Eline Vere

XII

It had struck Frédérique during the New Year’s Eve supper party at the Van Raats’ that Otto had talked and laughed a good deal with Eline; not remarkably so, but more than he usually did with the young ladies of their acquaintance. She had been wondering about this for several days, but the opportunity to ask her brother the question that was foremost in her mind never seemed to arise. She was brusque towards Etienne when he wanted to share a joke with her, had little patience for games with the children, and was pronounced by Lili, Marie and Paul to have grown altogether less good-humoured of late.

It was one of their evenings at home; only Etienne had gone out with some friends. The youngsters were in bed, and Madame van Erlevoort sat with Mathilda in the drawing room by the tea table, Madame with a book and Mathilda with some needlework. Frédérique came in, smiling, then went up to her mother and lovingly smoothed the grey hair at her temples.

‘Freddie, would you mind ringing for Willem?’ asked Mathilda. ‘Otto said he would like a cup of tea in his room; he’s doing some work and won’t be down until later.’

‘Why don’t you just pour him a cup and I’ll take it up to him,’ she replied.

Mathilda poured the tea, and as Frédérique climbed the stairs carrying the cup she thought this might be a good time to put her question, although she would prefer it if he started a conversation himself.

She entered Otto’s room and found him wandering about with a very distracted air, his head bowed and his hands clasped behind his back, in an attitude quite contrary to his customary briskness.

‘Well now, what kindness from my little sister!’ he said jovially, taking the cup from her. ‘It will taste ten times the better for being served by such pretty hands.’

‘Fie, Otto!’ cried Frédérique. ‘How could you be so banal! Don’t tell me you can’t come up with a more original compliment!’

She continued to smile at him, but did not catch his reply as she was too busy pondering how best to phrase her question. After all, he might take it amiss. Try as she might, she could not think of any easy, light-hearted way of introducing the subject, and to her own surprise she broke out with:

‘Otto, I. . I have something to say to you, something to confess.’

‘A sin?’

‘No, not a sin, at least I don’t think so; an indiscretion, maybe, which I committed against you by mistake. But first you must say you’ll forgive me.’

‘Without knowing what for?’

‘Well, it wasn’t a deliberate indiscretion; besides, I wasn’t as indiscreet as I would have liked to be, so you could even say I deserve a reward! But really, all I’m asking is that you forgive me.’

‘All right then, I shall be merciful. Tell me all about it.’

‘Promise you won’t be angry?’

‘I promise. Go on, out with it.’

‘It’s just that, quite by accident, I happened to find out who it was. . you know, on St Nicholas’ Eve. .’

He paled a little, observing her intently, and she was keenly aware that he hung on every word she uttered.

‘So I know who sent Eline that fan. . the Bucchi fan. .’

She stood before him with the air of a guilt-ridden child, mortified by her confession, while he fixed her with a wide-eyed, anxious stare.

‘You found out?’ he stammered.

She nodded.

‘Oh please, don’t be angry,’ she begged. ‘I couldn’t help it, honestly. I went to your room one morning because I needed to borrow your sealing wax. You never forbade me to go into your room, did you? I knocked, but you weren’t there so I went in, and as I was hunting for the wax on your desk I happened to notice the leather case lying in one of the compartments, and so I recognised it straight away when I saw it again in the evening. At first I thought it might be something for me, and I was dying to take a peek inside — you know how inquisitive I am — but I didn’t because I felt bad enough having discovered your gift. Oh dear, I’m afraid you are angry with me, but I couldn’t help it, could I?’

‘Angry? But my dear girl, there is nothing to be angry about!’ he replied with forced levity. ‘It was a surprise gift, and surprises don’t last for ever, do they? But I hope you haven’t mentioned it to Eline.’

‘Oh no, of course not.’

‘Well, what of it then? There’s no harm done,’ he said carelessly. ‘Or are you sorry the fan was not meant for you?’

She gave a disdainful shrug.

‘I’m surprised you should think me so childish. Only—’

‘Now what?’

She lifted her clear, guileless eyes to him, and he felt a slight pang of unease under her scrutiny.

‘The thing is, I can’t imagine any young man giving a such a beautiful present to a girl unless he’s extremely fond of her.’

‘Oh, but I am very fond of Eline, so why shouldn’t I give her something for St Nicholas?’

