy and jolly, and full of fun and amusing ideas—really I feel quite old by the side of them.”“Just fancy that!” answered Madame Verstraeten, laughing. “You are of the same age as Marie, three-and-twenty, aren’t you?”“Yes; but I was never spoilt as Marie and Lili are being now, and yet I think I should not have minded a bit. You know, of course, when I was a child—papa was mostly ill, and naturally that threw a damper over us; and afterwards at Aunt Vere’s house—aunt was a dear, good woman, but much elder than papa, and not very jolly certainly——”“You must not say anything about Aunt Vere, Eline!” said Mr. Verstraeten; “she was an old flame of mine——”“Andyoumust not laugh at her; I was very fond of her; she really was a second mother to us, and when that long illness ended in her death, I felt the loss keenly, I was as alone in the world. You see, all these things were not exactly calculated to make my youth a very gay one.” And she smiled a saddened smile, whilst at the thought of all she had been deprived of, her eyes glistened with moisture. “But when you look at Paul and Etienne, and the girls, it’s nothing but laughter and pleasure—really, enough to make me jealous. And that Toos, too, she is a dear child.”The artistes came down from the platform. Losch had finished.[30]Paul and Etienne, with Freddy, Marie, and Cateau came forward, whilst Lili went to bed, thoroughly exhausted with the excitement of the last two days.“Good morning, Miss Vere,” said Cateau, as she held out her little hand to Eline.Eline felt a sudden, indescribable, unreasoning sympathy for that child, so simple and so unconsciously engaging, and as she rose to go, she was obliged to hide her emotion by playfully embracing the child.“Good-bye, darling,” she said dotingly. “I am going, Madame Verstraeten; there is still plenty left for you to do, now that all that excitement is over. Ah! yes—I promised Betsy to ask you for the tickets. May I have them?”It was still early, only half-past two, and Eline thought what a long time it was since she had visited old Madame van Raat, and she knew that the old lady liked her, and was always glad to have a chat in the afternoon. Henk never failed to visit his mother every morning after his ride, and the two boarhounds, whom his wife had banished from his home, followed him undisturbed up the stairs in his mother’s house. As for Betsy, of her the old lady saw very little; Betsy was well enough aware that Madame van Raat did not care for her. Eline, however, had succeeded in winning her affections, by means of a certain most engaging manner she had when in the company of aged ladies; in the tone of her voice, in her little attentions, there was a something, a delicate flavour of respect, which charmed the old dame.Eline returned through the Java-straat to the Laan van Meerdervoort, and found Madame van Raat alone, seated in her high-backed chair, her hands folded in her lap. And in the young girl’s eyes she appeared such a picture of mute sadness; over the rich faded furniture there hovered such a melancholy shadow of past comfort; the whole apartment was filled with such an atmosphere of sorrow, and about the folds of the dark green curtains there hung such a mist of melancholy, that on entering, Eline felt her heart grow cold within her, as though a voice had told her that life was not worth living.But she struggled against the feeling. She recalled those thoughts which in the morning had brought her such lightness of heart. She smiled, and her tone assumed that vague respect, mingled with[31]somewhat of love and pity, and with much animation she spoke about Paul, about the tableaux, about that evening’s dinner, and the opera—and promised Madame van Raat to send her some books, nice light literature, in which one looked at the world through rose-coloured glasses.It pained her to chatter in this way; she would much rather have sat and cried with the old dame, in sympathetic melancholy, but she controlled herself, and even plucked up courage to touch upon a more serious subject. With her engaging, respectful manner, she took Madame to task for having been discovered by her with moistened eyes, which now she would not own; she was not inquisitive, but she would so gladly console and cheer her, if she could; and why did she not again make her her confidante, as she had done before, and so on.And the old lady, already placed at her ease by this charm of manner, smilingly shook her head; really, there was nothing the matter at all; she only felt a little lonely. Ah, it was her own fault, she feared, for there was very little in which she still took any interest. Other old people read the papers and continued to take an interest in things generally; but not she. Yes, it was all her own fault; but Elinewasa dear girl; why could not Betsy be a little like her?And with increased animation, she began to talk about her dear husband; over there was his portrait.…It was past four when Eline hurried away; it was growing dark, it was thawing, and the lowering clouds threatened to fall upon her and choke her. That old lady had been happy, very happy.… and she, Eline, was not happy, even at her age—oh! how would she feel when she too would be old, ugly, and shrivelled up! To her even the memories of the past would bring no comfort, nor yet the solacing thought that happiness did exist, that she had tasted its sweets; to her all would be dull and leaden as the clouds above! “Oh, God, why live, if life were void of happiness?—why, why?” she whispered, and she hurried on to dress for dinner.It was to be a simple, homely little dinner. At half-past six the Ferelyns came, and shortly after, Emilie and Georges. Betsy received them in the drawing-room, and asked Jeanne how the child was.“She is much easier now, the little dot; the fever is gone, but still[32]she is not quite better. Doctor Reyer said she was getting on. It’s very nice of you to have invited us; a little change is really necessary for me. But you see, I took your word for it that it would be quite a family party, so I haven’t dressed for it.” And with some misgiving her eyes wandered from her own plain black dress to Betsy’s gown of gray satin.“Really, there is no one else coming but Emilie here, and her brother. But you told me you would be going home early, so we have arranged, later on, to look in at the opera, in Uncle Verstraeten’s box. So you need not be uneasy, you were quite right to come as you are.”Henk, looking jolly and contented, entered in his smoking-jacket, and on seeing him Jeanne felt more reassured than by all Betsy’s protestations. With Emilie, lively as ever, she was on the most intimate terms, and it was Georges alone, with his immaculate shirt-front, and his big gardenia, who made her feel somewhat uneasy at her own simple dress.Frans Ferelyn, an East-Indian official, was in Holland on furlough, and his wife was an old school-mate of Eline’s and Betsy’s.Jeanne seemed a homely little woman, very quiet and depressed under her domestic troubles. Delicate, emaciated, and pallid, with a pair of soft brown eyes, she felt crushed under the double burden of pecuniary embarrassment and anxiety for her three ailing children, and she felt an irresistible longing for India, the land of her birth, and for the quiet life she led there. She suffered much from the cold, and numbered the months she would still have to pass in Holland. She told Emilie of her life at Temanggoeng in the Kadoe—Frans was Comptroller first-class—in the midst of a menagerie of Cochin-China fowls, ducks, pigeons, a cow, two goats, and a cockatoo. “Just like Adam and Eve in Paradise,” remarked Emilie. Then she told them how each morning she used to look after her Persian roses and her pretty azaleas, and gather her vegetables from her own garden, and how her children, immediately on their arrival in Holland, were taken ill and began to cough. “’Tis true, in India they looked rather pale, but there at least they were not obliged to be in constant fear of draughts and open doors.” And she was sorry that, owing to the expense of the voyage, she had had to come away without her baboo, Saripa. She was now in service at Samarang, but she[33]had promised to come back to her “as soon as we are home again,” and she was to bring her over some pretty frocks from Holland.Emilie listened attentively, and did her best to set her talking; she knew how those Indian reminiscences could draw Jeanne out of her usual quiet reserve. Betsy considered her out of place in company, so when she did ask her, it was always together with her husband, and if possible, with one or two others. The fact was, she thought her a bore, generally ill-dressed, and her conversation flat and uninteresting, but still she could not help occasionally inviting her, more with a kind of pity than anything else.While Frans Ferelyn was speaking to Henk about his forthcoming promotion to Assistant Resident, and Georges was listening to Jeanne telling him about Frans’s horse one day stepping right into their room to fetch hispisang, Betsy lay back in her chair, thinking how long Eline was. She would have liked to have dined early, so as not to be so very late at the opera, and she inwardly hoped that the Ferelyns would not be indiscreet and stay too long. Amusing they certainly were not, she thought, and she rose, concealing her impatience, to fix a bunch of peacock feathers in one of the vases, a few of the knick-knacks on the little centre table; then with her foot she arranged the tiger-skin rug in front of the flaming hearth, all the time feeling annoyed at Eline’s delay.At length the door opened and Eline entered, and Jeanne could not help noticing how pretty and elegant she looked in her pink rep silk frock, simple but rich, with a neat little bow here and there on her V-shaped corsage, on the short sleeves, and at the waist. In her light-brown, back-combed hair she wore atouffeof wavy pink feathers with a small aigrette; her nimble feet were encased in small pink shoes; a single string of pearls encircled her throat. In her hands she held her long gloves, her fan of pink ostrich feathers, and herbinocleset in mother-of-pearl.Ferelyn and de Woude rose, and she shook hands with them, and kissed Emilie and Jeanne, at the same time inquiring about little Dora. She noticed how all, even Henk and Betsy, took stock of her, from head to foot, struck as they were with the rich simplicity of her dress: and when Jeanne spoke to her about her child, she smiled upon the struggling little woman, all conscious of the effect of her brilliant charms.At table, Eline chatted pleasantly with de Woude, next to whom[34]she was seated. Betsy sat between her two gentlemen guests, Emilie between Henk and Frans, Jeanne between Eline and Henk. In the somewhat sombre dining-room, with its antique furniture, the table glistened with snowy damask, with silver and fine glass, whilst the rays of gas-light glinted on decanters and glasses, making the dark-red or amber-coloured wine appear to quiver under the glow of its radiance. From amid a nest of flowers in a silver basket rose the prickly crown of a splendid pine.De Woude commenced telling Eline about the soirée at the Verstraetens’, and in glowing terms described how well Miss van Erlevoort had looked her parts, successively as Cleopatra and the sense of Sight. With Emilie, Frans, and Betsy the conversation turned on India. In this Jeanne joined every now and again, but she sat too far away, and her attention was diverted by de Woude’s chattering and the little shrill laugh of Eline, who was engaged in a mild flirtation.Henk drank his soup and ate his fish in silence, occasionally addressing a short monosyllable to Jeanne or Emilie. And Jeanne grew more and more silent, as much from feeling ill at ease, as from fatigue at her long talk to Emilie after a day full of worries. She felt very much out of place, next to that coquettish couple. Eline in full toilet, de Woude in his evening dress, to which her own little black dress offered a shabby contrast. Still, she was glad she sat next to Henk, and in her ownmalaiseshe was conscious of a vague sort of sympathy for him, who was as much out of place there as herself.And she could not help comparing herself with Eline and Betsy: she, struggling with her three children and her husband’s slender furlough allowance; Eline and Betsy, on the other hand, unhampered, and ever moving in a whirl of pleasures and excitement. Where was the old, happy friendship that united them in one bond, when all three used to go hand-in-hand to school, Eline with the cape of her mackintosh filled with cherries, and she herself under Betsy’s leadership giving free vent to her childish spirits in naughty answers to the governess? She felt herself repelled by that young wife, with her self-conscious, indifferent manner, and her domineering tone towards her husband; repelled also by that young girl, who appeared to her frivolous and vain in her conversation, full of brilliant nothings; and by that dandy. Eline, especially, she could not understand; in her she found something uncommon, something[35]indefinable and puzzling, and certain attributes which seemed ever at war with one another. Her laughter about nothing at all wearied her, and she wondered how it was that a girl who, as they said, sang so divinely, could have such an unpleasant and affected laugh. Oh! if they would but be silent for a moment!.… And in her heart she longed to be back once more in her humble apartments, with her little Dora. Why had she accepted that invitation? ’Tis true Frans had insisted, now that the child was out of danger, that she should have some change and relaxation, but this dinner-party gave her no relaxation; on the contrary, it made her nervous and confused, and she declined Henk’s offer of sweetbreads and asparagus which he recommended her.“Did I hear aright, Miss Emilie; is Mr. de Woude a brother of yours?” Frans asked softly. It was the first time that he had met either Emilie or Georges, and he was as much struck by their resemblance as by the contrast between them.“Certainly,” whispered Emilie; “and I am proud of him too. He is an awful swell, but a nice boy; he is engaged at the Foreign Office. Be careful, don’t you think bad of him!” she laughed, and held up her finger threateningly, as though she read Ferelyn’s thoughts.“I have scarcely exchanged more than half a dozen words with Mr. de Woude as yet, so I should be sorry to express any opinion about him so soon,” he said, a little alarmed at Emilie’s brusqueness.“That’s right; most people get a very different opinion of Georges after they have known him some time, from that formed when they first met him. You see, like a loving sister, I take my brother’s part. Just fill my glass, please.”“Yes; you champion him even before he is attacked!” resumed Ferelyn smiling, as he filled her glass; “but thus much I can see already, that he is a spoilt pet of the ladies, not only of his sisters, but also of Madame van Raat and Miss Vere.”Betsy joined in the conversation with Eline and Georges, feeling attracted by the latter’s lively manner, as he chatted away, skimming over all sorts of subjects; a conversation without substance, without actual wit, but light as foam, airy as soap-bubbles, sparkling as firework crackers. In such a conversation she was in her element; serious talk, be it ever so spirited, was too burdensome for her; but this tintinnabulation of sparks and foam-flecks,[36]like wine glistening through crystal beakers, charmed her exceedingly. She thought Georges much more amusing than he was yesterday at the Verstraetens’, where he had twice observed that the effect of red light was more flattering than that of green. To-day he did not repeat himself, but rattled on, interrupting her with laughing impudence, and rounding off his sentences with truly French vivacity.Several times Eline tried to lead Jeanne into that circle of sparkling nothings, but in return Jeanne had only smiled a faint smile, or just answered with a single monosyllable, and at length Eline gave up the attempt to draw her out. The conversation grew more general; Emilie joined in with her easy nonchalance and airy banter; and Frans, in the midst of this charmed circle, could not help throwing in a stray spark of fun, although his eyes frequently rested with an anxious look on his quiet little wife.To Jeanne it seemed as though the dinner would never come to an end. Although she had not the slightest appetite, she did not like to continue refusing, so she took of the truffled chicken, of thegâteau Henri IV., of the pines, and the choice dessert; her wine, however, she merely touched with her lips. Henk, next her, ate much, and with evident gusto, wondering why she helped herself to such small portions. De Woude ate but little, his continued talking prevented that; but Emilie did her share, and was not sparing with the wine.It was past eight when they rose, and the ladies retired to the drawing-room. Frans joined Henk and de Woude in a cigar, as Jeanne had expressed her desire to stay another half-hour. Betsy had asked her to do so; she could not let her guests go so soon, and there would be plenty of time for the opera.“Is Dora often ill, Jeanne?” asked Eline, as with a rustle of her red silk she sat down on the sofa beside her, and took her hand. “Last time I saw her nothing ailed her, and even then I thought she was looking very pale and delicate.”Jeanne gently withdrew her hand, and felt something like irritation at such a question after the conversation at table. She made but curt reply. But Eline persisted, as though she intended by her present amiability to make good her former neglect; and she managed to impart such a sympathetic tone to her voice, that Jeanne felt quite touched. Jeanne began to express her fears that Doctor Reyer had not examined her little girl as carefully as he[37]might; and Eline, whilst sipping her coffee, listened with evident interest to her maternal plaints. Emilie and Betsy had meanwhile gone into the adjoining boudoir, to look at some fashion-plates.“Poor girl! what a lot of cares and worries you have, and scarcely three months in Holland yet! You only arrived in September, did you not?” asked Eline, as she placed the little china cup on the round table in front of her.Jeanne was silent; but all at once she rose up, and in her turn grasping Eline’s slender fingers, she remarked, in her longing for affection—“Eline, you know I have always been pretty straightforward and frank; may I ask you something?”“Of course you may,” answered Eline, rather surprised.“Well, then—why we are no longer to each other what we were formerly, when your parents were still living? It is now four years since I married and went to India, and now that we have returned, now when I see you again, all seems so different between yourself and me. I have no acquaintances, and but few relations in the Hague, and I should so much like to keep my old friends to myself.”“But, Jeanne——”“Yes; I know you think it foolish of me to talk like that; but at times I feel so terribly depressed with all that flummery and false excitement, I do so long to unburden myself to some dear true friend—for of course I cannot say all I wish to my husband.”“Why not?”“Oh, he has enough of his own worries; he is ill, and—peevish.”“But, Jeanne, I really don’t see what change has come between us.”“Perhaps it is only my fancy after all. You see, formerly we used to be oftener together, now you move in such a different circle. You go out a good deal, and I—well, you see, we have become much estranged from one another.”“But considering that we have not seen each other for four years——”“But we kept up the correspondence.”“What value is there in three or four letters in the course of a year? Doesn’t it seem natural that one’s ideas change, as one gets older, and is placed in different circumstances?[38]Yes; I have had my cares and worries too. First it was dear papa, then Aunt Vere, whom I attended in her illness——”“Are you happy here? can you get along with Betsy?”“Oh yes, admirably, or I should not stay with her, of course.” Eline, with her usual reserve, deemed it unnecessary to say more about it.“You see, there is no need for you to trouble yourself about anything,” Jeanne continued; “things come about just as you wish them; you are free and unfettered, and live only for your pleasures—it is all so different with me.”“But surely all that does not justify you in saying that we have become estranged from each other. In the first place, I think ‘estranged’ is a most unpleasant word, and secondly, it is not true, whatever word you may use.”“Oh yes.”“Oh no. I assure you, Jeanne dear, if I can be of service to you in any way, you will find me quite at your disposal. Do you believe me?”“Yes, I do, and I thank you very much. But, Eline——”“Well?”Several questions rose to Jeanne’s lips. She felt eager to ask her to tell her more about herself, to be more free and open with her; but the studied cordiality of the smile that hovered about the delicate lips, and was reflected in those dreamy, almond eyes, effectually silenced her. And she felt a sudden regret at her frankness towards such a coquette of a girl deftly playing with her fan; it was mere waste of time in talking to her. Why had she allowed herself to yield to the first impulse? for they were entirely unsuited to one another.…“Well?” Eline repeated, at the same time fearing what the next question might be.“Another time, when we are alone again!” stammered Jeanne, and she rose, dissatisfied, annoyed with herself, feeling ready to burst into tears, after that unsociable dinner and fruitless conversation. Betsy and Emilie were just leaving the boudoir.Jeanne thought it was time to be going. The three gentlemen came in, and Henk assisted her with her cloak. With a forced cordiality she took her leave, thanking Betsy for her invitation, and again she shivered with annoyance when Eline kissed her cheeks.“What an awful bore she is, that Jeanne!” said Betsy, after the[39]Ferelyns had gone. “She scarcely opened her mouth. What were you talking about together, Eline?”“Oh—about Dora, and her husband, nothing else.”“Poor girl!” said Emilie pityingly. “Come, Georges, just fetch my cloak.”Mina, however, was just coming in with the ladies’ wraps, and de Woude put on his ulster, whilst Henk rubbed his big hands, well pleased at the prospect of spending the evening at home after a nice dinner. The carriage had already been waiting outside in the thawing snow for the last half-hour, with Dirk the coachman and Herman the footman seated on the box, half smothered in their big fur capes.“Oh, Frans, never ask me to accept another invitation of the van Raats!” said Jeanne, in an imploring voice, as, on her husband’s arm, she shiveringly went splashing along the muddy streets, while, with her little hands benumbed with cold, she constantly endeavoured to keep her cloak fastened, each time that a gust of wind blew the ends open. “Really I don’t feel at home any more with them, with Betsy and Eline.”He shrugged his shoulders and said nothing. They plodded on with their mud-bespattered shoes, in the flickering light of the street lanterns, whose dull rays were reflected with monotonous regularity in the numerous puddles they had to pass.The third act ofLe Tribut de Zamorahad just commenced, when Betsy, Emilie, Eline, and Georges entered their box. There was a full house, and their arrival broke in upon the silence that prevailed in the listening auditorium; there was a rustling of silk and satin; a hundred eyes and opera-glasses were directed to their box, and here and there the question was whispered, “Who are they?”Emilie and Eline sat down in front, Betsy and Georges behind them, while Eline laid down her fan and her pearl-rimmedbinocle. Then she slowly commenced to untie her white plush, red satin-lined cloak, and as a cloud of pink and white it glided from her shoulders, and de Woude folded it over the back of her fauteuil. And in the triumph of her beauty it did her good to see how she was stared at and admired.“What a number of people there are here this evening! we are[40]fortunate,” whispered Emilie. “There’s nothing, I think, so wretched as to see an empty house.”“You are right!” said Betsy. “Look, there are the Eekhofs, Ange and Léonie, with their mamma. They were at the Verstraetens’ too yesterday; next week they are giving asoirée dansante.” And she nodded to the girls.“The new baritone from Brussels, Théo Fabrice, sings this evening,” said de Woude to Eline. “You know that since the débuts commenced, two have been dismissed; he makes the third.”“How terribly long those débuts are this winter!” remarked Eline, in an indifferent tone.“The tenor robusto was all right from the first, but they say Fabrice is very good too. Look, there he comes.”The chorus of Ben-Saïd’s odalisques was ended, and the Moorish sovereign entered his palace, leading Xaïma by the hand. But Eline paid little attention; she glanced round the theatre, and gave a friendly nod of recognition as her eyes met those of some acquaintance, and she did not cast another glance in the direction of the stage until Ben-Saïd and his slave were seated under the canopy, and the ballet commenced. That attracted her, and her eyes followed thedanseuses, as, gliding along on the tips of their toes, they ranged themselves in groups beneath the Moorish arches, and under the uplifted veils and fans of silver fringe, their forms encased in corsages of glossy satin, and all a-glitter with the spangles on their gauze-like frocks.“A pretty ballet!” said Emilie, yawning behind her fan, and she leaned back cosily in her fauteuil, somewhat under the generous influence of her choice dinner.Eline nodded her head, and while at the back of her she could hear Betsy and Georges whispering together, she still followed the clever gyrations of thepremière danseuse, as with graceful movements she hovered beneath the waving fans of the dancers on the tips of her pointed, satin-clad feet, a dazzling aigrette of diamonds in her hair.With her dreamy, idealistic nature, Eline was passionately fond of the opera, not only because it afforded her the opportunity of being the object of general admiration, not only because of the music, or that she was anxious to hear one or another aria sung by some celebratedprima donna, but also because of the intricate, romantic-coloured plot, the somewhat rudely-painted melodramatic[41]effects, full of hatred and love and revenge, the conventionality of which did not trouble her, and in which she did not even look for any truth. There was no need for her to forget for one moment that they were but actors and actresses whom she saw before her, and not knights and noble ladies; that she was seated in a crowded, brilliantly illumined theatre, looking at painted scenes, and listening to the harmony of a visible orchestra, and not living with hero and heroine through some more or less poetic period of the middle ages; but none the less did she enjoy herself, if the actors did not sing too badly, nor play with too much prosy conventionality.Betsy, on the other hand, went to the opera with the object only of seeing and being seen; Eline’s intense enjoyment she would have voted childish in the extreme, but Eline enjoyed in secret, for she suspected Betsy’s opinion, and so left her sister in the belief that she, like herself, found no pleasure in the theatre but to see and to be seen by friends and acquaintances.The ballet was at an end. Ben-Saïd and Xaïma descended from their throne, and he sang the recitative—“Je m’efforce en vain de te plaire!”and then the air:“O Xaïma, daigne m’entendre!Mon âme est à toi sans retour!”The new baritone’s voice was full and sonorous, more like that of a basso cantante, and in his song he enveloped it as with a veil of melancholy.But in his rich Moorish dress he had a heavy appearance; and neither in his attitude nor in his acting did he succeed in imparting even the merest semblance of amorous homage, and he looked at theprima donna, in her dress of cloth of silver, and her long pearl-clad fair hair, with more of threatening rage in his glance than with the humility of a tender devotion.Eline was not insensible to the shortcomings in his acting; but still, the very contrast between the expression of haughty superiority in his demeanour and the tone of humility in his voice pleased her. She followed every note of the song, and when at the sudden fortissimo of Ben-Saïd’s metallic organ, the actress appeared to tremble with terror, Eline asked herself the question—“Why is she so frightened, I wonder?—what is the matter? He does not look so bad.”[42]And during the applause that followed the song she glanced round the theatre, when by accident her eye fell upon a group of gentlemen standing just at the entrance to the stalls. She noticed how they stared at her box, and with her graceful languor she was about to draw back a little, when she saw one of them look at her with a smile of recognition. For a moment she looked at him with wide-opened eyes, and in her surprise did not return the salutation, but with a quick movement she turned round, laid her hand on Betsy’s shoulder, and whispered in her ear—“Just look, Betsy; do you see who is standing there?”“Where? who?”“There, in the stalls—Vincent—don’t you see?”“Vincent!” Betsy repeated, amazed in her turn. “So it is, Vincent!”They both nodded to Vincent, who laughingly fixed them with his glass, upon which Eline hid her face coquettishly behind her fan.“Who is it? who is Vincent?” asked Emilie and Georges.“Vincent Vere, a first cousin,” Betsy answered. “Oh, such a silly boy; nobody ever knows where he is; sometimes you don’t see him for months at a time, then all at once he stands before you again. I had no idea at all that he was at the Hague. Eline, for gracious sake, don’t fidget so with that fan.”“I don’t want him to stare at me,” said Eline; and with a graceful turn of her shapely arm she held her fan before her face.“When did you see your cousin last, Madame van Raat?” asked Georges.“Oh, more than eighteen months ago. I think he was going to London, where he was to be a reporter on a paper, or something of that sort. Fancy, they say he was in the Foreign Legion in Algeria for some time, but I don’t believe it. He has been everywhere, and he never has asou.”“Yes; now I remember, I have seen him before,” said Emilie, with a yawn. “A curious customer.”“Yes, that he is. But you see here, at the Hague, where he has relations, he knows he must be on his best behaviour, so we tolerate his presence.”“Yes,” remarked Emilie, very philosophically, “you generally find a black sheep like that in every family.”[43]Eline smiled, and slowly closed her fan.The third act came to an end without her understanding much about the scena withManoël, but the grand duo between Hermosa and Xaïma afforded her a clue: it was the mutual recognition of mother and daughter after the air—“Debout, enfants d’Ibérie!”and the curtain fell amid thunders of applause, and the two actresses were called to the front, and each received her share of bouquets.“Mr. de Woude, do tell me what the plot is really about?” asked Eline, turning to Georges. “Je n’y vois pas encore clair.”But Betsy proposed to go into thefoyer, and so they rose and left their box. In thefoyer, seated on a divan, Georges related to her the plot of the opera, to which Eline listened with more attention than she cared to show. Now she knew why Xaïma shuddered in Ben-Saïd’s presence, and she would have liked to see the auction of maidens in the first act, and the sale of Xaïma as slave in the second.All at once they observed Vincent, who was coming up the steps of thefoyer, and approaching them free and unconcerned, as though he had seen his cousins but yesterday.“Hallo, Vincent, have you dropped from the clouds again?” exclaimed Eline.“Hallo, Eline; hallo Betsy! charmed to see you once more. Miss van Bergh and Woude, I think?” and he shook hands with them.“I admire your memory; I had forgotten you,” answered Emilie.Betsy introduced them: “Mr. de Woude van Bergh, Mr. Vere.”“Very pleased. And how are you?”“A little astonished,” laughed Eline. “I dare say you are off again to-morrow, aren’t you? To Constantinople, or St. Petersburg, or somewhere, I suppose.”He looked at her, with a smile in his pale blue eyes, like faded china, behind theirpince-nez. His features were handsome and regular, rather too handsome for a man, with their finely-chiselled Grecian nose, the small mouth, about which there generally lurked somewhat between a sneer and an audacious smile, lightly shaded by the thin, fair moustache; but the charm of the handsome face was[44]completely spoilt by the unhealthy yellowish tint, and the expression of lassitude that was suffused over it. Of slender form and delicate proportions, he looked tasteful in his dark, plain clothes, whilst none could fail to note the smallness of his feet, and the finely-shaped hand, with its slender, white fingers, the hand of an artist, and which reminded Eline very much of her dead father. He sat down beside them, and in a languid voice told Eline that he had arrived at the Hague the previous day, on a business matter. His last employment had been at Malaga, in a wine business; before that he had been engaged in an insurance office in Brussels; previous to that he had for some time been a partner in a carpet manufactory in Smyrna, but the firm failed. Nothing would do. Now he was tired of all that rushing about; he had given proof enough of energy and perseverance, but fate was against him; whatever his hands touched seemed to bring him ill-luck. He expected, however, to obtain a situation in a chemical manufactory in Java, but he must first have some more information. To-morrow morning he hoped to call on van Raat, whom he wanted to see. Upon this Betsy asked whether he was coming to coffee, as van Raat was never at home in the morning, only in the afternoon. He gladly accepted the invitation, and then commenced talking about the opera.“Fabrice? oh, that is the baritone, is it not? Yes; a nice voice, but an ugly, fat customer.”“Do you think so? No; I think he shows off very well on the stage,” observed Emilie.“No, Miss de Woude, you don’t mean that.”Emilie abided by her opinion, and Eline laughed at their disagreement. The tinkling of the bell warned them that the fourth act was about to commence, and Vincent took his leave, although Georges politely offered him his seat in the box.“No; thank you very much; I don’t want to rob you of your place, I am comfortable enough in the stall.Au revoir. To-morrow then, eh? Adieu, Betsy, Eline;au plaisir, Miss de Woude; good evening, Mr. de Woude.”He bowed, pressed Georges’ hand, and slowly went away, lightly swinging his bamboo walking-stick in his hands.“A strange boy!” said Eline, shaking her head.“I am continually in fear that he will do something to scandalize us,” Betsy whispered into Emilie’s ears; “but up to now he has[45]kept himself quiet enough. Besides, you see I want to be nice and friendly to him, so as not to make him an enemy. I am a little afraid of him, one never can tell what a fellow like that may do, you see.”“I can’t say he is a prime favourite of mine,” said Emilie, and they rose to return to their seats.“Come, Emmie, you only say so because he did not say any nice things about Fabrice,” Georges chimed in, in a teasing voice.Emilie shrugged her shoulders, and they passed into the vestibule.“Oh, there is no fifth act! I thought there were five acts,” said Eline, with some disappointment, to de Woude, who told her the end of the plot.The fourth act commenced, and Eline felt much interested in the moonlit garden scene, in Manoël’s cavatina, in his duet with Xaïma, and in the trio with Hermosa; but her interest grew when the Moorish monarch appeared at the gates of his palace, and commanded his guard to seize Manoël, whilst, deaf to his entreaties, he dragged Xaïma away with him, in a sudden burst of passion. The last scene in the opera, where Ben-Saïd is murdered by the mother, who comes to her child’s rescue, affected her much more than she would have cared to confess. In his scenas with the two female characters, the new baritone played with an amount of fire and power which lent the melodrama a glow of poetic truth, and when, fatally wounded, he sank down on the steps of the pavilion, Eline fixed her glasses, and gazed at his dark face, with the black beard and drooping eyes.The curtain fell, but the four actors were re-called, and Eline saw him once more, bowing to the audience with a calm, indifferent expression, in strong contrast to the beaming smiles of the tenor, the contralto, and the soprano.The audience rose, the doors of the boxes opened. Georges assisted the ladies with their wraps, and they proceeded through the corridor, and down the steps, until they reached the glass doors, where they waited until their carriage was announced.“I shouldn’t think that theTributis one of Gounod’s best operas; do you, Eline?” asked Emilie, when they were in their carriage. “It is not to be compared withFaustorRomeo and Juliette.”[46]“I don’t think so either,” Eline answered cautiously, afraid to show how much she was affected; “but it is so difficult to judge music on hearing it for the first time. I thought some of the melodies very pretty. But then, you must bear in mind that we only saw half of it.”“Yes; it’s very nice just to go and see a couple of acts; but to have to sit out a whole opera I think an awful bore, I must admit,” said Betsy yawning.And Georges hummed the refrain—“Debout, enfants d’Ibérie.”The de Woudes were taken home first to the Noordeinde, and Betsy and Eline rode on, snugly ensconced in the satin cushions of the landau, to the Nassauplein. They spoke a little about Vincent, and then both were silent, and Eline let her mind wander musingly to the waltz inMireille, to her dispute with Betsy that morning, to the group of the Five Senses, to Madame van Raat and de Woude, to her pink dress, and Ben-Saïd.

