Eline Vere

XV

The winter cold had abated, and the onset of spring brought heavy downpours and chilly days with veils of mist hanging from the leafless trees. There was much talk of Otto van Erlevoort and the attention he had been lavishing on Eline Vere. Oh, an engagement was bound to be announced very soon, agreed the Eekhofs, the Hijdrechts, the Van Larens and Madame van der Stoor. Henk was away in Gelderland, as was Etienne; they were staying at Huis ter Horze, the Van Erlevoort country estate, where Theodore, the eldest son, had made a home with his wife and children. In the meantime, Otto had paid several visits to Betsy and Eline; true, these were usually in response to an invitation to join other guests at the house on Nassauplein, but still, was it not quite remarkable that he, who generally led such a quiet life and went out so little, should be a such a frequent visitor at the Van Raat residence? In any case, an engagement would be splendid: Otto was a likeable enough fellow with a good position, while Eline was utterly charming, elegant and believed to have a fortune of her own. They seemed made for each other, and besides, Eline was bound to jump at the chance of having a baron for a husband. Indeed, they appeared so well suited that people were at pains to find anything to criticise about the match. In the end all they could come up with was that Betsy was finding it increasingly difficult to get along with Eline, which was common knowledge, and that she would doubtless be glad of some elegant way of being relieved of her sister; it was therefore in Betsy’s interest to encourage Otto, not that Eline appeared unwilling, to be sure, but had it not been for Betsy neither he nor she might ever have thought of it. Oh, of course, Betsy was charming in society, but what she was like in private, as the mistress of her own home, was a different matter altogether. She had a strong will and could be quite a vixen, witness the way she kept good old Henk under her thumb! And if Eline had been more accommodating, if she had not stood up for herself, she too would have been under Betsy’s thumb! It seemed so good and generous of Betsy to take in her orphaned sister, but with the kind of money the Van Raats had this was of little consequence; besides, the Vere girls had substantial private means of their own, and nobody believed it was all sweetness and light in the house by any means. Clearly Betsy thought it was time her sister found herself a husband. Eline had received several proposals of marriage already, there had been plenty of suitors, but she was a very pretty girl, hard to please, and, well — it was all up to her, wasn’t it?

Eline was aware that people were talking about her and Otto, but maintained her attitude of haughty indifference. Like everyone else, she thought Otto would certainly ask her to marry him, and she thought she would accept. What she felt for Van Erlevoort was not love as she understood it, but there was no reason she could think of to turn him down. It would be a very good match in every sense, although, in her heart, she would have preferred his fortune to have been a little larger than it was. But it would do. Being astute with money herself, she knew there would be enough for her to create an appropriate illusion of grandeur.

That it was all down to Betsy’s encouragement of Otto was not actually the case, for although she was much in favour of the marriage, she felt no particular sympathy for Otto. His manner was too stiff and studied for her liking, and she had to make an effort to treat him with the warmth merited by a potential brother-in-law.

The Van Erlevoorts, too, were subjected to indiscreet questions from time to time, but Frédérique invariably responded with a dismissive shrug of the shoulders: Eline had been engaged so many times already — according to gossip at any rate — so why not with Otto for a change, she would say, with such irony in her tone that no one would guess the truth. However, it had not escaped her notice that her mother, Mathilda and Otto had been holding mysterious discussions behind her back, some sort of family council, the outcome of which was apparently still undecided.

She felt hurt at being left out, and was too proud, since they did not seem to place any value on her opinion, to show any further interest in the affair. Only the other day, coming upon her mama, sister and brother sitting together after dinner, she had noticed how the conversation had ceased as soon as she appeared, how they had started with slight embarrassment as she stood with her hand on the doorknob, and she had turned around without a word, softly closing the door behind her, filled with bitter resentment. Nor had she sought out Otto again after the conversation they had had about the fan, for didn’t he regard her as a mere child? Very well then, she would not trouble him with her childish views any further. Only with Lili and Marie did she speak of Eline, calling her a vain coquette, all smiles and poses, without a spark of real feeling. When Paul was present she kept silent; he always took Eline’s side nowadays — yet another person she had twisted round her finger! It was the same with Etienne, who wouldn’t hear a word spoken against her. Frédérique couldn’t imagine what on earth they saw in her; as far as she was concerned Eline was all artificiality and pretence, nothing but an actress.

Notwithstanding her irritation at Etienne’s loyalty to Eline, Frédérique missed her brother now that he was away, and felt quite forlorn in the big house amid the noise and bustle of the Van Rijssel foursome, Hector the dog and fat Nurse Frantzen’s desperate attempts to call them to order.

. .

It was Sunday, and Paul van Raat was sitting at his easel, contemplating a half-finished still-life composed of some old pieces of Delftware, an antique Bible, a glass Rhine-wine goblet and the silver jug he had bought from Vincent — all loosely disposed on an artfully rumpled Smyrna table cover. But the work proceeded very slowly, the light in the room was unsatisfactory despite repeated attempts to adjust the curtains, and he was exasperated to find how much more adapted his fingers were to arranging the various items in a pleasing composition than to portraying them with oils on canvas. It was all the weather’s fault: with such rainy skies it was impossible to catch any sparkle in the goblet, while the silver jug looked positively cheap. He laid aside his brush, thrust his hands in his pockets and, whistling tonelessly, began to pace the floor. He was troubled by his lack of energy, for, much as he wished to finish the picture, he found himself unable to continue.