‘No, Otto, you’re not being frank with me!’ she said impatiently, drawing him to the sofa. ‘Come and sit down: I want you to listen a moment. A sensible, level-headed fellow like you doesn’t give a girl a fan costing goodness knows how much unless he’s in love with her, whatever you say. You never gave Eline anything before, and you didn’t give Lili or Marie any presents this year either. So you see, I can tell that there’s more to it!’ She broke off suddenly and put her hands on his shoulders.

‘Or do you think me too forward? Perhaps you’d rather not talk about it. .’ she faltered.

‘On the contrary, my dear Freddie,’ he said mildly, drawing her towards him on the sofa. ‘I’m quite happy to talk to you about Eline. Why wouldn’t I be? But suppose I did care very much for Eline, would you still think it foolish and extravagant of me. .?’

‘So it’s true then — you love Eline?’

‘You look shocked,’ he said, smiling.

‘Oh, but Eline isn’t the right kind of girl for you at all!’ she cried with agitation. ‘No, Otto, really, Elly doesn’t deserve you and she never will. I know she’s beautiful and charming, but there’s something about her that, well, that I find unsympathetic. Seriously, though, I think you would do better to put her out of your mind. I don’t believe you and she could ever be happy together. You’re so good and kind, and if you really fell deeply in love with her you’d want to surrender yourself body and soul, you’d want to do everything for her, and in return she’d give you not one tenth of what you gave her. She doesn’t have a heart, all she has is egotism, stone-cold egotism.’

‘But Freddie, Freddie,’ he protested, ‘how you rush on! What makes you think that you have sufficient experience of human nature to know exactly what Eline is like?’

She flinched at the way he pronounced Eline’s name, lingeringly, as if he were savouring it.

‘Human nature? I know nothing about human nature, all I know is what my feelings tell me, which is that Eline cares about no one but herself, that she’s incapable of making the slightest sacrifice for anyone. I feel — no, more than that: I am utterly convinced that marrying Eline would not make you happy in the long run. She might love you for a while, but it would still be out of egotism, sheer egotism.’

‘How harsh you are, Freddie!’ he murmured reproachfully. ‘It’s very kind of you to have my interests at heart like this, but you’re very hard on Eline. Very hard. I don’t believe you know her at all, really. Personally I’m sure she’s the kind of girl who would make every conceivable sacrifice for the sake of the person she loved.’

‘You say that I don’t really know her, but how well do you know her? You only see her when she’s all smiles and sweetness.’

‘How can you blame her for being charming rather than impolite?’

Frédérique sighed.

‘Oh, Otto, I don’t know what I think, all I know is what my feelings tell me: that you’ll never be happy with her,’ she said with full assurance.

He took her hand, smiling.

‘Why, you talk as if we were to be married tomorrow.’

‘Oh please tell me, then — don’t think I’m prying — you haven’t already proposed to her, have you?’

He looked at her, still smiling, and slowly shook his head.

‘In that case, I wish you’d think it over carefully. Just don’t get carried away all of a sudden,’

She leant her head on his shoulder, tears rising to her eyes.

‘You’re a dear, Freddie, but honestly—’

‘You must think it ridiculous of me to try and tell you what to do!’

‘Not at all. On the contrary, I appreciate your concern very, very much. Still, you shouldn’t judge someone on the basis of a mere feeling, a lack of sympathy shall we say — which is quite baseless, anyway. So, little sister, be a good girl and take my advice, and I shan’t think you in the least ridiculous.’

She hid her face in his shoulder and he kissed her several times on the forehead.

‘You will forgive me, won’t you? It was tactless of me, I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.’

‘But I love you most of all for being honest and forthright with me, and I’m counting on you to stay that way in future.’

‘Then you’ll only think me impolite and not at all charming, I’m sure,’ she said tartly.

‘Now you’re being a bit spiteful. You’re not jealous of Eline, are you?’

‘Yes I am,’ she replied gruffly.

‘On account of the fan, I take it?’ he laughed.

‘Oh, you do tease me so!’ she wailed. ‘No, not because of that — I have a dozen fans already — but because you’ve gone and fallen in love with her.’

‘Let’s make a pact, then. You go and look for a nice girl who would make me a suitable consort, someone you aren’t jealous of and who you like, and when you’ve found her, and if I like her too, I’ll never think of Eline again. What do you say?’