CHAPTER IV.

When, the morning after her passionate outburst, Eline came down to breakfast, Henk had already gone out, bound for the stables, to look after his horses and hounds. In the breakfast-room there was no one but little Ben, eating, or rather playing with a slice of bread-and-butter. Betsy she could hear running to and fro with much animation, and giving her hurried instructions to the cook.Frans and Jeanne Ferelyn, and Miss de Woude van Bergh and her brother, were coming to dinner that day.Eline was looking very neat and dressy in a gown of dark gray woollen material, a gray ribbon round her waist, and a small golden[20]arrow glittering at her throat. She wore neither rings nor bracelets. About her forehead curled a few fine locks, in frizzy garlands, soft and glossy as frayed silk.With a friendly nod she walked round to where the child was seated, and lifting up his face with both hands pressed a loving kiss on his forehead. Then she sat down, feeling well at ease with herself, her senses agreeably soothed by the soft warmth thrown out from the glowing hearth, while outside the snow-flakes were silently wrapping a down-like mantle around them. With an involuntary smile of satisfaction she rubbed her slim white hands, and glanced at her rosy, white-tipped finger-nails; then casting a glance outside, where an old woman, almost bent double, was pushing a barrow of snow-covered oranges in front of her, she cut open a little breakfast-roll, the while listening, with amused indifference, to the angry dispute going on between Betsy and the cook.Betsy entered, an ill-humoured expression in her heavily-shaded, twinkling eyes, her short thick lips compressed with annoyance. She carried a set of cut-glass dessert trays, which she was about to wash, as the cook had broken one of them. Carefully, notwithstanding her anger, she placed the trays on the table, and filled a basin with warm water.“That fool of a girl! Fancy washing one of my fine glass dishes in boiling water! But it serves me right for trusting those idiots to do anything.”Her voice sounded harsh and rasping, as she roughly pushed Ben out of the way. Eline, in unusually good humour, offered her assistance, which was readily accepted by Betsy. She had a great many things to do yet, she said; but all the same she sat down, watching Eline carefully washing and drying the dishes one by one, with light graceful movements, without moistening her fingers or spilling one drop; and she was conscious of the contrast between her own rough-and-ready way of doing things—the outcome of robust health—and Eline’s languid grace, mingled as it was with somewhat of fear of tiring or bespattering herself.“By the bye, when I was at the Verstraetens’ yesterday, I heard they were not going to the opera this evening, as they were tired from last night; aunt asked me if I would like the box. Do you care to go to the opera?”“And what about your visitors?”“Jeanne Ferelyn is going early, because her child is unwell, and[21]I wanted to ask Emilie and her brother to come too. Henk can stay at home. It is a box for four, you know.”“Very well; I don’t mind.”Well satisfied with herself, Eline was just putting down the last tray, when all at once a violent altercation broke out in the kitchen, accompanied by the silvery clattering of forks and spoons. It was Grete and Mina engaged in rather forcible argument. Betsy hurried out of the room, and very soon, curt commands and impudent answers followed each other in rapid succession.Ben in the meantime remained standing open-mouthed, and somewhat drowsily, on the spot where his mother had pushed him, full of silent alarm at all the hubbub.“Come, Ben, to auntie’s room,” said Eline, and smilingly she held out her hand towards him. He came, and both proceeded up-stairs.Eline occupied two rooms on the ground floor, a bedroom and a boudoir. With the economy and good taste which were common to her nature, she had succeeded in imparting to these rooms a semblance of luxury, with somewhat of an artistic polish. Her piano occupied an angle in the wall; the heavy foliage of a giant azalea cast a softening shade over the low, damask-covered couch. In a corner stood a small table laden with innumerable precious trifles. Statuettes, pictures, feathers, palm branches, filled every nook. The pink marble mantelpiece was crowned with a miniature Venetian mirror, suspended by red cords and tassels. In front stood an Amor and Psyche, after Canova, the group depicting a maiden in the act of removing her veil, and a love-sick, light-winged god.When Eline entered with Ben, the ruddy glow from the hearth shone on her cheeks. She threw the child a few tattered volumes of engravings, and he settled himself on the sofa, soon absorbed in the pictures. Eline entered her bedroom, the windows of which were still covered with daintily-formed leaves and flowers, the effect of the night’s frost. Yonder stood a toilette duchesse—a vision of tulle and lace—touched up here and there with the satin bows of old ball bouquets, and laden with scent phials of Sèvres and fine cut-glass. In the midst of all this wealth of pink and white the mirror glittered like a sheet of burnished silver. The bedstead was hidden among red draperies, and in the corner against the door a tall cheval glass reflected a flood of liquid sunshine.[22]For a moment Eline glanced round, to see if her maid had arranged everything to her satisfaction; then shivering in the chilly atmosphere she returned to her sitting-room and closed the door. With its semi-Eastern luxury the room was a most pleasant one, its comfort seemingly enhanced by the cold white glare reflected from the snow outside.Eline felt as though brimming over with melody—a feeling which could only find adequate expression in song. She chose the waltz fromMireille. And she sang it with variations of her own, with modulations now swelling into a full, rich volume of melody, now melting away into the faintest diminuendo, with brilliant shakes and roulades clear as those of a lark. She no longer thought of the cold and snow outside. Then suddenly remembering that she had not practised for three days, she commenced singing scales, brightening her high notes, and trying a difficult portamento. Her voice resounded with a metallic ring, somewhat cold, but clear and bright as crystal.Ben, though well used to these jubilant tones, which reverberated through the whole house, sat listening in open-mouthed wonder, without bestowing a further glance on his pictures, now and again giving a sudden start when some exceptionally shrill highsiordowould penetrate his ears.Eline was herself at a loss to account for her sadness of yesterday. How and whence came that fit of melancholy, without any definite cause? what was the overwhelming joy too that could have so suddenly chased those clouds away?To-day she felt animated, happy, joyous; she was sorry that she had not seen the tableaux yesterday, and she feared that Mr. and Madame Verstraeten did not take her indispositionau sérieux. What a nice, pleasant man he was, Mr. Verstraeten, always full of fun! and Madame Verstraeten, what a dear good soul! She knew no one like her, so charming and kind. And then, seated at her piano, now practising a shake, then a chromatic scale, she allowed her thoughts to wander to other nice people amongst her acquaintances. Yes; all had their good qualities: the Ferelyns, Emilie de Woude, old Madame van Raat, Madame van Erlevoort, even Madame van der Stoor. As for Cateau she was a doll.And the idea struck her that she would rather like to join that[23]company of players. Yes; they had an admirable conception of the amenities of life. Frédérique, Marie, Lili, Paul and Etienne, ever gay, ever together, full of droll plans for their amusement. Indeed, it must be very nice, prettily arrayed in romantic costumes, to be the objects of general admiration. Paul had a very pretty voice, it would be splendid to sing duets with him. It quite slipped her memory that only a few days ago she had assured her singing-master that his voice was absolutely void of tone. But to-day she was in a pleasant humour, and sang a second waltz, that of “Juliette” in Gounod’s opera. She adored Gounod.It had just struck half-past ten when there was a knock at the door.“Come in,” she cried, and looking round she let her slender fingers rest on the keyboard. Paul van Raat entered.“Bon jour, Eline. Hallo, young rascal!”“What, Paul, you?” She rose, somewhat surprised to see him. Ben ran towards his uncle and hoisted himself up on his knees.“How early you are! I thought you were coming to sing this afternoon. But you are welcome all the same; do you hear? Sit down and tell me about the tableaux,” Eline exclaimed with much animation; then, remembering her illness of the previous day, she continued in a languid voice—“I was awfully sorry I was so ill yesterday. Had a terrible headache.”“You don’t look much the worse for it.”“It’s true, Paul, really. If I had been well, don’t you think I should have come and admired your talent? Come, tell me—tell me all about it,” and she drew him with her to the sofa and threw the pictures on the floor.Paul had some difficulty in freeing himself from Ben, who clung to his legs.“Come, let go, Ben. And is the headache better now?”“Oh yes; quite gone. This afternoon I’ll go round to Mr. Verstraeten to give my congratulations. But, Paul, do tell me——”“I was just about to tell you that I was not coming to sing this afternoon; do you hear, Elly? I couldn’t bring out a note; I am quite hoarse with the howling and screaming of yesterday. But we managed splendidly,” and he commenced describing the tableaux.It was all his idea, and much of it the work of his own hands; but the girls too had been hard at it for the last month—getting[24]up the dresses, attending to a thousand trifles. That afternoon Losch was coming to take a photograph of the last group; so that, even had he been in good voice, he could not have come to sing. And how stiff in his joints he felt! for he had slaved away like a navvy, and the girls must be quite exhausted also. No; he had formed no part in the grouping, he was too busy making all the arrangements. He fell back a little on the rich damask cushions of the sofa, under the shading branches of the azalea, and stroked his hair.Eline thought how much he resembled Henk, although he was ten years younger, more slender in figure, livelier, with more delicate features, and an expression of much greater intelligence. But a simple gesture or movement, a raising of the eyebrows, would now and again very distinctly illustrate that resemblance, and although his lips were thinner under his light moustache than Henk’s heavily-bearded upper lip, his laugh was deep and full as that of his brother.“Why don’t you take painting lessons of a good master, Paul?” asked Eline. “Surely if you have talent——”“But I have not,” he laughed. “It would not be worth the trouble. I just dabble a bit in it, just as I do with my singing. It amounts to nothing at all, any of it.” And he sighed at his Lick of energy to make the most of the little talent he might possess.“You remind me of papa,” she said, and her words assumed a tone of sadness, as the idealized image of her father rose to her memory. “Yes; he had great talents, but latterly his health failed him, and he could not produce the great creation of which his soul was capable. I well remember that he was engaged on an immense canvas, a scene from Dante’sParadisoI believe, when—when he died. Poor papa! But you are young and strong, and I can’t understand why you don’t do something great, something out of the common.”“You know, I suppose, that I am going to be engaged at Hovel’s. Uncle Verstraeten has arranged it for me.”Hovel was a barrister, and as Paul had, at a somewhat early age, and after a period of alternate studying and idleness, passed the law examination, Uncle Verstraeten thought he would be doing the young barrister a good turn if he recommended him to his friend.[25]It had therefore been arranged that Paul should continue working at Hovel’s office, until he could go in practice for himself.“At Hovel’s? A very nice man; I like his wife very much. Oh, that will be splendid, Paul.”“I hope so.”“But still, if I were a man I should try and become famous. Come, Ben, don’t be troublesome now; go and look at the nice pictures on the floor. Wouldn’t you think it splendid to be famous? Really, if I weren’t Eline Vere I should become an actress.” And she gave vent to a series of brilliant shakes, which fell from her lips like a sparkling chain of diamonds.“Famous!” and with a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders. “What a silly idea, to be sure. Famous! No; I don’t want to be famous, not a bit. But for all that I should like to paint well, or sing well, or something.”“Then why don’t you take lessons, either in painting or music? Shall I speak to my master?”“No, thanks; not that old growler of a Roberts, if I can help it. And besides, Eline, it isn’t really worth while; I should never be able to keep it up whatever it was. I am subject to sudden fits, you see. Then I think I can do anything, then I am anxious to hit upon some great subject for a picture——”“Like papa,” she interrupted with a sad smile.“At other times the fit moves me to make the most of what voice I have; but before long all those grand ideas have died their own death of sheer inanition, and then I continue in the same old jog-trot as before.”“You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”“Henceforth I shall go and hide the aspirations of my genius in law cases,” he answered with a laugh, as he rose from his seat. “But now I must be off to the Princesse-gracht, to the Verstraetens’. So don’t expect me this afternoon; we have several details to arrange yet before Losch comes. Adieu, Eline; bye-bye, Ben.”“Bon jour; I hope you’ll soon get over your hoarseness.”Paul went, and Eline once more sat down at the piano. For a while she sat thinking what a pity it was Paul had so little energy, and from him her thoughts reverted again to Henk. But she felt altogether too light-hearted this morning to do much philosophizing, and, full of exuberant spirits demanding an outlet, she continued[26]her singing, until the mid-day gong summoned her and Ben down-stairs.Paul had told his mother that he would not be home that afternoon for coffee, as he would be at the Verstraetens’. He lodged at Madame van Raat’s, in the Laan van Meerdervoort. Madame van Raat, an elder sister of Madame Verstraeten, was a stately dame, with pensive, light-blue eyes, and hair of silver gray, dressed in old-fashioned style, whilst over her whole being there was suffused, as it were, a calmness, a placid resignation, that unmistakably spoke of former days free from troubles and disappointments. As walking exercise was becoming irksome to her, she was mostly to be found seated in her high-backed arm-chair, the dull-gray head drooping on her bosom, the blue-veined hands folded in her lap. Thus she continued to lead a quiet, monotonous existence, the aftermath of a placid, all but cloudless life, by the side of her husband, on whose portrait she frequently allowed her eyes to dwell, as it hung before her yonder, in its smart general’s uniform; a good-looking, frank, manly face, with a pair of truthful, intelligent eyes, and an engaging expression about the firm, closed mouth. To her, life had brought but few great sorrows, and for that, in the simplicity of her faith, she felt piously grateful. But now, now she was tired, oh! so tired, her spirit quite broken by the death of that husband to whom, to the last, she had clung with an affection constant and calm as the bosom of a limpid stream, into the placid waters of which the impetuous waves of her youthful love had flowed away. After his death, she began to worry over every trifling circumstance, petty vexations with servants and tradespeople. All these she connected, until to her mind they formed an unbroken chain of irksome burdens. Yes, she felt she was growing old; time had little more to give her, and so, in silent egoism, she mused her life away in the long-vanished poesy of the past. She had had three children: her youngest, a girl, was dead.Of her two sons, her favourite was Henk, who, strong and big, reminded her the most of his father, whilst in her eyes his sleepy good-nature had more of open, frank manliness, than Paul’s finer-strung fickleness and airy geniality. Paul she had always found too unsettled and nervous: formerly, in his constantly interrupted studies at Leyden—at last, thanks to a little moral pressure on the part of Uncle Verstraeten, crowned with promotion—as well as[27]now with his staying out late at night, his rage for painting,tableaux-vivantsand duets, or his fits of indolence, when he would lounge away a whole afternoon on the sofa, over a book he did not read.Before his marriage, Henk, being of a more staid and homely character than Paul, felt himself better at ease in his mother’s house; although he was quiet, his silence never irritated her; it was like the silence of a faithful dog, watching with half-closed eyes over his mistress. She felt so at her ease with Henk. She disliked being alone, for it was in solitude that the memories of the past contrasted in their rosy brightness too sharply with the leaden-gray that was the prevailing hue of her present life, and Paul she saw but rarely, except when hastily swallowing his dinner, in order to keep an appointment. She seldom went out, unaccustomed as she had grown to the noisy traffic of the streets, and the hum of many voices.Henk was her pet, and with her mental vision unimpaired, wherever at least her son was concerned, she regretted his marriage with Betsy Vere. No; she was not a fit wife for her child, and knowing that, she could not bring herself to give him her hearty approval or her parental blessing, when he told her of his engagement. Still, she refrained from opposing her beloved son in his choice, fearing lest she should be the cause of unhappiness; it was therefore under a false assumption of frankness, at which she was surprised herself, that she had concealed her ill-feeling against the intruder, and welcomed her as her daughter. All the same, she felt deeply concerned about Henk. Madame Vere she had known slightly; passionate and domineering, she never found anything attractive in such a personality, and this daughter reminded her too much of that mother. Although, in her eyes, Henk was possessed of much more firmness of character than Vere, of whom she could not think but as a pallid, ailing sufferer, only too glad to allow his wife to think and act for him; although Henk, as she thought, had all the frank manliness of character of his father, and would not allow himself to be domineered over; still, happy as she had been with van Raat, it would never behislot to be. And at that thought she would sigh and her eyes would grow moist; her mother’s love, despite her blindness to his failings, was the instinct which gave her an inkling of the truth, and if she could have taken his place, she would gladly have given up her own former happiness to her son, and have suffered for him.