She gave no answer and stood up, rubbing the tears from her eyes. She felt hurt by his flippant tone; clearly he hadn’t taken her seriously at all. She approached the table, pointed to the cup of tea, and said:

‘Your tea’s getting cold, Otto; I’d drink it now if I were you.’

Before he could respond she slipped away, full of contradictory feelings — on the one hand relieved to have spoken her mind and glad to have gained Otto’s confidence, on the other wondering whether she would not have done better to hold her tongue.

. .

For the past five mornings Eline had not seen Fabrice on her walk, and the disappointment soured her entire day. At first she was quiet, downcast and irritable, but soon she grew so morose that she lost all desire to sing, to the point where she cancelled her appointment with Roberts, her music teacher, as well as her Thursday afternoon singing session with Paul van Raat. Returning from her walk one morning at about half-past ten in pensive mood, she dropped onto her couch and, leaning back, unfastened her cloak with listless fingers. Ben’s company was too much for her, and she sent him off to the nursery forthwith. Her large hazel eyes, moist and glistening with unfulfilled longing, roamed idly about the room, lingering on the prints along the walls, the potted palms, the Canova figurines. She felt enveloped in a fog of despondency, and asked herself what the purpose of her life could be if all happiness were denied to her. To give her amorphous sorrow some kind of shape, she cast around for grievances and piled them up: what she needed was love, and there she was, with no one to love her. She was finding it increasingly difficult to get along with Betsy; they quarrelled frequently, and most of the time it wasn’t even her fault. Then there was Frédérique, who was noticeably cool towards her, for what reason she hadn’t the faintest idea, and although Madame van Raat seemed as fond of her as ever, Eline herself had not lately been minded to display the winsome, respectful openness that had endeared her to the old lady. There was no point to her life, the way she drifted aimlessly from one day to the next, and she yearned for some vague ideal, a dream without a particular contour but replete with figments of passion and love ranging from the exalted to the mundane, from the heights of idyllic romance to the simple, quiet joys of home and hearth.

She sighed, raising her hand to the overhanging aralia, and almost crushed the leaf between her nervous fingers as she tried to force her reveries to take a more determinate form. All at once, through an abrupt twist of her fancy, she saw herself with Fabrice, on stage, in a large city. They loved one another, they were famous, they were being deluged with wreaths and bouquets, and in her mind’s eye rose the entire vision as it had risen that time when she and Paul were singing those love duets.

But she had not seen Fabrice for such a long time that her fantasy, being deprived of fresh impressions, foundered; the vision dissipated, leaving her in a grey, sombre frame of mind that appeared to reflect the sky outside, heavy with dark rain clouds. She felt hot tears brimming over her lashes, then a keen wish for Henk’s company. At least with him she could pour out her misery; he was so devoted to her, so good at comforting her in his own kindly, gauche way — the sound of his voice alone, so deep and warm, was as balm to her soul.

She wept quietly and thought how disagreeable it was that she and Betsy were on such bad terms. The following day was her, Eline’s, birthday. Would Betsy take the first step towards a reconciliation, or was she herself really to blame for their latest tiff? Had she felt sure of her sister’s reaction, she would gladly have offered to make peace with her, or even apologise if necessary, but as it was she feared Betsy’s coolness. So she would wait; yes, she would wait.

The afternoon seemed interminable, the hours dragged on as though weighed down by her melancholy. Then it was time to dress for dinner with the Hijdrechts, although she had not the slightest expectation of finding any amusement there. She wished she could ask Betsy to say that she was unwell and unable to join them, but no, that wouldn’t do. Unlike the Verstraetens, the Hijdrechts might well be piqued by her failure to attend, and besides, Betsy might refuse point-blank to do as she asked. So she went, having worked herself up into a spirit of coquettish gaiety by which one and all were taken in, so adept was she at concealing her emotions.

. .