[28]Her thoughts ran away with her as she saw Leentje, the servant, laying the cloth for lunch for herself alone, and with a weary resignation at the hateful loneliness of her days, she sat down. To-morrow would be to her as to-day; what remained of her life was but an aftermath of summer, and though autumn and winter might be free from storms, yet the only promise they held out was that of a barren, soulless lethargy. To what end did she live?And so weary did she feel under the leaden pressure of this soul-killing loneliness, that she could not even muster up the energy to scold Leentje for her clumsiness, although she could not help noticing the damage that was done to one of her old china dishes.Much earlier than she was wont to go out, Eline went to the Verstraetens’ that afternoon. It was near the end of November, and winter had already set in with extreme severity. There was a sharp frost; the snow, still white and unsullied, crackled under Eline’s light, regular tread, but her feet preferred to feel the smoothness of the clean-swept pavement; the delicately-gloved hands were hidden away in the small muff. At times bestowing a friendly nod, from under her veil, on some passing acquaintance, she proceeded along the Java-straat to the Princesse-gracht. She still felt in a happy humour, which was quite undisturbed by the little tiff she had had with Betsy about some trifling question with the servants. These little bickerings were not of such rare occurrence lately, although they always irritated Henk beyond measure.But Eline had not taken much notice of Betsy’s words, and had replied to her with less sharpness than was her wont; she did not care to allow such trifles to spoil her good-humour: life was too dear to her——And feeling glad that she had curbed her temper, she turned the corner of the Java-straat.At the Verstraetens’ there still prevailed an unusual disorder. Dien was loth to admit her, but Eline took no notice, and passed inside to the large reception-room, where she found Madame Verstraeten, who apologized for being in her dressing-gown. Losch, the photographer, half hidden under the green cloth of his apparatus, was taking a view of the group representing the Five Senses. The girls, Etienne, and Paul smiled their welcome to Eline, who said it was splendid still to be able to see something of the tableaux. But now, in the chill snow-reflected daylight, the scene no longer[29]created the vivid, glowing impression of the previous evening, nor had it the same wealth of colouring, with which a plentiful application of Bengal fire had endowed it. The draperies hung in loose and crumpled folds; Frédérique’s cloth of gold had a smudged, faded tint, her ermine had more the appearance of white and black wool. Etienne’s fair wig was decidedly out of curl. Lili, representing the sense of Smelling, lay half dozing in her pillows.“I am afraid it won’t come to much,” said Marie, as Losch was arranging her draperies; but Toosje van der Stoor thought otherwise and remained lying motionless, with a terribly cramped feeling, owing to her difficult attitude.Eline, unwilling to disturb the artistes in their grouping, sat down beside Mr. Verstraeten. He laid away his book and removed his eye-glasses, and with his sparkling brown eyes glanced with unfeigned pleasure at the graceful girl.“Do you know,” she said, as she unhooked the little fur-lined cloak, “do you know, I am really jealous of that little group there. They are always together, always happy and jolly, and full of fun and amusing ideas—really I feel quite old by the side of them.”“Just fancy that!” answered Madame Verstraeten, laughing. “You are of the same age as Marie, three-and-twenty, aren’t you?”“Yes; but I was never spoilt as Marie and Lili are being now, and yet I think I should not have minded a bit. You know, of course, when I was a child—papa was mostly ill, and naturally that threw a damper over us; and afterwards at Aunt Vere’s house—aunt was a dear, good woman, but much elder than papa, and not very jolly certainly——”“You must not say anything about Aunt Vere, Eline!” said Mr. Verstraeten; “she was an old flame of mine——”“Andyoumust not laugh at her; I was very fond of her; she really was a second mother to us, and when that long illness ended in her death, I felt the loss keenly, I was as alone in the world. You see, all these things were not exactly calculated to make my youth a very gay one.” And she smiled a saddened smile, whilst at the thought of all she had been deprived of, her eyes glistened with moisture. “But when you look at Paul and Etienne, and the girls, it’s nothing but laughter and pleasure—really, enough to make me jealous. And that Toos, too, she is a dear child.”The artistes came down from the platform. Losch had finished.[30]Paul and Etienne, with Freddy, Marie, and Cateau came forward, whilst Lili went to bed, thoroughly exhausted with the excitement of the last two days.“Good morning, Miss Vere,” said Cateau, as she held out her little hand to Eline.Eline felt a sudden, indescribable, unreasoning sympathy for that child, so simple and so unconsciously engaging, and as she rose to go, she was obliged to hide her emotion by playfully embracing the child.“Good-bye, darling,” she said dotingly. “I am going, Madame Verstraeten; there is still plenty left for you to do, now that all that excitement is over. Ah! yes—I promised Betsy to ask you for the tickets. May I have them?”It was still early, only half-past two, and Eline thought what a long time it was since she had visited old Madame van Raat, and she knew that the old lady liked her, and was always glad to have a chat in the afternoon. Henk never failed to visit his mother every morning after his ride, and the two boarhounds, whom his wife had banished from his home, followed him undisturbed up the stairs in his mother’s house. As for Betsy, of her the old lady saw very little; Betsy was well enough aware that Madame van Raat did not care for her. Eline, however, had succeeded in winning her affections, by means of a certain most engaging manner she had when in the company of aged ladies; in the tone of her voice, in her little attentions, there was a something, a delicate flavour of respect, which charmed the old dame.Eline returned through the Java-straat to the Laan van Meerdervoort, and found Madame van Raat alone, seated in her high-backed chair, her hands folded in her lap. And in the young girl’s eyes she appeared such a picture of mute sadness; over the rich faded furniture there hovered such a melancholy shadow of past comfort; the whole apartment was filled with such an atmosphere of sorrow, and about the folds of the dark green curtains there hung such a mist of melancholy, that on entering, Eline felt her heart grow cold within her, as though a voice had told her that life was not worth living.But she struggled against the feeling. She recalled those thoughts which in the morning had brought her such lightness of heart. She smiled, and her tone assumed that vague respect, mingled with[31]somewhat of love and pity, and with much animation she spoke about Paul, about the tableaux, about that evening’s dinner, and the opera—and promised Madame van Raat to send her some books, nice light literature, in which one looked at the world through rose-coloured glasses.It pained her to chatter in this way; she would much rather have sat and cried with the old dame, in sympathetic melancholy, but she controlled herself, and even plucked up courage to touch upon a more serious subject. With her engaging, respectful manner, she took Madame to task for having been discovered by her with moistened eyes, which now she would not own; she was not inquisitive, but she would so gladly console and cheer her, if she could; and why did she not again make her her confidante, as she had done before, and so on.And the old lady, already placed at her ease by this charm of manner, smilingly shook her head; really, there was nothing the matter at all; she only felt a little lonely. Ah, it was her own fault, she feared, for there was very little in which she still took any interest. Other old people read the papers and continued to take an interest in things generally; but not she. Yes, it was all her own fault; but Elinewasa dear girl; why could not Betsy be a little like her?And with increased animation, she began to talk about her dear husband; over there was his portrait.…It was past four when Eline hurried away; it was growing dark, it was thawing, and the lowering clouds threatened to fall upon her and choke her. That old lady had been happy, very happy.… and she, Eline, was not happy, even at her age—oh! how would she feel when she too would be old, ugly, and shrivelled up! To her even the memories of the past would bring no comfort, nor yet the solacing thought that happiness did exist, that she had tasted its sweets; to her all would be dull and leaden as the clouds above! “Oh, God, why live, if life were void of happiness?—why, why?” she whispered, and she hurried on to dress for dinner.It was to be a simple, homely little dinner. At half-past six the Ferelyns came, and shortly after, Emilie and Georges. Betsy received them in the drawing-room, and asked Jeanne how the child was.“She is much easier now, the little dot; the fever is gone, but still[32]she is not quite better. Doctor Reyer said she was getting on. It’s very nice of you to have invited us; a little change is really necessary for me. But you see, I took your word for it that it would be quite a family party, so I haven’t dressed for it.” And with some misgiving her eyes wandered from her own plain black dress to Betsy’s gown of gray satin.“Really, there is no one else coming but Emilie here, and her brother. But you told me you would be going home early, so we have arranged, later on, to look in at the opera, in Uncle Verstraeten’s box. So you need not be uneasy, you were quite right to come as you are.”Henk, looking jolly and contented, entered in his smoking-jacket, and on seeing him Jeanne felt more reassured than by all Betsy’s protestations. With Emilie, lively as ever, she was on the most intimate terms, and it was Georges alone, with his immaculate shirt-front, and his big gardenia, who made her feel somewhat uneasy at her own simple dress.Frans Ferelyn, an East-Indian official, was in Holland on furlough, and his wife was an old school-mate of Eline’s and Betsy’s.Jeanne seemed a homely little woman, very quiet and depressed under her domestic troubles. Delicate, emaciated, and pallid, with a pair of soft brown eyes, she felt crushed under the double burden of pecuniary embarrassment and anxiety for her three ailing children, and she felt an irresistible longing for India, the land of her birth, and for the quiet life she led there. She suffered much from the cold, and numbered the months she would still have to pass in Holland. She told Emilie of her life at Temanggoeng in the Kadoe—Frans was Comptroller first-class—in the midst of a menagerie of Cochin-China fowls, ducks, pigeons, a cow, two goats, and a cockatoo. “Just like Adam and Eve in Paradise,” remarked Emilie. Then she told them how each morning she used to look after her Persian roses and her pretty azaleas, and gather her vegetables from her own garden, and how her children, immediately on their arrival in Holland, were taken ill and began to cough. “’Tis true, in India they looked rather pale, but there at least they were not obliged to be in constant fear of draughts and open doors.” And she was sorry that, owing to the expense of the voyage, she had had to come away without her baboo, Saripa. She was now in service at Samarang, but she[33]had promised to come back to her “as soon as we are home again,” and she was to bring her over some pretty frocks from Holland.Emilie listened attentively, and did her best to set her talking; she knew how those Indian reminiscences could draw Jeanne out of her usual quiet reserve. Betsy considered her out of place in company, so when she did ask her, it was always together with her husband, and if possible, with one or two others. The fact was, she thought her a bore, generally ill-dressed, and her conversation flat and uninteresting, but still she could not help occasionally inviting her, more with a kind of pity than anything else.While Frans Ferelyn was speaking to Henk about his forthcoming promotion to Assistant Resident, and Georges was listening to Jeanne telling him about Frans’s horse one day stepping right into their room to fetch hispisang, Betsy lay back in her chair, thinking how long Eline was. She would have liked to have dined early, so as not to be so very late at the opera, and she inwardly hoped that the Ferelyns would not be indiscreet and stay too long. Amusing they certainly were not, she thought, and she rose, concealing her impatience, to fix a bunch of peacock feathers in one of the vases, a few of the knick-knacks on the little centre table; then with her foot she arranged the tiger-skin rug in front of the flaming hearth, all the time feeling annoyed at Eline’s delay.At length the door opened and Eline entered, and Jeanne could not help noticing how pretty and elegant she looked in her pink rep silk frock, simple but rich, with a neat little bow here and there on her V-shaped corsage, on the short sleeves, and at the waist. In her light-brown, back-combed hair she wore atouffeof wavy pink feathers with a small aigrette; her nimble feet were encased in small pink shoes; a single string of pearls encircled her throat. In her hands she held her long gloves, her fan of pink ostrich feathers, and herbinocleset in mother-of-pearl.Ferelyn and de Woude rose, and she shook hands with them, and kissed Emilie and Jeanne, at the same time inquiring about little Dora. She noticed how all, even Henk and Betsy, took stock of her, from head to foot, struck as they were with the rich simplicity of her dress: and when Jeanne spoke to her about her child, she smiled upon the struggling little woman, all conscious of the effect of her brilliant charms.At table, Eline chatted pleasantly with de Woude, next to whom[34]she was seated. Betsy sat between her two gentlemen guests, Emilie between Henk and Frans, Jeanne between Eline and Henk. In the somewhat sombre dining-room, with its antique furniture, the table glistened with snowy damask, with silver and fine glass, whilst the rays of gas-light glinted on decanters and glasses, making the dark-red or amber-coloured wine appear to quiver under the glow of its radiance. From amid a nest of flowers in a silver basket rose the prickly crown of a splendid pine.De Woude commenced telling Eline about the soirée at the Verstraetens’, and in glowing terms described how well Miss van Erlevoort had looked her parts, successively as Cleopatra and the sense of Sight. With Emilie, Frans, and Betsy the conversation turned on India. In this Jeanne joined every now and again, but she sat too far away, and her attention was diverted by de Woude’s chattering and the little shrill laugh of Eline, who was engaged in a mild flirtation.Henk drank his soup and ate his fish in silence, occasionally addressing a short monosyllable to Jeanne or Emilie. And Jeanne grew more and more silent, as much from feeling ill at ease, as from fatigue at her long talk to Emilie after a day full of worries. She felt very much out of place, next to that coquettish couple. Eline in full toilet, de Woude in his evening dress, to which her own little black dress offered a shabby contrast. Still, she was glad she sat next to Henk, and in her ownmalaiseshe was conscious of a vague sort of sympathy for him, who was as much out of place there as herself.And she could not help comparing herself with Eline and Betsy: she, struggling with her three children and her husband’s slender furlough allowance; Eline and Betsy, on the other hand, unhampered, and ever moving in a whirl of pleasures and excitement. Where was the old, happy friendship that united them in one bond, when all three used to go hand-in-hand to school, Eline with the cape of her mackintosh filled with cherries, and she herself under Betsy’s leadership giving free vent to her childish spirits in naughty answers to the governess? She felt herself repelled by that young wife, with her self-conscious, indifferent manner, and her domineering tone towards her husband; repelled also by that young girl, who appeared to her frivolous and vain in her conversation, full of brilliant nothings; and by that dandy. Eline, especially, she could not understand; in her she found something uncommon, something[35]indefinable and puzzling, and certain attributes which seemed ever at war with one another. Her laughter about nothing at all wearied her, and she wondered how it was that a girl who, as they said, sang so divinely, could have such an unpleasant and affected laugh. Oh! if they would but be silent for a moment!.… And in her heart she longed to be back once more in her humble apartments, with her little Dora. Why had she accepted that invitation? ’Tis true Frans had insisted, now that the child was out of danger, that she should have some change and relaxation, but this dinner-party gave her no relaxation; on the contrary, it made her nervous and confused, and she declined Henk’s offer of sweetbreads and asparagus which he recommended her.“Did I hear aright, Miss Emilie; is Mr. de Woude a brother of yours?” Frans asked softly. It was the first time that he had met either Emilie or Georges, and he was as much struck by their resemblance as by the contrast between them.“Certainly,” whispered Emilie; “and I am proud of him too. He is an awful swell, but a nice boy; he is engaged at the Foreign Office. Be careful, don’t you think bad of him!” she laughed, and held up her finger threateningly, as though she read Ferelyn’s thoughts.“I have scarcely exchanged more than half a dozen words with Mr. de Woude as yet, so I should be sorry to express any opinion about him so soon,” he said, a little alarmed at Emilie’s brusqueness.“That’s right; most people get a very different opinion of Georges after they have known him some time, from that formed when they first met him. You see, like a loving sister, I take my brother’s part. Just fill my glass, please.”“Yes; you champion him even before he is attacked!” resumed Ferelyn smiling, as he filled her glass; “but thus much I can see already, that he is a spoilt pet of the ladies, not only of his sisters, but also of Madame van Raat and Miss Vere.”Betsy joined in the conversation with Eline and Georges, feeling attracted by the latter’s lively manner, as he chatted away, skimming over all sorts of subjects; a conversation without substance, without actual wit, but light as foam, airy as soap-bubbles, sparkling as firework crackers. In such a conversation she was in her element; serious talk, be it ever so spirited, was too burdensome for her; but this tintinnabulation of sparks and foam-flecks,[36]like wine glistening through crystal beakers, charmed her exceedingly. She thought Georges much more amusing than he was yesterday at the Verstraetens’, where he had twice observed that the effect of red light was more flattering than that of green. To-day he did not repeat himself, but rattled on, interrupting her with laughing impudence, and rounding off his sentences with truly French vivacity.Several times Eline tried to lead Jeanne into that circle of sparkling nothings, but in return Jeanne had only smiled a faint smile, or just answered with a single monosyllable, and at length Eline gave up the attempt to draw her out. The conversation grew more general; Emilie joined in with her easy nonchalance and airy banter; and Frans, in the midst of this charmed circle, could not help throwing in a stray spark of fun, although his eyes frequently rested with an anxious look on his quiet little wife.To Jeanne it seemed as though the dinner would never come to an end. Although she had not the slightest appetite, she did not like to continue refusing, so she took of the truffled chicken, of thegâteau Henri IV., of the pines, and the choice dessert; her wine, however, she merely touched with her lips. Henk, next her, ate much, and with evident gusto, wondering why she helped herself to such small portions. De Woude ate but little, his continued talking prevented that; but Emilie did her share, and was not sparing with the wine.It was past eight when they rose, and the ladies retired to the drawing-room. Frans joined Henk and de Woude in a cigar, as Jeanne had expressed her desire to stay another half-hour. Betsy had asked her to do so; she could not let her guests go so soon, and there would be plenty of time for the opera.“Is Dora often ill, Jeanne?” asked Eline, as with a rustle of her red silk she sat down on the sofa beside her, and took her hand. “Last time I saw her nothing ailed her, and even then I thought she was looking very pale and delicate.”Jeanne gently withdrew her hand, and felt something like irritation at such a question after the conversation at table. She made but curt reply. But Eline persisted, as though she intended by her present amiability to make good her former neglect; and she managed to impart such a sympathetic tone to her voice, that Jeanne felt quite touched. Jeanne began to express her fears that Doctor Reyer had not examined her little girl as carefully as he[37]might; and Eline, whilst sipping her coffee, listened with evident interest to her maternal plaints. Emilie and Betsy had meanwhile gone into the adjoining boudoir, to look at some fashion-plates.“Poor girl! what a lot of cares and worries you have, and scarcely three months in Holland yet! You only arrived in September, did you not?” asked Eline, as she placed the little china cup on the round table in front of her.Jeanne was silent; but all at once she rose up, and in her turn grasping Eline’s slender fingers, she remarked, in her longing for affection—“Eline, you know I have always been pretty straightforward and frank; may I ask you something?”“Of course you may,” answered Eline, rather surprised.“Well, then—why we are no longer to each other what we were formerly, when your parents were still living? It is now four years since I married and went to India, and now that we have returned, now when I see you again, all seems so different between yourself and me. I have no acquaintances, and but few relations in the Hague, and I should so much like to keep my old friends to myself.”“But, Jeanne——”“Yes; I know you think it foolish of me to talk like that; but at times I feel so terribly depressed with all that flummery and false excitement, I do so long to unburden myself to some dear true friend—for of course I cannot say all I wish to my husband.”“Why not?”“Oh, he has enough of his own worries; he is ill, and—peevish.”“But, Jeanne, I really don’t see what change has come between us.”“Perhaps it is only my fancy after all. You see, formerly we used to be oftener together, now you move in such a different circle. You go out a good deal, and I—well, you see, we have become much estranged from one another.”“But considering that we have not seen each other for four years——”“But we kept up the correspondence.”“What value is there in three or four letters in the course of a year? Doesn’t it seem natural that one’s ideas change, as one gets older, and is placed in different circumstances?[38]Yes; I have had my cares and worries too. First it was dear papa, then Aunt Vere, whom I attended in her illness——”“Are you happy here? can you get along with Betsy?”“Oh yes, admirably, or I should not stay with her, of course.” Eline, with her usual reserve, deemed it unnecessary to say more about it.“You see, there is no need for you to trouble yourself about anything,” Jeanne continued; “things come about just as you wish them; you are free and unfettered, and live only for your pleasures—it is all so different with me.”“But surely all that does not justify you in saying that we have become estranged from each other. In the first place, I think ‘estranged’ is a most unpleasant word, and secondly, it is not true, whatever word you may use.”“Oh yes.”“Oh no. I assure you, Jeanne dear, if I can be of service to you in any way, you will find me quite at your disposal. Do you believe me?”“Yes, I do, and I thank you very much. But, Eline——”“Well?”Several questions rose to Jeanne’s lips. She felt eager to ask her to tell her more about herself, to be more free and open with her; but the studied cordiality of the smile that hovered about the delicate lips, and was reflected in those dreamy, almond eyes, effectually silenced her. And she felt a sudden regret at her frankness towards such a coquette of a girl deftly playing with her fan; it was mere waste of time in talking to her. Why had she allowed herself to yield to the first impulse? for they were entirely unsuited to one another.…“Well?” Eline repeated, at the same time fearing what the next question might be.“Another time, when we are alone again!” stammered Jeanne, and she rose, dissatisfied, annoyed with herself, feeling ready to burst into tears, after that unsociable dinner and fruitless conversation. Betsy and Emilie were just leaving the boudoir.Jeanne thought it was time to be going. The three gentlemen came in, and Henk assisted her with her cloak. With a forced cordiality she took her leave, thanking Betsy for her invitation, and again she shivered with annoyance when Eline kissed her cheeks.“What an awful bore she is, that Jeanne!” said Betsy, after the[39]Ferelyns had gone. “She scarcely opened her mouth. What were you talking about together, Eline?”“Oh—about Dora, and her husband, nothing else.”“Poor girl!” said Emilie pityingly. “Come, Georges, just fetch my cloak.”Mina, however, was just coming in with the ladies’ wraps, and de Woude put on his ulster, whilst Henk rubbed his big hands, well pleased at the prospect of spending the evening at home after a nice dinner. The carriage had already been waiting outside in the thawing snow for the last half-hour, with Dirk the coachman and Herman the footman seated on the box, half smothered in their big fur capes.“Oh, Frans, never ask me to accept another invitation of the van Raats!” said Jeanne, in an imploring voice, as, on her husband’s arm, she shiveringly went splashing along the muddy streets, while, with her little hands benumbed with cold, she constantly endeavoured to keep her cloak fastened, each time that a gust of wind blew the ends open. “Really I don’t feel at home any more with them, with Betsy and Eline.”He shrugged his shoulders and said nothing. They plodded on with their mud-bespattered shoes, in the flickering light of the street lanterns, whose dull rays were reflected with monotonous regularity in the numerous puddles they had to pass.The third act ofLe Tribut de Zamorahad just commenced, when Betsy, Emilie, Eline, and Georges entered their box. There was a full house, and their arrival broke in upon the silence that prevailed in the listening auditorium; there was a rustling of silk and satin; a hundred eyes and opera-glasses were directed to their box, and here and there the question was whispered, “Who are they?”Emilie and Eline sat down in front, Betsy and Georges behind them, while Eline laid down her fan and her pearl-rimmedbinocle. Then she slowly commenced to untie her white plush, red satin-lined cloak, and as a cloud of pink and white it glided from her shoulders, and de Woude folded it over the back of her fauteuil. And in the triumph of her beauty it did her good to see how she was stared at and admired.“What a number of people there are here this evening! we are[40]fortunate,” whispered Emilie. “There’s nothing, I think, so wretched as to see an empty house.”“You are right!” said Betsy. “Look, there are the Eekhofs, Ange and Léonie, with their mamma. They were at the Verstraetens’ too yesterday; next week they are giving asoirée dansante.” And she nodded to the girls.“The new baritone from Brussels, Théo Fabrice, sings this evening,” said de Woude to Eline. “You know that since the débuts commenced, two have been dismissed; he makes the third.”“How terribly long those débuts are this winter!” remarked Eline, in an indifferent tone.“The tenor robusto was all right from the first, but they say Fabrice is very good too. Look, there he comes.”The chorus of Ben-Saïd’s odalisques was ended, and the Moorish sovereign entered his palace, leading Xaïma by the hand. But Eline paid little attention; she glanced round the theatre, and gave a friendly nod of recognition as her eyes met those of some acquaintance, and she did not cast another glance in the direction of the stage until Ben-Saïd and his slave were seated under the canopy, and the ballet commenced. That attracted her, and her eyes followed thedanseuses, as, gliding along on the tips of their toes, they ranged themselves in groups beneath the Moorish arches, and under the uplifted veils and fans of silver fringe, their forms encased in corsages of glossy satin, and all a-glitter with the spangles on their gauze-like frocks.“A pretty ballet!” said Emilie, yawning behind her fan, and she leaned back cosily in her fauteuil, somewhat under the generous influence of her choice dinner.Eline nodded her head, and while at the back of her she could hear Betsy and Georges whispering together, she still followed the clever gyrations of thepremière danseuse, as with graceful movements she hovered beneath the waving fans of the dancers on the tips of her pointed, satin-clad feet, a dazzling aigrette of diamonds in her hair.With her dreamy, idealistic nature, Eline was passionately fond of the opera, not only because it afforded her the opportunity of being the object of general admiration, not only because of the music, or that she was anxious to hear one or another aria sung by some celebratedprima donna, but also because of the intricate, romantic-coloured plot, the somewhat rudely-painted melodramatic[41]effects, full of hatred and love and revenge, the conventionality of which did not trouble her, and in which she did not even look for any truth. There was no need for her to forget for one moment that they were but actors and actresses whom she saw before her, and not knights and noble ladies; that she was seated in a crowded, brilliantly illumined theatre, looking at painted scenes, and listening to the harmony of a visible orchestra, and not living with hero and heroine through some more or less poetic period of the middle ages; but none the less did she enjoy herself, if the actors did not sing too badly, nor play with too much prosy conventionality.Betsy, on the other hand, went to the opera with the object only of seeing and being seen; Eline’s intense enjoyment she would have voted childish in the extreme, but Eline enjoyed in secret, for she suspected Betsy’s opinion, and so left her sister in the belief that she, like herself, found no pleasure in the theatre but to see and to be seen by friends and acquaintances.The ballet was at an end. Ben-Saïd and Xaïma descended from their throne, and he sang the recitative—“Je m’efforce en vain de te plaire!”and then the air:“O Xaïma, daigne m’entendre!Mon âme est à toi sans retour!”The new baritone’s voice was full and sonorous, more like that of a basso cantante, and in his song he enveloped it as with a veil of melancholy.But in his rich Moorish dress he had a heavy appearance; and neither in his attitude nor in his acting did he succeed in imparting even the merest semblance of amorous homage, and he looked at theprima donna, in her dress of cloth of silver, and her long pearl-clad fair hair, with more of threatening rage in his glance than with the humility of a tender devotion.Eline was not insensible to the shortcomings in his acting; but still, the very contrast between the expression of haughty superiority in his demeanour and the tone of humility in his voice pleased her. She followed every note of the song, and when at the sudden fortissimo of Ben-Saïd’s metallic organ, the actress appeared to tremble with terror, Eline asked herself the question—“Why is she so frightened, I wonder?—what is the matter? He does not look so bad.”[42]And during the applause that followed the song she glanced round the theatre, when by accident her eye fell upon a group of gentlemen standing just at the entrance to the stalls. She noticed how they stared at her box, and with her graceful languor she was about to draw back a little, when she saw one of them look at her with a smile of recognition. For a moment she looked at him with wide-opened eyes, and in her surprise did not return the salutation, but with a quick movement she turned round, laid her hand on Betsy’s shoulder, and whispered in her ear—“Just look, Betsy; do you see who is standing there?”“Where? who?”“There, in the stalls—Vincent—don’t you see?”“Vincent!” Betsy repeated, amazed in her turn. “So it is, Vincent!”They both nodded to Vincent, who laughingly fixed them with his glass, upon which Eline hid her face coquettishly behind her fan.“Who is it? who is Vincent?” asked Emilie and Georges.“Vincent Vere, a first cousin,” Betsy answered. “Oh, such a silly boy; nobody ever knows where he is; sometimes you don’t see him for months at a time, then all at once he stands before you again. I had no idea at all that he was at the Hague. Eline, for gracious sake, don’t fidget so with that fan.”“I don’t want him to stare at me,” said Eline; and with a graceful turn of her shapely arm she held her fan before her face.“When did you see your cousin last, Madame van Raat?” asked Georges.“Oh, more than eighteen months ago. I think he was going to London, where he was to be a reporter on a paper, or something of that sort. Fancy, they say he was in the Foreign Legion in Algeria for some time, but I don’t believe it. He has been everywhere, and he never has asou.”“Yes; now I remember, I have seen him before,” said Emilie, with a yawn. “A curious customer.”“Yes, that he is. But you see here, at the Hague, where he has relations, he knows he must be on his best behaviour, so we tolerate his presence.”“Yes,” remarked Emilie, very philosophically, “you generally find a black sheep like that in every family.”[43]Eline smiled, and slowly closed her fan.The third act came to an end without her understanding much about the scena withManoël, but the grand duo between Hermosa and Xaïma afforded her a clue: it was the mutual recognition of mother and daughter after the air—“Debout, enfants d’Ibérie!”and the curtain fell amid thunders of applause, and the two actresses were called to the front, and each received her share of bouquets.“Mr. de Woude, do tell me what the plot is really about?” asked Eline, turning to Georges. “Je n’y vois pas encore clair.”But Betsy proposed to go into thefoyer, and so they rose and left their box. In thefoyer, seated on a divan, Georges related to her the plot of the opera, to which Eline listened with more attention than she cared to show. Now she knew why Xaïma shuddered in Ben-Saïd’s presence, and she would have liked to see the auction of maidens in the first act, and the sale of Xaïma as slave in the second.All at once they observed Vincent, who was coming up the steps of thefoyer, and approaching them free and unconcerned, as though he had seen his cousins but yesterday.“Hallo, Vincent, have you dropped from the clouds again?” exclaimed Eline.“Hallo, Eline; hallo Betsy! charmed to see you once more. Miss van Bergh and Woude, I think?” and he shook hands with them.“I admire your memory; I had forgotten you,” answered Emilie.Betsy introduced them: “Mr. de Woude van Bergh, Mr. Vere.”“Very pleased. And how are you?”“A little astonished,” laughed Eline. “I dare say you are off again to-morrow, aren’t you? To Constantinople, or St. Petersburg, or somewhere, I suppose.”He looked at her, with a smile in his pale blue eyes, like faded china, behind theirpince-nez. His features were handsome and regular, rather too handsome for a man, with their finely-chiselled Grecian nose, the small mouth, about which there generally lurked somewhat between a sneer and an audacious smile, lightly shaded by the thin, fair moustache; but the charm of the handsome face was[44]completely spoilt by the unhealthy yellowish tint, and the expression of lassitude that was suffused over it. Of slender form and delicate proportions, he looked tasteful in his dark, plain clothes, whilst none could fail to note the smallness of his feet, and the finely-shaped hand, with its slender, white fingers, the hand of an artist, and which reminded Eline very much of her dead father. He sat down beside them, and in a languid voice told Eline that he had arrived at the Hague the previous day, on a business matter. His last employment had been at Malaga, in a wine business; before that he had been engaged in an insurance office in Brussels; previous to that he had for some time been a partner in a carpet manufactory in Smyrna, but the firm failed. Nothing would do. Now he was tired of all that rushing about; he had given proof enough of energy and perseverance, but fate was against him; whatever his hands touched seemed to bring him ill-luck. He expected, however, to obtain a situation in a chemical manufactory in Java, but he must first have some more information. To-morrow morning he hoped to call on van Raat, whom he wanted to see. Upon this Betsy asked whether he was coming to coffee, as van Raat was never at home in the morning, only in the afternoon. He gladly accepted the invitation, and then commenced talking about the opera.“Fabrice? oh, that is the baritone, is it not? Yes; a nice voice, but an ugly, fat customer.”“Do you think so? No; I think he shows off very well on the stage,” observed Emilie.“No, Miss de Woude, you don’t mean that.”Emilie abided by her opinion, and Eline laughed at their disagreement. The tinkling of the bell warned them that the fourth act was about to commence, and Vincent took his leave, although Georges politely offered him his seat in the box.“No; thank you very much; I don’t want to rob you of your place, I am comfortable enough in the stall.Au revoir. To-morrow then, eh? Adieu, Betsy, Eline;au plaisir, Miss de Woude; good evening, Mr. de Woude.”He bowed, pressed Georges’ hand, and slowly went away, lightly swinging his bamboo walking-stick in his hands.“A strange boy!” said Eline, shaking her head.“I am continually in fear that he will do something to scandalize us,” Betsy whispered into Emilie’s ears; “but up to now he has[45]kept himself quiet enough. Besides, you see I want to be nice and friendly to him, so as not to make him an enemy. I am a little afraid of him, one never can tell what a fellow like that may do, you see.”“I can’t say he is a prime favourite of mine,” said Emilie, and they rose to return to their seats.“Come, Emmie, you only say so because he did not say any nice things about Fabrice,” Georges chimed in, in a teasing voice.Emilie shrugged her shoulders, and they passed into the vestibule.“Oh, there is no fifth act! I thought there were five acts,” said Eline, with some disappointment, to de Woude, who told her the end of the plot.The fourth act commenced, and Eline felt much interested in the moonlit garden scene, in Manoël’s cavatina, in his duet with Xaïma, and in the trio with Hermosa; but her interest grew when the Moorish monarch appeared at the gates of his palace, and commanded his guard to seize Manoël, whilst, deaf to his entreaties, he dragged Xaïma away with him, in a sudden burst of passion. The last scene in the opera, where Ben-Saïd is murdered by the mother, who comes to her child’s rescue, affected her much more than she would have cared to confess. In his scenas with the two female characters, the new baritone played with an amount of fire and power which lent the melodrama a glow of poetic truth, and when, fatally wounded, he sank down on the steps of the pavilion, Eline fixed her glasses, and gazed at his dark face, with the black beard and drooping eyes.The curtain fell, but the four actors were re-called, and Eline saw him once more, bowing to the audience with a calm, indifferent expression, in strong contrast to the beaming smiles of the tenor, the contralto, and the soprano.The audience rose, the doors of the boxes opened. Georges assisted the ladies with their wraps, and they proceeded through the corridor, and down the steps, until they reached the glass doors, where they waited until their carriage was announced.“I shouldn’t think that theTributis one of Gounod’s best operas; do you, Eline?” asked Emilie, when they were in their carriage. “It is not to be compared withFaustorRomeo and Juliette.”[46]“I don’t think so either,” Eline answered cautiously, afraid to show how much she was affected; “but it is so difficult to judge music on hearing it for the first time. I thought some of the melodies very pretty. But then, you must bear in mind that we only saw half of it.”“Yes; it’s very nice just to go and see a couple of acts; but to have to sit out a whole opera I think an awful bore, I must admit,” said Betsy yawning.And Georges hummed the refrain—“Debout, enfants d’Ibérie.”The de Woudes were taken home first to the Noordeinde, and Betsy and Eline rode on, snugly ensconced in the satin cushions of the landau, to the Nassauplein. They spoke a little about Vincent, and then both were silent, and Eline let her mind wander musingly to the waltz inMireille, to her dispute with Betsy that morning, to the group of the Five Senses, to Madame van Raat and de Woude, to her pink dress, and Ben-Saïd.