The following day was January 20th and Eline’s birthday. She stayed in bed longer than usual, snuggled down among the warm blankets in the soft red glow of the curtains, without the least inclination to rise, not even to go for her morning walk. She wouldn’t see him anyway, even if she did go out — she could feel it in her bones. Superstitious fancies began to crowd her mind, and she wagered that if Mina came to prepare her washstand before the clock struck nine — it was now close upon the hour — she would see Fabrice in the Wood tomorrow. But Mina came after nine o’clock, and when she left again after setting out the toiletries Eline had another fancy: she would see Fabrice if she had left her bracelets on the large coaster last night, but if she had left them on one of the small coasters she would not. She sat up, swept aside the red damask bed-curtain and peered at her dressing table. There lay the bracelets, on the large coaster! With a smile, she subsided on to her pillows once more.

It was time to get up, she thought, but why not stay abed in the cosy warmth, since she was so downhearted, why start a new day? In a while her friends would come to congratulate her, she would have to turn on her smiles and receive their birthday gifts with ecstatic exclamations, but her humour was by no means amenable and she had no desire to see anyone.

The clock struck half-past ten, and she thought Betsy was bound to come up before long, with a few friendly words to make up the quarrel. She listened for her sister’s tread on the stairs, but heard nothing, and at last, unnerved by her own lassitude, she got out of bed and slowly proceeded to dress.

She saw her face in the glass and noticed the sad look in her eyes and the hint of bitterness about her lips, and thought herself almost ugly today. But what of it? For whose sake should she be beautiful, given that no one loved her with anything resembling the passion she knew her heart capable of?

When she was finally dressed she had qualms. If she went downstairs now, how should she approach Betsy? Should she take a passive attitude? Why didn’t Betsy meet her halfway? Why did she continue to bear a grudge for so long, about such a trifling matter?

The idea of seeing Betsy in the breakfast room filled her with trepidation, and she stepped into her boudoir, where the stove was already lit and burning brightly. She slumped onto her couch, feeling bereft and abandoned. Why, oh why did she live?

She sank deeper and deeper into despondency, when relief came at last with the sound of Henk and Ben climbing the stairs. Presently they were on the landing, she could hear their voices, then there was a loud banging on her door.

‘Where are you, Eline dear, still in bed?’ cried Henk.

‘No, I’m here, in my boudoir!’ she answered, raising her voice slightly.

The door opened to reveal Henk, shaking his head from side to side, while Ben, clutching a posy in his small fist, wriggled his way in past his father’s riding boots.

‘Many happy returns, Auntie! Here, this is from Ben!’ recited the well-rehearsed little fellow as he thrust the flowers in her lap.

‘My dear girl, how could you stay cooped up in your rooms for so long? You’re usually back from your walk at this hour!’ exclaimed Henk.

She made no comment, merely hugged the child, fighting back her tears.

‘Put them in some water, Ben, there’s a good boy; tepid water is best. Thank you, thank you, poppet. Here then, take the vase, careful now.’

Ben, docile as ever, went off with the vase, squeezing past his father’s legs again. Eline fell back against the cushions, giving her brother-in-law a wan smile.

‘I don’t feel at all well this morning,’ she said listlessly. Henk approached her with his hands on his back.

‘What, not well on your birthday?’ he asked cheerily. ‘Come, come, it’s time you went downstairs, you lazy girl, but let me give you a big kiss first! Happy birthday, dear Eline!’ He pressed his lips to each cheek in turn, while she lay still, smiling weakly.

‘And here’s a little something for you, Elly. I hope you will like it,’ he continued, handing her a small box.

She gave a light laugh.

‘How funny that you should come and bring me my present up here! Thank you, Henk, thank you very much.’

She opened the box and saw a hairpin in the shape of a diamond spider.

‘But Henk!’ she cried. ‘How you spoil me! I can remember seeing it in the window at Van Kempen’s a while ago, and I know I mentioned liking it very much. I shall have to be more careful about what I say in future, I do believe,’ she said, with a touch of embarrassment. She was thinking of her Bucchi fan.

‘Betsy made a mental note of it at the time,’ he responded. ‘We’re both very happy to give you something you like.’

Hearing this she almost felt annoyed at their gift, but flung her arms around his neck and kissed him anyway.

‘Really, you do spoil me!’ she faltered.

‘Oh, fiddlesticks!’ he burst out. ‘But now I must go for my canter. And you must come downstairs, my dear, or else I shall carry you down myself.’

‘No, no, that you shall not!’

‘All right then, but be quick, or else—’

‘Yes, yes, I’ll be down in a moment. But no nonsense, Henk, do you hear?’ she said firmly and with some alarm, for she could see a frolicsome intention on his part and was in no mood for banter.

He reassured her, laughing, and it was on the tip of his tongue to suggest that she make peace with his wife, but he could not think of a tactful way of raising the subject. She might fly into a rage, and besides, it would all sort itself out soon enough, he reasoned, and left the room.

Reluctantly, Eline rose from the couch, thinking that Betsy must have instructed Henk to take the present upstairs so as not to have to give it to her herself. She thought how awkward it was that it now fell to her to take the first step towards a reconciliation. It was a blow to her pride. It would look as if she was so pleased with their gift that all bad feelings were instantly forgotten. How tiresome this was, but still: she could hardly just say good morning and start eating her breakfast without referring to the gift at all. She regretted not having followed her instinct yesterday to attempt appeasement. Oh, how stupid it all was, their falling out like this, and only because of those dogs!

In an impulse of vanity she held the diamond spider this way and that to her hair, then to her neck. .

. .

Before going downstairs Eline opened a compartment of her writing table. With a secretive smile she removed the album and opened it. It contained nothing but portraits of Fabrice in various poses and costumes, which she had been purchasing over a period of time with much discretion and nervousness, now in one shop, then in another, never returning to the same one in case the shopkeeper might guess what was on her mind. On one occasion, when she was in Amsterdam for the day to visit some friends, she had been particularly daring: she had swept into a bookshop with an air of haughty indifference and had bought seven at once. No one there knew who she was, anyway, and she vowed never to set foot in that shop again for as long as she lived.

Her eyes shone with furtive delight as she surveyed her collection; on every page his swarthy features with the black beard met her gaze, and on some his expression was exactly the same as when she saw him in the Wood, wearing his soft felt hat and his muffler. Ah, there it was, that rush of emotion incomparably more intense than admiration, the sheer impropriety of which for a young lady of her station sent a little shiver down her spine. She pressed her lips to his beloved likeness; yes, she could feel it now, the passion that replenished her mind with bliss, the love for which she would make any sacrifice that might be demanded of her. . by him.

A romantic vision fired her imagination, now that her spirits had lifted somewhat thanks to Henk’s cheering words, and in the heat of her fantasy she saw herself with Fabrice, waiting for their train with trepidation, fearful of being pursued.

‘Auntie, Auntie! Let me in!’ cried Ben from the landing.

She slipped the album out of sight and opened the door. In came Ben, hugging the water-filled vase to his chest.

‘Well done, you clever boy!’ said Eline. ‘And not a drop spilled on the stairs?’

He shook his head from side to side, proud of his achievement, for which he had Mina to thank. He began to put the flowers in the vase, and it crossed her mind that the initiative for the little boy’s gift had doubtless come from Betsy, too. What a nuisance all this was.

But she braced herself and proceeded down the stairs with Ben. Betsy was in the dining room, issuing instructions to Grete.

‘Good morning, Betsy,’ said Eline.

‘Good morning, Eline, many happy returns of the day!’ said Betsy, without expression.

Eline did not wish to say any more in the presence of a servant, and told Grete she could clear away.

‘I shan’t be having any breakfast today,’ she said, and to hide her unease she turned to Ben and tried to make him laugh.

Betsy remained with her back to her, poring over the bills and receipts on her writing table with the air of a dutiful housewife.

Several seconds of awkward silence ensued, broken by Betsy scolding Ben for being such a dawdler and sending him off to the nursery, after which Eline stood up. She crossed the room and put her hands on her sister’s shoulders.

‘Betsy—’ she began.

She could not bring herself to say anything yet about the gift, the diamond spider.

‘Betsy dear, wouldn’t it be better if. .? I can’t tell you how sorry I am that we should be so. . oh please don’t be angry with me any more, it was wrong of me.’

‘Well, Eline, I am glad to hear you admit it. And I’m not angry with you.’

‘Are we friends again then?’

‘Oh, of course. You know there’s nothing I dislike more than unpleasantness. I am all for peace. So let’s say no more about it, shall we?’

The coldness of her tone was like ice to Eline, but she bent over to give Betsy a kiss.

‘No truly, I am sorry; of course I had no right to go against your wishes in your own house. I do apologise.’

There was something else she wanted to say, but she could not find the words, and again touched her lips to her sister’s brow, at which Betsy pushed her lightly aside.