When, the morning after her passionate outburst, Eline came down to breakfast, Henk had already gone out, bound for the stables, to look after his horses and hounds. In the breakfast-room there was no one but little Ben, eating, or rather playing with a slice of bread-and-butter. Betsy she could hear running to and fro with much animation, and giving her hurried instructions to the cook.

Frans and Jeanne Ferelyn, and Miss de Woude van Bergh and her brother, were coming to dinner that day.

Eline was looking very neat and dressy in a gown of dark gray woollen material, a gray ribbon round her waist, and a small golden[20]arrow glittering at her throat. She wore neither rings nor bracelets. About her forehead curled a few fine locks, in frizzy garlands, soft and glossy as frayed silk.

With a friendly nod she walked round to where the child was seated, and lifting up his face with both hands pressed a loving kiss on his forehead. Then she sat down, feeling well at ease with herself, her senses agreeably soothed by the soft warmth thrown out from the glowing hearth, while outside the snow-flakes were silently wrapping a down-like mantle around them. With an involuntary smile of satisfaction she rubbed her slim white hands, and glanced at her rosy, white-tipped finger-nails; then casting a glance outside, where an old woman, almost bent double, was pushing a barrow of snow-covered oranges in front of her, she cut open a little breakfast-roll, the while listening, with amused indifference, to the angry dispute going on between Betsy and the cook.

Betsy entered, an ill-humoured expression in her heavily-shaded, twinkling eyes, her short thick lips compressed with annoyance. She carried a set of cut-glass dessert trays, which she was about to wash, as the cook had broken one of them. Carefully, notwithstanding her anger, she placed the trays on the table, and filled a basin with warm water.

“That fool of a girl! Fancy washing one of my fine glass dishes in boiling water! But it serves me right for trusting those idiots to do anything.”

Her voice sounded harsh and rasping, as she roughly pushed Ben out of the way. Eline, in unusually good humour, offered her assistance, which was readily accepted by Betsy. She had a great many things to do yet, she said; but all the same she sat down, watching Eline carefully washing and drying the dishes one by one, with light graceful movements, without moistening her fingers or spilling one drop; and she was conscious of the contrast between her own rough-and-ready way of doing things—the outcome of robust health—and Eline’s languid grace, mingled as it was with somewhat of fear of tiring or bespattering herself.

“By the bye, when I was at the Verstraetens’ yesterday, I heard they were not going to the opera this evening, as they were tired from last night; aunt asked me if I would like the box. Do you care to go to the opera?”

“And what about your visitors?”

“Jeanne Ferelyn is going early, because her child is unwell, and[21]I wanted to ask Emilie and her brother to come too. Henk can stay at home. It is a box for four, you know.”

“Very well; I don’t mind.”

Well satisfied with herself, Eline was just putting down the last tray, when all at once a violent altercation broke out in the kitchen, accompanied by the silvery clattering of forks and spoons. It was Grete and Mina engaged in rather forcible argument. Betsy hurried out of the room, and very soon, curt commands and impudent answers followed each other in rapid succession.

Ben in the meantime remained standing open-mouthed, and somewhat drowsily, on the spot where his mother had pushed him, full of silent alarm at all the hubbub.

“Come, Ben, to auntie’s room,” said Eline, and smilingly she held out her hand towards him. He came, and both proceeded up-stairs.

Eline occupied two rooms on the ground floor, a bedroom and a boudoir. With the economy and good taste which were common to her nature, she had succeeded in imparting to these rooms a semblance of luxury, with somewhat of an artistic polish. Her piano occupied an angle in the wall; the heavy foliage of a giant azalea cast a softening shade over the low, damask-covered couch. In a corner stood a small table laden with innumerable precious trifles. Statuettes, pictures, feathers, palm branches, filled every nook. The pink marble mantelpiece was crowned with a miniature Venetian mirror, suspended by red cords and tassels. In front stood an Amor and Psyche, after Canova, the group depicting a maiden in the act of removing her veil, and a love-sick, light-winged god.

When Eline entered with Ben, the ruddy glow from the hearth shone on her cheeks. She threw the child a few tattered volumes of engravings, and he settled himself on the sofa, soon absorbed in the pictures. Eline entered her bedroom, the windows of which were still covered with daintily-formed leaves and flowers, the effect of the night’s frost. Yonder stood a toilette duchesse—a vision of tulle and lace—touched up here and there with the satin bows of old ball bouquets, and laden with scent phials of Sèvres and fine cut-glass. In the midst of all this wealth of pink and white the mirror glittered like a sheet of burnished silver. The bedstead was hidden among red draperies, and in the corner against the door a tall cheval glass reflected a flood of liquid sunshine.[22]

For a moment Eline glanced round, to see if her maid had arranged everything to her satisfaction; then shivering in the chilly atmosphere she returned to her sitting-room and closed the door. With its semi-Eastern luxury the room was a most pleasant one, its comfort seemingly enhanced by the cold white glare reflected from the snow outside.

Eline felt as though brimming over with melody—a feeling which could only find adequate expression in song. She chose the waltz fromMireille. And she sang it with variations of her own, with modulations now swelling into a full, rich volume of melody, now melting away into the faintest diminuendo, with brilliant shakes and roulades clear as those of a lark. She no longer thought of the cold and snow outside. Then suddenly remembering that she had not practised for three days, she commenced singing scales, brightening her high notes, and trying a difficult portamento. Her voice resounded with a metallic ring, somewhat cold, but clear and bright as crystal.

Ben, though well used to these jubilant tones, which reverberated through the whole house, sat listening in open-mouthed wonder, without bestowing a further glance on his pictures, now and again giving a sudden start when some exceptionally shrill highsiordowould penetrate his ears.

Eline was herself at a loss to account for her sadness of yesterday. How and whence came that fit of melancholy, without any definite cause? what was the overwhelming joy too that could have so suddenly chased those clouds away?

To-day she felt animated, happy, joyous; she was sorry that she had not seen the tableaux yesterday, and she feared that Mr. and Madame Verstraeten did not take her indispositionau sérieux. What a nice, pleasant man he was, Mr. Verstraeten, always full of fun! and Madame Verstraeten, what a dear good soul! She knew no one like her, so charming and kind. And then, seated at her piano, now practising a shake, then a chromatic scale, she allowed her thoughts to wander to other nice people amongst her acquaintances. Yes; all had their good qualities: the Ferelyns, Emilie de Woude, old Madame van Raat, Madame van Erlevoort, even Madame van der Stoor. As for Cateau she was a doll.

And the idea struck her that she would rather like to join that[23]company of players. Yes; they had an admirable conception of the amenities of life. Frédérique, Marie, Lili, Paul and Etienne, ever gay, ever together, full of droll plans for their amusement. Indeed, it must be very nice, prettily arrayed in romantic costumes, to be the objects of general admiration. Paul had a very pretty voice, it would be splendid to sing duets with him. It quite slipped her memory that only a few days ago she had assured her singing-master that his voice was absolutely void of tone. But to-day she was in a pleasant humour, and sang a second waltz, that of “Juliette” in Gounod’s opera. She adored Gounod.

It had just struck half-past ten when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” she cried, and looking round she let her slender fingers rest on the keyboard. Paul van Raat entered.

“Bon jour, Eline. Hallo, young rascal!”

“What, Paul, you?” She rose, somewhat surprised to see him. Ben ran towards his uncle and hoisted himself up on his knees.

“How early you are! I thought you were coming to sing this afternoon. But you are welcome all the same; do you hear? Sit down and tell me about the tableaux,” Eline exclaimed with much animation; then, remembering her illness of the previous day, she continued in a languid voice—

“I was awfully sorry I was so ill yesterday. Had a terrible headache.”

“You don’t look much the worse for it.”

“It’s true, Paul, really. If I had been well, don’t you think I should have come and admired your talent? Come, tell me—tell me all about it,” and she drew him with her to the sofa and threw the pictures on the floor.

Paul had some difficulty in freeing himself from Ben, who clung to his legs.

“Come, let go, Ben. And is the headache better now?”

“Oh yes; quite gone. This afternoon I’ll go round to Mr. Verstraeten to give my congratulations. But, Paul, do tell me——”

“I was just about to tell you that I was not coming to sing this afternoon; do you hear, Elly? I couldn’t bring out a note; I am quite hoarse with the howling and screaming of yesterday. But we managed splendidly,” and he commenced describing the tableaux.

It was all his idea, and much of it the work of his own hands; but the girls too had been hard at it for the last month—getting[24]up the dresses, attending to a thousand trifles. That afternoon Losch was coming to take a photograph of the last group; so that, even had he been in good voice, he could not have come to sing. And how stiff in his joints he felt! for he had slaved away like a navvy, and the girls must be quite exhausted also. No; he had formed no part in the grouping, he was too busy making all the arrangements. He fell back a little on the rich damask cushions of the sofa, under the shading branches of the azalea, and stroked his hair.

Eline thought how much he resembled Henk, although he was ten years younger, more slender in figure, livelier, with more delicate features, and an expression of much greater intelligence. But a simple gesture or movement, a raising of the eyebrows, would now and again very distinctly illustrate that resemblance, and although his lips were thinner under his light moustache than Henk’s heavily-bearded upper lip, his laugh was deep and full as that of his brother.

“Why don’t you take painting lessons of a good master, Paul?” asked Eline. “Surely if you have talent——”

“But I have not,” he laughed. “It would not be worth the trouble. I just dabble a bit in it, just as I do with my singing. It amounts to nothing at all, any of it.” And he sighed at his Lick of energy to make the most of the little talent he might possess.

“You remind me of papa,” she said, and her words assumed a tone of sadness, as the idealized image of her father rose to her memory. “Yes; he had great talents, but latterly his health failed him, and he could not produce the great creation of which his soul was capable. I well remember that he was engaged on an immense canvas, a scene from Dante’sParadisoI believe, when—when he died. Poor papa! But you are young and strong, and I can’t understand why you don’t do something great, something out of the common.”

“You know, I suppose, that I am going to be engaged at Hovel’s. Uncle Verstraeten has arranged it for me.”

Hovel was a barrister, and as Paul had, at a somewhat early age, and after a period of alternate studying and idleness, passed the law examination, Uncle Verstraeten thought he would be doing the young barrister a good turn if he recommended him to his friend.[25]It had therefore been arranged that Paul should continue working at Hovel’s office, until he could go in practice for himself.

“At Hovel’s? A very nice man; I like his wife very much. Oh, that will be splendid, Paul.”

“I hope so.”

“But still, if I were a man I should try and become famous. Come, Ben, don’t be troublesome now; go and look at the nice pictures on the floor. Wouldn’t you think it splendid to be famous? Really, if I weren’t Eline Vere I should become an actress.” And she gave vent to a series of brilliant shakes, which fell from her lips like a sparkling chain of diamonds.

“Famous!” and with a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders. “What a silly idea, to be sure. Famous! No; I don’t want to be famous, not a bit. But for all that I should like to paint well, or sing well, or something.”

“Then why don’t you take lessons, either in painting or music? Shall I speak to my master?”

“No, thanks; not that old growler of a Roberts, if I can help it. And besides, Eline, it isn’t really worth while; I should never be able to keep it up whatever it was. I am subject to sudden fits, you see. Then I think I can do anything, then I am anxious to hit upon some great subject for a picture——”

“Like papa,” she interrupted with a sad smile.

“At other times the fit moves me to make the most of what voice I have; but before long all those grand ideas have died their own death of sheer inanition, and then I continue in the same old jog-trot as before.”

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“Henceforth I shall go and hide the aspirations of my genius in law cases,” he answered with a laugh, as he rose from his seat. “But now I must be off to the Princesse-gracht, to the Verstraetens’. So don’t expect me this afternoon; we have several details to arrange yet before Losch comes. Adieu, Eline; bye-bye, Ben.”

“Bon jour; I hope you’ll soon get over your hoarseness.”

Paul went, and Eline once more sat down at the piano. For a while she sat thinking what a pity it was Paul had so little energy, and from him her thoughts reverted again to Henk. But she felt altogether too light-hearted this morning to do much philosophizing, and, full of exuberant spirits demanding an outlet, she continued[26]her singing, until the mid-day gong summoned her and Ben down-stairs.

Paul had told his mother that he would not be home that afternoon for coffee, as he would be at the Verstraetens’. He lodged at Madame van Raat’s, in the Laan van Meerdervoort. Madame van Raat, an elder sister of Madame Verstraeten, was a stately dame, with pensive, light-blue eyes, and hair of silver gray, dressed in old-fashioned style, whilst over her whole being there was suffused, as it were, a calmness, a placid resignation, that unmistakably spoke of former days free from troubles and disappointments. As walking exercise was becoming irksome to her, she was mostly to be found seated in her high-backed arm-chair, the dull-gray head drooping on her bosom, the blue-veined hands folded in her lap. Thus she continued to lead a quiet, monotonous existence, the aftermath of a placid, all but cloudless life, by the side of her husband, on whose portrait she frequently allowed her eyes to dwell, as it hung before her yonder, in its smart general’s uniform; a good-looking, frank, manly face, with a pair of truthful, intelligent eyes, and an engaging expression about the firm, closed mouth. To her, life had brought but few great sorrows, and for that, in the simplicity of her faith, she felt piously grateful. But now, now she was tired, oh! so tired, her spirit quite broken by the death of that husband to whom, to the last, she had clung with an affection constant and calm as the bosom of a limpid stream, into the placid waters of which the impetuous waves of her youthful love had flowed away. After his death, she began to worry over every trifling circumstance, petty vexations with servants and tradespeople. All these she connected, until to her mind they formed an unbroken chain of irksome burdens. Yes, she felt she was growing old; time had little more to give her, and so, in silent egoism, she mused her life away in the long-vanished poesy of the past. She had had three children: her youngest, a girl, was dead.

Of her two sons, her favourite was Henk, who, strong and big, reminded her the most of his father, whilst in her eyes his sleepy good-nature had more of open, frank manliness, than Paul’s finer-strung fickleness and airy geniality. Paul she had always found too unsettled and nervous: formerly, in his constantly interrupted studies at Leyden—at last, thanks to a little moral pressure on the part of Uncle Verstraeten, crowned with promotion—as well as[27]now with his staying out late at night, his rage for painting,tableaux-vivantsand duets, or his fits of indolence, when he would lounge away a whole afternoon on the sofa, over a book he did not read.

Before his marriage, Henk, being of a more staid and homely character than Paul, felt himself better at ease in his mother’s house; although he was quiet, his silence never irritated her; it was like the silence of a faithful dog, watching with half-closed eyes over his mistress. She felt so at her ease with Henk. She disliked being alone, for it was in solitude that the memories of the past contrasted in their rosy brightness too sharply with the leaden-gray that was the prevailing hue of her present life, and Paul she saw but rarely, except when hastily swallowing his dinner, in order to keep an appointment. She seldom went out, unaccustomed as she had grown to the noisy traffic of the streets, and the hum of many voices.

Henk was her pet, and with her mental vision unimpaired, wherever at least her son was concerned, she regretted his marriage with Betsy Vere. No; she was not a fit wife for her child, and knowing that, she could not bring herself to give him her hearty approval or her parental blessing, when he told her of his engagement. Still, she refrained from opposing her beloved son in his choice, fearing lest she should be the cause of unhappiness; it was therefore under a false assumption of frankness, at which she was surprised herself, that she had concealed her ill-feeling against the intruder, and welcomed her as her daughter. All the same, she felt deeply concerned about Henk. Madame Vere she had known slightly; passionate and domineering, she never found anything attractive in such a personality, and this daughter reminded her too much of that mother. Although, in her eyes, Henk was possessed of much more firmness of character than Vere, of whom she could not think but as a pallid, ailing sufferer, only too glad to allow his wife to think and act for him; although Henk, as she thought, had all the frank manliness of character of his father, and would not allow himself to be domineered over; still, happy as she had been with van Raat, it would never behislot to be. And at that thought she would sigh and her eyes would grow moist; her mother’s love, despite her blindness to his failings, was the instinct which gave her an inkling of the truth, and if she could have taken his place, she would gladly have given up her own former happiness to her son, and have suffered for him.[28]

Her thoughts ran away with her as she saw Leentje, the servant, laying the cloth for lunch for herself alone, and with a weary resignation at the hateful loneliness of her days, she sat down. To-morrow would be to her as to-day; what remained of her life was but an aftermath of summer, and though autumn and winter might be free from storms, yet the only promise they held out was that of a barren, soulless lethargy. To what end did she live?

And so weary did she feel under the leaden pressure of this soul-killing loneliness, that she could not even muster up the energy to scold Leentje for her clumsiness, although she could not help noticing the damage that was done to one of her old china dishes.

Much earlier than she was wont to go out, Eline went to the Verstraetens’ that afternoon. It was near the end of November, and winter had already set in with extreme severity. There was a sharp frost; the snow, still white and unsullied, crackled under Eline’s light, regular tread, but her feet preferred to feel the smoothness of the clean-swept pavement; the delicately-gloved hands were hidden away in the small muff. At times bestowing a friendly nod, from under her veil, on some passing acquaintance, she proceeded along the Java-straat to the Princesse-gracht. She still felt in a happy humour, which was quite undisturbed by the little tiff she had had with Betsy about some trifling question with the servants. These little bickerings were not of such rare occurrence lately, although they always irritated Henk beyond measure.

But Eline had not taken much notice of Betsy’s words, and had replied to her with less sharpness than was her wont; she did not care to allow such trifles to spoil her good-humour: life was too dear to her——

And feeling glad that she had curbed her temper, she turned the corner of the Java-straat.