‘All right then; let’s drop the subject. I’m not angry any more. But please stop kissing me, you know I don’t like it.’

. .

Eline spent her birthday in a sombre frame of mind. The reconciliation with Betsy had not gone as she would have wished; she had expected there to be more affection, a sisterly embrace, shared tears perhaps, after which they would have carried on in cordial companionship for a long period of time. But the reality had been, on Betsy’s side, nothing but icy condescension, which had made her own contribution appear rather feeble. She knew herself to be the weaker of the two, and yet she could not resist taking a stand against Betsy from time to time, but with each act of defiance, even if it resulted in temporary victory, she felt increasingly powerless to continue her struggle. The odds were against her, and their latest disagreement was yet another proof of the fickleness of her pride, which had let her down once more, casting a pall of doom over all her thoughts.

Nonetheless, she kept up an appearance of gaiety throughout the afternoon, in the cheer of friends as they came to convey their good wishes. But Madame van Raat, in whose pensive, pale-blue eyes she would have been so glad to detect a ray of sympathy, had sent a message through Paul saying she was indisposed. This was a great disappointment to Eline, which only deepened when Madame van Erlevoort and Mathilda arrived with the news that Freddie would not be calling because she had caught a cold, and again Eline wondered why Frédérique had taken against her. Jeanne Ferelijn spoke at length of her domestic troubles, and it required all the sweet civility that Eline could muster not to betray her impatience. Not only had she been abandoned by Madame van Raat, also Cateau van der Stoor, another visitor she would have liked to receive, failed to put in an appearance. Worse, she appeared to have forgotten all about the birthday as she hadn’t even sent a message. Fortunately Emilie de Woude did come, displaying her curiously irrepressible good humour. Her ebullience infused a touch of levity into the formal atmosphere of the salons, where the gas was not yet lit, and where the brightness of the gilded panelling, the sheen of the Havana-brown satin cushions, the burnished-gold plush of the curtains seemed to dissolve into the deepening shadows.

Emilie demanded to see Eline’s presents, and was directed to a side table bearing diverse pretty trifles arrayed about a large basket filled with fruit and flowers.

‘What a splendid basket!’ cried Emilie. ‘Peaches, grapes, roses, how lovely! From whom, Elly?’

‘From Vincent. Charming, is it not?’

‘I wish I had such charming cousins!’

‘Hush,’ whispered Eline.

Vincent had just entered, and his eyes, slightly narrowed, went in search of the hostess. Betsy, ever on her guard with their cousin, received him with her customary display of careful cordiality. Eline thanked him for his gift, catching his hands in hers.

He apologised for arriving so late; it was already a quarter past five, and the Verstraetens and the others began to take their leave in the gathering dusk, after which Gerard came in to light the gas, close the shutters and draw the curtains.

‘Vincent, you will stay to dinner, won’t you?’ asked Betsy.

Betsy did not fancy the prospect of a dull evening at home. They had not been invited anywhere, and besides, she had not thought it right to make plans to go out on her sister’s birthday while they were not on speaking terms. With Vincent being a close kinsman, she could easily extend an informal invitation at short notice. He had conversation when in good humour, and at least there would be a fresh face at the dinner table.

Vincent accepted the invitation with a laconic ‘Oh, with pleasure.’ Henk, having declared his intention to take a walk, donned only his hat and hurriedly left the house, his collar turned up and his hands in his pockets. Anna, the nursemaid, came to fetch Ben, whose chin was smeared with jelly and cream after the birthday feast. Betsy too disappeared upstairs, leaving Eline and Vincent alone in the spacious salon, now bright with gas light.

‘Let’s go and sit over there,’ said Eline, and Vincent followed her into the violet anteroom, where the small crystal chandelier diffused a soft glow that invited intimacy and confidences. To Vincent, however, the room merely breathed an atmosphere of relaxed wellbeing, and with a sigh he collapsed onto the sofa. He proceeded in his usual offhand way to enquire after the guests he had seen leaving. While replying to his question, she felt a great sympathy for her cousin welling up inside her. It was that need again, springing from her passion for Fabrice, that desire to be steeped in love, to be surrounded by it on all sides, and to bestow it on others. And just as it had struck Paul by the wan glow of a paraffin lamp, so it now struck Eline under the bright gas light flashing on the crystal pendants — Vincent bore a striking resemblance to her late beloved father, so striking as to transport her back in time to her girlhood, when her father would lean back in exactly the same way as Vincent was doing now, with the same pained expression about the mouth, the same soulful eyes contemplating some unattainable artistic vision; even the hand hanging limply over the side was exactly like her father’s when he let the paintbrush slip from his fingers to the floor.