At the Verstraetens’ there still prevailed an unusual disorder. Dien was loth to admit her, but Eline took no notice, and passed inside to the large reception-room, where she found Madame Verstraeten, who apologized for being in her dressing-gown. Losch, the photographer, half hidden under the green cloth of his apparatus, was taking a view of the group representing the Five Senses. The girls, Etienne, and Paul smiled their welcome to Eline, who said it was splendid still to be able to see something of the tableaux. But now, in the chill snow-reflected daylight, the scene no longer[29]created the vivid, glowing impression of the previous evening, nor had it the same wealth of colouring, with which a plentiful application of Bengal fire had endowed it. The draperies hung in loose and crumpled folds; Frédérique’s cloth of gold had a smudged, faded tint, her ermine had more the appearance of white and black wool. Etienne’s fair wig was decidedly out of curl. Lili, representing the sense of Smelling, lay half dozing in her pillows.

“I am afraid it won’t come to much,” said Marie, as Losch was arranging her draperies; but Toosje van der Stoor thought otherwise and remained lying motionless, with a terribly cramped feeling, owing to her difficult attitude.

Eline, unwilling to disturb the artistes in their grouping, sat down beside Mr. Verstraeten. He laid away his book and removed his eye-glasses, and with his sparkling brown eyes glanced with unfeigned pleasure at the graceful girl.

“Do you know,” she said, as she unhooked the little fur-lined cloak, “do you know, I am really jealous of that little group there. They are always together, always happy and jolly, and full of fun and amusing ideas—really I feel quite old by the side of them.”

“Just fancy that!” answered Madame Verstraeten, laughing. “You are of the same age as Marie, three-and-twenty, aren’t you?”

“Yes; but I was never spoilt as Marie and Lili are being now, and yet I think I should not have minded a bit. You know, of course, when I was a child—papa was mostly ill, and naturally that threw a damper over us; and afterwards at Aunt Vere’s house—aunt was a dear, good woman, but much elder than papa, and not very jolly certainly——”

“You must not say anything about Aunt Vere, Eline!” said Mr. Verstraeten; “she was an old flame of mine——”

“Andyoumust not laugh at her; I was very fond of her; she really was a second mother to us, and when that long illness ended in her death, I felt the loss keenly, I was as alone in the world. You see, all these things were not exactly calculated to make my youth a very gay one.” And she smiled a saddened smile, whilst at the thought of all she had been deprived of, her eyes glistened with moisture. “But when you look at Paul and Etienne, and the girls, it’s nothing but laughter and pleasure—really, enough to make me jealous. And that Toos, too, she is a dear child.”

The artistes came down from the platform. Losch had finished.[30]Paul and Etienne, with Freddy, Marie, and Cateau came forward, whilst Lili went to bed, thoroughly exhausted with the excitement of the last two days.

“Good morning, Miss Vere,” said Cateau, as she held out her little hand to Eline.

Eline felt a sudden, indescribable, unreasoning sympathy for that child, so simple and so unconsciously engaging, and as she rose to go, she was obliged to hide her emotion by playfully embracing the child.

“Good-bye, darling,” she said dotingly. “I am going, Madame Verstraeten; there is still plenty left for you to do, now that all that excitement is over. Ah! yes—I promised Betsy to ask you for the tickets. May I have them?”

It was still early, only half-past two, and Eline thought what a long time it was since she had visited old Madame van Raat, and she knew that the old lady liked her, and was always glad to have a chat in the afternoon. Henk never failed to visit his mother every morning after his ride, and the two boarhounds, whom his wife had banished from his home, followed him undisturbed up the stairs in his mother’s house. As for Betsy, of her the old lady saw very little; Betsy was well enough aware that Madame van Raat did not care for her. Eline, however, had succeeded in winning her affections, by means of a certain most engaging manner she had when in the company of aged ladies; in the tone of her voice, in her little attentions, there was a something, a delicate flavour of respect, which charmed the old dame.

Eline returned through the Java-straat to the Laan van Meerdervoort, and found Madame van Raat alone, seated in her high-backed chair, her hands folded in her lap. And in the young girl’s eyes she appeared such a picture of mute sadness; over the rich faded furniture there hovered such a melancholy shadow of past comfort; the whole apartment was filled with such an atmosphere of sorrow, and about the folds of the dark green curtains there hung such a mist of melancholy, that on entering, Eline felt her heart grow cold within her, as though a voice had told her that life was not worth living.

But she struggled against the feeling. She recalled those thoughts which in the morning had brought her such lightness of heart. She smiled, and her tone assumed that vague respect, mingled with[31]somewhat of love and pity, and with much animation she spoke about Paul, about the tableaux, about that evening’s dinner, and the opera—and promised Madame van Raat to send her some books, nice light literature, in which one looked at the world through rose-coloured glasses.

It pained her to chatter in this way; she would much rather have sat and cried with the old dame, in sympathetic melancholy, but she controlled herself, and even plucked up courage to touch upon a more serious subject. With her engaging, respectful manner, she took Madame to task for having been discovered by her with moistened eyes, which now she would not own; she was not inquisitive, but she would so gladly console and cheer her, if she could; and why did she not again make her her confidante, as she had done before, and so on.

And the old lady, already placed at her ease by this charm of manner, smilingly shook her head; really, there was nothing the matter at all; she only felt a little lonely. Ah, it was her own fault, she feared, for there was very little in which she still took any interest. Other old people read the papers and continued to take an interest in things generally; but not she. Yes, it was all her own fault; but Elinewasa dear girl; why could not Betsy be a little like her?

And with increased animation, she began to talk about her dear husband; over there was his portrait.…

It was past four when Eline hurried away; it was growing dark, it was thawing, and the lowering clouds threatened to fall upon her and choke her. That old lady had been happy, very happy.… and she, Eline, was not happy, even at her age—oh! how would she feel when she too would be old, ugly, and shrivelled up! To her even the memories of the past would bring no comfort, nor yet the solacing thought that happiness did exist, that she had tasted its sweets; to her all would be dull and leaden as the clouds above! “Oh, God, why live, if life were void of happiness?—why, why?” she whispered, and she hurried on to dress for dinner.

It was to be a simple, homely little dinner. At half-past six the Ferelyns came, and shortly after, Emilie and Georges. Betsy received them in the drawing-room, and asked Jeanne how the child was.

“She is much easier now, the little dot; the fever is gone, but still[32]she is not quite better. Doctor Reyer said she was getting on. It’s very nice of you to have invited us; a little change is really necessary for me. But you see, I took your word for it that it would be quite a family party, so I haven’t dressed for it.” And with some misgiving her eyes wandered from her own plain black dress to Betsy’s gown of gray satin.

“Really, there is no one else coming but Emilie here, and her brother. But you told me you would be going home early, so we have arranged, later on, to look in at the opera, in Uncle Verstraeten’s box. So you need not be uneasy, you were quite right to come as you are.”

Henk, looking jolly and contented, entered in his smoking-jacket, and on seeing him Jeanne felt more reassured than by all Betsy’s protestations. With Emilie, lively as ever, she was on the most intimate terms, and it was Georges alone, with his immaculate shirt-front, and his big gardenia, who made her feel somewhat uneasy at her own simple dress.

Frans Ferelyn, an East-Indian official, was in Holland on furlough, and his wife was an old school-mate of Eline’s and Betsy’s.

Jeanne seemed a homely little woman, very quiet and depressed under her domestic troubles. Delicate, emaciated, and pallid, with a pair of soft brown eyes, she felt crushed under the double burden of pecuniary embarrassment and anxiety for her three ailing children, and she felt an irresistible longing for India, the land of her birth, and for the quiet life she led there. She suffered much from the cold, and numbered the months she would still have to pass in Holland. She told Emilie of her life at Temanggoeng in the Kadoe—Frans was Comptroller first-class—in the midst of a menagerie of Cochin-China fowls, ducks, pigeons, a cow, two goats, and a cockatoo. “Just like Adam and Eve in Paradise,” remarked Emilie. Then she told them how each morning she used to look after her Persian roses and her pretty azaleas, and gather her vegetables from her own garden, and how her children, immediately on their arrival in Holland, were taken ill and began to cough. “’Tis true, in India they looked rather pale, but there at least they were not obliged to be in constant fear of draughts and open doors.” And she was sorry that, owing to the expense of the voyage, she had had to come away without her baboo, Saripa. She was now in service at Samarang, but she[33]had promised to come back to her “as soon as we are home again,” and she was to bring her over some pretty frocks from Holland.

Emilie listened attentively, and did her best to set her talking; she knew how those Indian reminiscences could draw Jeanne out of her usual quiet reserve. Betsy considered her out of place in company, so when she did ask her, it was always together with her husband, and if possible, with one or two others. The fact was, she thought her a bore, generally ill-dressed, and her conversation flat and uninteresting, but still she could not help occasionally inviting her, more with a kind of pity than anything else.

While Frans Ferelyn was speaking to Henk about his forthcoming promotion to Assistant Resident, and Georges was listening to Jeanne telling him about Frans’s horse one day stepping right into their room to fetch hispisang, Betsy lay back in her chair, thinking how long Eline was. She would have liked to have dined early, so as not to be so very late at the opera, and she inwardly hoped that the Ferelyns would not be indiscreet and stay too long. Amusing they certainly were not, she thought, and she rose, concealing her impatience, to fix a bunch of peacock feathers in one of the vases, a few of the knick-knacks on the little centre table; then with her foot she arranged the tiger-skin rug in front of the flaming hearth, all the time feeling annoyed at Eline’s delay.

At length the door opened and Eline entered, and Jeanne could not help noticing how pretty and elegant she looked in her pink rep silk frock, simple but rich, with a neat little bow here and there on her V-shaped corsage, on the short sleeves, and at the waist. In her light-brown, back-combed hair she wore atouffeof wavy pink feathers with a small aigrette; her nimble feet were encased in small pink shoes; a single string of pearls encircled her throat. In her hands she held her long gloves, her fan of pink ostrich feathers, and herbinocleset in mother-of-pearl.

Ferelyn and de Woude rose, and she shook hands with them, and kissed Emilie and Jeanne, at the same time inquiring about little Dora. She noticed how all, even Henk and Betsy, took stock of her, from head to foot, struck as they were with the rich simplicity of her dress: and when Jeanne spoke to her about her child, she smiled upon the struggling little woman, all conscious of the effect of her brilliant charms.

At table, Eline chatted pleasantly with de Woude, next to whom[34]she was seated. Betsy sat between her two gentlemen guests, Emilie between Henk and Frans, Jeanne between Eline and Henk. In the somewhat sombre dining-room, with its antique furniture, the table glistened with snowy damask, with silver and fine glass, whilst the rays of gas-light glinted on decanters and glasses, making the dark-red or amber-coloured wine appear to quiver under the glow of its radiance. From amid a nest of flowers in a silver basket rose the prickly crown of a splendid pine.

De Woude commenced telling Eline about the soirée at the Verstraetens’, and in glowing terms described how well Miss van Erlevoort had looked her parts, successively as Cleopatra and the sense of Sight. With Emilie, Frans, and Betsy the conversation turned on India. In this Jeanne joined every now and again, but she sat too far away, and her attention was diverted by de Woude’s chattering and the little shrill laugh of Eline, who was engaged in a mild flirtation.

Henk drank his soup and ate his fish in silence, occasionally addressing a short monosyllable to Jeanne or Emilie. And Jeanne grew more and more silent, as much from feeling ill at ease, as from fatigue at her long talk to Emilie after a day full of worries. She felt very much out of place, next to that coquettish couple. Eline in full toilet, de Woude in his evening dress, to which her own little black dress offered a shabby contrast. Still, she was glad she sat next to Henk, and in her ownmalaiseshe was conscious of a vague sort of sympathy for him, who was as much out of place there as herself.

And she could not help comparing herself with Eline and Betsy: she, struggling with her three children and her husband’s slender furlough allowance; Eline and Betsy, on the other hand, unhampered, and ever moving in a whirl of pleasures and excitement. Where was the old, happy friendship that united them in one bond, when all three used to go hand-in-hand to school, Eline with the cape of her mackintosh filled with cherries, and she herself under Betsy’s leadership giving free vent to her childish spirits in naughty answers to the governess? She felt herself repelled by that young wife, with her self-conscious, indifferent manner, and her domineering tone towards her husband; repelled also by that young girl, who appeared to her frivolous and vain in her conversation, full of brilliant nothings; and by that dandy. Eline, especially, she could not understand; in her she found something uncommon, something[35]indefinable and puzzling, and certain attributes which seemed ever at war with one another. Her laughter about nothing at all wearied her, and she wondered how it was that a girl who, as they said, sang so divinely, could have such an unpleasant and affected laugh. Oh! if they would but be silent for a moment!.… And in her heart she longed to be back once more in her humble apartments, with her little Dora. Why had she accepted that invitation? ’Tis true Frans had insisted, now that the child was out of danger, that she should have some change and relaxation, but this dinner-party gave her no relaxation; on the contrary, it made her nervous and confused, and she declined Henk’s offer of sweetbreads and asparagus which he recommended her.

“Did I hear aright, Miss Emilie; is Mr. de Woude a brother of yours?” Frans asked softly. It was the first time that he had met either Emilie or Georges, and he was as much struck by their resemblance as by the contrast between them.

“Certainly,” whispered Emilie; “and I am proud of him too. He is an awful swell, but a nice boy; he is engaged at the Foreign Office. Be careful, don’t you think bad of him!” she laughed, and held up her finger threateningly, as though she read Ferelyn’s thoughts.

“I have scarcely exchanged more than half a dozen words with Mr. de Woude as yet, so I should be sorry to express any opinion about him so soon,” he said, a little alarmed at Emilie’s brusqueness.

“That’s right; most people get a very different opinion of Georges after they have known him some time, from that formed when they first met him. You see, like a loving sister, I take my brother’s part. Just fill my glass, please.”

“Yes; you champion him even before he is attacked!” resumed Ferelyn smiling, as he filled her glass; “but thus much I can see already, that he is a spoilt pet of the ladies, not only of his sisters, but also of Madame van Raat and Miss Vere.”

Betsy joined in the conversation with Eline and Georges, feeling attracted by the latter’s lively manner, as he chatted away, skimming over all sorts of subjects; a conversation without substance, without actual wit, but light as foam, airy as soap-bubbles, sparkling as firework crackers. In such a conversation she was in her element; serious talk, be it ever so spirited, was too burdensome for her; but this tintinnabulation of sparks and foam-flecks,[36]like wine glistening through crystal beakers, charmed her exceedingly. She thought Georges much more amusing than he was yesterday at the Verstraetens’, where he had twice observed that the effect of red light was more flattering than that of green. To-day he did not repeat himself, but rattled on, interrupting her with laughing impudence, and rounding off his sentences with truly French vivacity.

Several times Eline tried to lead Jeanne into that circle of sparkling nothings, but in return Jeanne had only smiled a faint smile, or just answered with a single monosyllable, and at length Eline gave up the attempt to draw her out. The conversation grew more general; Emilie joined in with her easy nonchalance and airy banter; and Frans, in the midst of this charmed circle, could not help throwing in a stray spark of fun, although his eyes frequently rested with an anxious look on his quiet little wife.

To Jeanne it seemed as though the dinner would never come to an end. Although she had not the slightest appetite, she did not like to continue refusing, so she took of the truffled chicken, of thegâteau Henri IV., of the pines, and the choice dessert; her wine, however, she merely touched with her lips. Henk, next her, ate much, and with evident gusto, wondering why she helped herself to such small portions. De Woude ate but little, his continued talking prevented that; but Emilie did her share, and was not sparing with the wine.

It was past eight when they rose, and the ladies retired to the drawing-room. Frans joined Henk and de Woude in a cigar, as Jeanne had expressed her desire to stay another half-hour. Betsy had asked her to do so; she could not let her guests go so soon, and there would be plenty of time for the opera.

“Is Dora often ill, Jeanne?” asked Eline, as with a rustle of her red silk she sat down on the sofa beside her, and took her hand. “Last time I saw her nothing ailed her, and even then I thought she was looking very pale and delicate.”

Jeanne gently withdrew her hand, and felt something like irritation at such a question after the conversation at table. She made but curt reply. But Eline persisted, as though she intended by her present amiability to make good her former neglect; and she managed to impart such a sympathetic tone to her voice, that Jeanne felt quite touched. Jeanne began to express her fears that Doctor Reyer had not examined her little girl as carefully as he[37]might; and Eline, whilst sipping her coffee, listened with evident interest to her maternal plaints. Emilie and Betsy had meanwhile gone into the adjoining boudoir, to look at some fashion-plates.

“Poor girl! what a lot of cares and worries you have, and scarcely three months in Holland yet! You only arrived in September, did you not?” asked Eline, as she placed the little china cup on the round table in front of her.

Jeanne was silent; but all at once she rose up, and in her turn grasping Eline’s slender fingers, she remarked, in her longing for affection—

“Eline, you know I have always been pretty straightforward and frank; may I ask you something?”

“Of course you may,” answered Eline, rather surprised.

“Well, then—why we are no longer to each other what we were formerly, when your parents were still living? It is now four years since I married and went to India, and now that we have returned, now when I see you again, all seems so different between yourself and me. I have no acquaintances, and but few relations in the Hague, and I should so much like to keep my old friends to myself.”