Eline felt her sympathy for Vincent reverberating with pity and poetic heartache as she listened to his murmured reminiscences of Smyrna, thinking how interesting he was, so much more so than the other young men of her acquaintance; how right he was to pronounce life in The Hague provincial and dreary, and how well she understood his desire for wider horizons, oh, if only she, too, could. .

‘But I must be boring you with all this talk of my own dislikes,’ he continued in an altered tone, ‘neither is it civil on my part.’

‘Oh, not at all, you’re not boring me in the least!’ she hastened to say, a touch dismayed that he had cut the thread of her fantasy so abruptly. ‘Do you think I can’t imagine exactly how you feel, hating the routine of sameness day in day out, the endless going round in circles that we all do? I sometimes wish I could get away from it all myself!’ she exclaimed, waving her arms as if she were a caged bird flapping its wings. ‘Sometimes I feel very inclined to do something outrageous!’ and she gave a secret smile at the thought of Fabrice.

He returned her smile, shaking his head, and reached out to pat her lifted hand, after which it fell gracefully to her side. ‘

Why would you want to do anything outrageous?’ he asked. ‘You exaggerate. Just leading your own life without depending on others, taking no notice of what society expects from you, but following your own free will as long as it makes sense, to change one’s surroundings as often as one pleases — that is my ideal. There’s nothing like change to keep you young.’

‘But being independent, doing exactly as you please. . that takes more moral courage than most of us possess in this over-civilised society of ours,’ she replied, rather pleased with the epicurean-philosophical turn the conversation was taking.

‘Moral courage? Oh no, all you need is money!’ he said firmly. ‘If I’m rich, have good manners, do nothing outrageous, and keep up appearances before the eyes of the world, it’s well in my power to achieve my ideal, without anyone accusing me of anything worse than, say, mild eccentricity.’

This was rather too down-to-earth, too banal, to her way of thinking, and she countered by imposing her own, more romantic view.

‘Well yes, money. . of course!’ she resumed, dismissing his argument with feminine facility. ‘But if you’re not strong enough to follow your will, you’ll find yourself back in the same old routine before you know it. Which is why,’ — he had to smile at her appealing want of logic — ‘which is why I would so dearly love to do something outrageous, you know, something unheard-of. Personally, I feel strong enough to go my own way whatever people might say, in fact I sometimes feel quite reckless.’

He was charmed by the ardour in her shining eyes as she flaunted her defiance, and her graceful, slight frame made him think of a butterfly poised to flit away.

‘But Eline!’ he chuckled. ‘Whatever are you thinking of? What would you be reckless enough to do? Go on, confess, you naughty girl!’

She laughed.

‘Oh, to elope, at the very least!’

‘With me?’

‘Why not? But I’m afraid you’d leave me to fend for myself before long, you’d think me rather too expensive a companion, and I’d be back where I started, with my tail between my legs. So if that was meant as an invitation, much obliged, but I’d rather wait for a rich suitor.’

‘No log cabin, then, in the moonlight?’

‘Oh, Vincent, how dull! Never! I would die of boredom. Come to that, I’d rather be an actress. . and elope with an actor.’

She sparkled with mischief and self-importance, exulting in her secret dream with Fabrice, and she looked Vincent boldly in the eye — he would never guess what she was thinking, anyway.

He laughed heartily; the vivacity that had replaced her languid elegance in the course of their conversation, combined with the radiance in her almond eyes and the way she kept patting her knee with coquettish impatience, amused him even more than what she was actually saying. And yet, her words struck a chord with him: her heartfelt longing for change was much like his own. They looked at one another a long moment, smiling, and the softness of his pale, penetrating gaze, had the mesmeric effect on her of a serpent’s stare.

‘How extraordinary, he looks just like dear Papa, how very extraordinary!’ she thought, marvelling at the sympathy she felt for Vincent as they rose in response to the bell summoning them to the dining room.