“But, Jeanne——”

“Yes; I know you think it foolish of me to talk like that; but at times I feel so terribly depressed with all that flummery and false excitement, I do so long to unburden myself to some dear true friend—for of course I cannot say all I wish to my husband.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, he has enough of his own worries; he is ill, and—peevish.”

“But, Jeanne, I really don’t see what change has come between us.”

“Perhaps it is only my fancy after all. You see, formerly we used to be oftener together, now you move in such a different circle. You go out a good deal, and I—well, you see, we have become much estranged from one another.”

“But considering that we have not seen each other for four years——”

“But we kept up the correspondence.”

“What value is there in three or four letters in the course of a year? Doesn’t it seem natural that one’s ideas change, as one gets older, and is placed in different circumstances?[38]Yes; I have had my cares and worries too. First it was dear papa, then Aunt Vere, whom I attended in her illness——”

“Are you happy here? can you get along with Betsy?”

“Oh yes, admirably, or I should not stay with her, of course.” Eline, with her usual reserve, deemed it unnecessary to say more about it.

“You see, there is no need for you to trouble yourself about anything,” Jeanne continued; “things come about just as you wish them; you are free and unfettered, and live only for your pleasures—it is all so different with me.”

“But surely all that does not justify you in saying that we have become estranged from each other. In the first place, I think ‘estranged’ is a most unpleasant word, and secondly, it is not true, whatever word you may use.”

“Oh yes.”

“Oh no. I assure you, Jeanne dear, if I can be of service to you in any way, you will find me quite at your disposal. Do you believe me?”

“Yes, I do, and I thank you very much. But, Eline——”

“Well?”

Several questions rose to Jeanne’s lips. She felt eager to ask her to tell her more about herself, to be more free and open with her; but the studied cordiality of the smile that hovered about the delicate lips, and was reflected in those dreamy, almond eyes, effectually silenced her. And she felt a sudden regret at her frankness towards such a coquette of a girl deftly playing with her fan; it was mere waste of time in talking to her. Why had she allowed herself to yield to the first impulse? for they were entirely unsuited to one another.…

“Well?” Eline repeated, at the same time fearing what the next question might be.

“Another time, when we are alone again!” stammered Jeanne, and she rose, dissatisfied, annoyed with herself, feeling ready to burst into tears, after that unsociable dinner and fruitless conversation. Betsy and Emilie were just leaving the boudoir.

Jeanne thought it was time to be going. The three gentlemen came in, and Henk assisted her with her cloak. With a forced cordiality she took her leave, thanking Betsy for her invitation, and again she shivered with annoyance when Eline kissed her cheeks.

“What an awful bore she is, that Jeanne!” said Betsy, after the[39]Ferelyns had gone. “She scarcely opened her mouth. What were you talking about together, Eline?”

“Oh—about Dora, and her husband, nothing else.”

“Poor girl!” said Emilie pityingly. “Come, Georges, just fetch my cloak.”

Mina, however, was just coming in with the ladies’ wraps, and de Woude put on his ulster, whilst Henk rubbed his big hands, well pleased at the prospect of spending the evening at home after a nice dinner. The carriage had already been waiting outside in the thawing snow for the last half-hour, with Dirk the coachman and Herman the footman seated on the box, half smothered in their big fur capes.

“Oh, Frans, never ask me to accept another invitation of the van Raats!” said Jeanne, in an imploring voice, as, on her husband’s arm, she shiveringly went splashing along the muddy streets, while, with her little hands benumbed with cold, she constantly endeavoured to keep her cloak fastened, each time that a gust of wind blew the ends open. “Really I don’t feel at home any more with them, with Betsy and Eline.”

He shrugged his shoulders and said nothing. They plodded on with their mud-bespattered shoes, in the flickering light of the street lanterns, whose dull rays were reflected with monotonous regularity in the numerous puddles they had to pass.

The third act ofLe Tribut de Zamorahad just commenced, when Betsy, Emilie, Eline, and Georges entered their box. There was a full house, and their arrival broke in upon the silence that prevailed in the listening auditorium; there was a rustling of silk and satin; a hundred eyes and opera-glasses were directed to their box, and here and there the question was whispered, “Who are they?”

Emilie and Eline sat down in front, Betsy and Georges behind them, while Eline laid down her fan and her pearl-rimmedbinocle. Then she slowly commenced to untie her white plush, red satin-lined cloak, and as a cloud of pink and white it glided from her shoulders, and de Woude folded it over the back of her fauteuil. And in the triumph of her beauty it did her good to see how she was stared at and admired.

“What a number of people there are here this evening! we are[40]fortunate,” whispered Emilie. “There’s nothing, I think, so wretched as to see an empty house.”

“You are right!” said Betsy. “Look, there are the Eekhofs, Ange and Léonie, with their mamma. They were at the Verstraetens’ too yesterday; next week they are giving asoirée dansante.” And she nodded to the girls.

“The new baritone from Brussels, Théo Fabrice, sings this evening,” said de Woude to Eline. “You know that since the débuts commenced, two have been dismissed; he makes the third.”

“How terribly long those débuts are this winter!” remarked Eline, in an indifferent tone.

“The tenor robusto was all right from the first, but they say Fabrice is very good too. Look, there he comes.”

The chorus of Ben-Saïd’s odalisques was ended, and the Moorish sovereign entered his palace, leading Xaïma by the hand. But Eline paid little attention; she glanced round the theatre, and gave a friendly nod of recognition as her eyes met those of some acquaintance, and she did not cast another glance in the direction of the stage until Ben-Saïd and his slave were seated under the canopy, and the ballet commenced. That attracted her, and her eyes followed thedanseuses, as, gliding along on the tips of their toes, they ranged themselves in groups beneath the Moorish arches, and under the uplifted veils and fans of silver fringe, their forms encased in corsages of glossy satin, and all a-glitter with the spangles on their gauze-like frocks.

“A pretty ballet!” said Emilie, yawning behind her fan, and she leaned back cosily in her fauteuil, somewhat under the generous influence of her choice dinner.

Eline nodded her head, and while at the back of her she could hear Betsy and Georges whispering together, she still followed the clever gyrations of thepremière danseuse, as with graceful movements she hovered beneath the waving fans of the dancers on the tips of her pointed, satin-clad feet, a dazzling aigrette of diamonds in her hair.

With her dreamy, idealistic nature, Eline was passionately fond of the opera, not only because it afforded her the opportunity of being the object of general admiration, not only because of the music, or that she was anxious to hear one or another aria sung by some celebratedprima donna, but also because of the intricate, romantic-coloured plot, the somewhat rudely-painted melodramatic[41]effects, full of hatred and love and revenge, the conventionality of which did not trouble her, and in which she did not even look for any truth. There was no need for her to forget for one moment that they were but actors and actresses whom she saw before her, and not knights and noble ladies; that she was seated in a crowded, brilliantly illumined theatre, looking at painted scenes, and listening to the harmony of a visible orchestra, and not living with hero and heroine through some more or less poetic period of the middle ages; but none the less did she enjoy herself, if the actors did not sing too badly, nor play with too much prosy conventionality.

Betsy, on the other hand, went to the opera with the object only of seeing and being seen; Eline’s intense enjoyment she would have voted childish in the extreme, but Eline enjoyed in secret, for she suspected Betsy’s opinion, and so left her sister in the belief that she, like herself, found no pleasure in the theatre but to see and to be seen by friends and acquaintances.

The ballet was at an end. Ben-Saïd and Xaïma descended from their throne, and he sang the recitative—

“Je m’efforce en vain de te plaire!”

“Je m’efforce en vain de te plaire!”

and then the air:

“O Xaïma, daigne m’entendre!Mon âme est à toi sans retour!”

“O Xaïma, daigne m’entendre!

Mon âme est à toi sans retour!”

The new baritone’s voice was full and sonorous, more like that of a basso cantante, and in his song he enveloped it as with a veil of melancholy.

But in his rich Moorish dress he had a heavy appearance; and neither in his attitude nor in his acting did he succeed in imparting even the merest semblance of amorous homage, and he looked at theprima donna, in her dress of cloth of silver, and her long pearl-clad fair hair, with more of threatening rage in his glance than with the humility of a tender devotion.

Eline was not insensible to the shortcomings in his acting; but still, the very contrast between the expression of haughty superiority in his demeanour and the tone of humility in his voice pleased her. She followed every note of the song, and when at the sudden fortissimo of Ben-Saïd’s metallic organ, the actress appeared to tremble with terror, Eline asked herself the question—

“Why is she so frightened, I wonder?—what is the matter? He does not look so bad.”[42]

And during the applause that followed the song she glanced round the theatre, when by accident her eye fell upon a group of gentlemen standing just at the entrance to the stalls. She noticed how they stared at her box, and with her graceful languor she was about to draw back a little, when she saw one of them look at her with a smile of recognition. For a moment she looked at him with wide-opened eyes, and in her surprise did not return the salutation, but with a quick movement she turned round, laid her hand on Betsy’s shoulder, and whispered in her ear—

“Just look, Betsy; do you see who is standing there?”

“Where? who?”

“There, in the stalls—Vincent—don’t you see?”

“Vincent!” Betsy repeated, amazed in her turn. “So it is, Vincent!”

They both nodded to Vincent, who laughingly fixed them with his glass, upon which Eline hid her face coquettishly behind her fan.

“Who is it? who is Vincent?” asked Emilie and Georges.

“Vincent Vere, a first cousin,” Betsy answered. “Oh, such a silly boy; nobody ever knows where he is; sometimes you don’t see him for months at a time, then all at once he stands before you again. I had no idea at all that he was at the Hague. Eline, for gracious sake, don’t fidget so with that fan.”

“I don’t want him to stare at me,” said Eline; and with a graceful turn of her shapely arm she held her fan before her face.

“When did you see your cousin last, Madame van Raat?” asked Georges.

“Oh, more than eighteen months ago. I think he was going to London, where he was to be a reporter on a paper, or something of that sort. Fancy, they say he was in the Foreign Legion in Algeria for some time, but I don’t believe it. He has been everywhere, and he never has asou.”

“Yes; now I remember, I have seen him before,” said Emilie, with a yawn. “A curious customer.”

“Yes, that he is. But you see here, at the Hague, where he has relations, he knows he must be on his best behaviour, so we tolerate his presence.”

“Yes,” remarked Emilie, very philosophically, “you generally find a black sheep like that in every family.”[43]

Eline smiled, and slowly closed her fan.

The third act came to an end without her understanding much about the scena withManoël, but the grand duo between Hermosa and Xaïma afforded her a clue: it was the mutual recognition of mother and daughter after the air—

“Debout, enfants d’Ibérie!”

“Debout, enfants d’Ibérie!”

and the curtain fell amid thunders of applause, and the two actresses were called to the front, and each received her share of bouquets.

“Mr. de Woude, do tell me what the plot is really about?” asked Eline, turning to Georges. “Je n’y vois pas encore clair.”

But Betsy proposed to go into thefoyer, and so they rose and left their box. In thefoyer, seated on a divan, Georges related to her the plot of the opera, to which Eline listened with more attention than she cared to show. Now she knew why Xaïma shuddered in Ben-Saïd’s presence, and she would have liked to see the auction of maidens in the first act, and the sale of Xaïma as slave in the second.

All at once they observed Vincent, who was coming up the steps of thefoyer, and approaching them free and unconcerned, as though he had seen his cousins but yesterday.

“Hallo, Vincent, have you dropped from the clouds again?” exclaimed Eline.

“Hallo, Eline; hallo Betsy! charmed to see you once more. Miss van Bergh and Woude, I think?” and he shook hands with them.

“I admire your memory; I had forgotten you,” answered Emilie.

Betsy introduced them: “Mr. de Woude van Bergh, Mr. Vere.”

“Very pleased. And how are you?”

“A little astonished,” laughed Eline. “I dare say you are off again to-morrow, aren’t you? To Constantinople, or St. Petersburg, or somewhere, I suppose.”

He looked at her, with a smile in his pale blue eyes, like faded china, behind theirpince-nez. His features were handsome and regular, rather too handsome for a man, with their finely-chiselled Grecian nose, the small mouth, about which there generally lurked somewhat between a sneer and an audacious smile, lightly shaded by the thin, fair moustache; but the charm of the handsome face was[44]completely spoilt by the unhealthy yellowish tint, and the expression of lassitude that was suffused over it. Of slender form and delicate proportions, he looked tasteful in his dark, plain clothes, whilst none could fail to note the smallness of his feet, and the finely-shaped hand, with its slender, white fingers, the hand of an artist, and which reminded Eline very much of her dead father. He sat down beside them, and in a languid voice told Eline that he had arrived at the Hague the previous day, on a business matter. His last employment had been at Malaga, in a wine business; before that he had been engaged in an insurance office in Brussels; previous to that he had for some time been a partner in a carpet manufactory in Smyrna, but the firm failed. Nothing would do. Now he was tired of all that rushing about; he had given proof enough of energy and perseverance, but fate was against him; whatever his hands touched seemed to bring him ill-luck. He expected, however, to obtain a situation in a chemical manufactory in Java, but he must first have some more information. To-morrow morning he hoped to call on van Raat, whom he wanted to see. Upon this Betsy asked whether he was coming to coffee, as van Raat was never at home in the morning, only in the afternoon. He gladly accepted the invitation, and then commenced talking about the opera.

“Fabrice? oh, that is the baritone, is it not? Yes; a nice voice, but an ugly, fat customer.”

“Do you think so? No; I think he shows off very well on the stage,” observed Emilie.

“No, Miss de Woude, you don’t mean that.”

Emilie abided by her opinion, and Eline laughed at their disagreement. The tinkling of the bell warned them that the fourth act was about to commence, and Vincent took his leave, although Georges politely offered him his seat in the box.

“No; thank you very much; I don’t want to rob you of your place, I am comfortable enough in the stall.Au revoir. To-morrow then, eh? Adieu, Betsy, Eline;au plaisir, Miss de Woude; good evening, Mr. de Woude.”

He bowed, pressed Georges’ hand, and slowly went away, lightly swinging his bamboo walking-stick in his hands.

“A strange boy!” said Eline, shaking her head.

“I am continually in fear that he will do something to scandalize us,” Betsy whispered into Emilie’s ears; “but up to now he has[45]kept himself quiet enough. Besides, you see I want to be nice and friendly to him, so as not to make him an enemy. I am a little afraid of him, one never can tell what a fellow like that may do, you see.”

“I can’t say he is a prime favourite of mine,” said Emilie, and they rose to return to their seats.

“Come, Emmie, you only say so because he did not say any nice things about Fabrice,” Georges chimed in, in a teasing voice.

Emilie shrugged her shoulders, and they passed into the vestibule.

“Oh, there is no fifth act! I thought there were five acts,” said Eline, with some disappointment, to de Woude, who told her the end of the plot.

The fourth act commenced, and Eline felt much interested in the moonlit garden scene, in Manoël’s cavatina, in his duet with Xaïma, and in the trio with Hermosa; but her interest grew when the Moorish monarch appeared at the gates of his palace, and commanded his guard to seize Manoël, whilst, deaf to his entreaties, he dragged Xaïma away with him, in a sudden burst of passion. The last scene in the opera, where Ben-Saïd is murdered by the mother, who comes to her child’s rescue, affected her much more than she would have cared to confess. In his scenas with the two female characters, the new baritone played with an amount of fire and power which lent the melodrama a glow of poetic truth, and when, fatally wounded, he sank down on the steps of the pavilion, Eline fixed her glasses, and gazed at his dark face, with the black beard and drooping eyes.

The curtain fell, but the four actors were re-called, and Eline saw him once more, bowing to the audience with a calm, indifferent expression, in strong contrast to the beaming smiles of the tenor, the contralto, and the soprano.

The audience rose, the doors of the boxes opened. Georges assisted the ladies with their wraps, and they proceeded through the corridor, and down the steps, until they reached the glass doors, where they waited until their carriage was announced.

“I shouldn’t think that theTributis one of Gounod’s best operas; do you, Eline?” asked Emilie, when they were in their carriage. “It is not to be compared withFaustorRomeo and Juliette.”[46]

“I don’t think so either,” Eline answered cautiously, afraid to show how much she was affected; “but it is so difficult to judge music on hearing it for the first time. I thought some of the melodies very pretty. But then, you must bear in mind that we only saw half of it.”

“Yes; it’s very nice just to go and see a couple of acts; but to have to sit out a whole opera I think an awful bore, I must admit,” said Betsy yawning.

And Georges hummed the refrain—

“Debout, enfants d’Ibérie.”

“Debout, enfants d’Ibérie.”

The de Woudes were taken home first to the Noordeinde, and Betsy and Eline rode on, snugly ensconced in the satin cushions of the landau, to the Nassauplein. They spoke a little about Vincent, and then both were silent, and Eline let her mind wander musingly to the waltz inMireille, to her dispute with Betsy that morning, to the group of the Five Senses, to Madame van Raat and de Woude, to her pink dress, and Ben-Saïd.

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