The artistic chaos reigning in his room was matched by the chaos of his dilettantish temperament, which was hardly conducive to the creation of serious art. Above a carved-oak cabinet hung an array of antique weapons; the walls were covered up to the ceiling with porcelain, paintings and prints, and all about the room stood female figures in marble and terracotta, a veritable harem of milk-white and amber-coloured graces. Books abounded, and then there were the portfolios spilling sketches and prints, while the floor around the easel was strewn with tubes and paintbrushes of every description. The large ashtray overflowed, and there was dust everywhere, as Leentje, the maid, was seldom permitted to enter.

As he wandered about in dismal mood, it occurred to him that he might feel better if he not only did away with all these artistic accoutrements but also banished his easel and paintbrushes to the attic. Once his room was free of artefacts, he reasoned, his desire to create art would vanish of itself, and with it his sense of disillusionment. Because, if truth be told, it was just a waste of time, he was simply lacking in talent and could find better means of distraction than this fruitless dabbling in oils. His mind turned to ways of redecorating his room: he would keep it simple and uncluttered, so that one could move about at will without bumping into statues or tripping over oriental draperies. Still, it was too bad that it had all been an illusion, and having to dispose of the last vestiges of his artistic ambition was not something he looked forward to.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Eline’s bright voice in the hall, and he went downstairs. He entered the drawing room just as she was greeting his mother with an embrace. She had brought Ben, and had come on Betsy’s behalf to invite his mother to dinner that evening at Nassauplein. The other guests would be Madame Eekhof and her daughters Ange and Léonie, Frédérique and two of her brothers, and Vincent.

‘Of course we’re counting on you, too, Paul!’ she said, extending her hand to him. ‘That goes without saying. Dear lady, I do hope you won’t disappoint us; so please say yes! We won’t keep you beyond your usual hour, I promise. Ce n’est pas à refuser.’

Madame van Raat hesitated, saying she had reservations about her place in such youthful company.

‘But it’ll do you good! A little diversion will take you out of yourself! Think of Madame van Erlevoort,’ Eline persisted, ‘she finds it enjoyable enough! Why don’t you take her as an example?’

Madame van Raat was touched by the dear girl’s persuasive tone, and consented to come. Paul too accepted the invitation. Then she turned to Eline, who was seated beside her, and fixed her with a searching look, as though pondering some question in her mind. Meanwhile Paul, finding Ben annoyingly indolent as he sat quietly on a stool at his grandmother’s feet, did his best to engage the child in some play.

‘Now Eline dear, there is something I want to ask you,’ Madame van Raat began in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Tell me, is it true?’

Eline felt a faint blush rising to her cheeks, but she pretended not to understand the question.

‘I don’t quite know what you mean.’

Madame van Raat smiled. She did not pursue the subject further, merely asked: ‘Did you say Frédérique would be coming, too?’

‘Yes, I expect so, only. .’ said Eline.

‘Just her?’

‘No, no, she’ll be coming with her brothers, Otto and Etienne. .’

‘Oh, indeed,’ said the old lady with a casual air, but she gave Eline another long, knowing look, with something like a twinkle in her otherwise bleary gaze. Eline smiled, a trifle uneasily.

‘I do believe you are teasing me,’ she said, stroking her muff.

‘Oh, you know how people talk. One hears this and that and all manner of things, and yet, once in a while one hears something that’s true.’

‘And what have you heard?’

‘Something you would have told me yourself long ago if you had placed any confidence in me. Now I had to hear it from Betsy.’

Eline gave a start.

‘Did Betsy say. .?’ she faltered.

‘Yes, my dear, she did, and I would much rather have heard it from you first,’ said the old lady petulantly.

Eline was secretly rattled. It was true, Otto had asked her to marry him — but she had not yet made up her mind about accepting, and it was so annoying how everyone seemed to be in the know, eager to offer their opinion, how they had the audacity to address all sorts of comments to Betsy, even quite blunt ones. There had even been someone who, under the pretext of sincere friendship, had whispered in her sister’s ear that she should urge Eline to declare herself. All the indiscretions were getting on her nerves, and she was on the point of giving a sharp reply, but thought better of it. Showing no emotion, she murmured in the old lady’s ear:

‘Well, what was there to tell, really? Yes, Van Erlevoort did propose to me, but I wasn’t to say anything about it until I reached a decision.’

She glanced at Paul, then quickly looked away, for he had stopped playing with Ben and was watching her keenly, trying to follow what was being said. But she had no intention of satisfying either his or Madame’s curiosity, so she stood up, meaning to bring the conversation to an end at the earliest opportunity. When Madame van Raat said that Otto was a very personable young man in her opinion, Eline intervened by embracing her affectionately and said she ought to be going.

The old lady kissed her in return with tremulous insistence, and this irked her, as did the gleeful look in Paul’s eyes, and her annoyance was compounded by having to wait for Ben, who was taking ages to bid his grandmother goodbye.

. .

No, Eline could not make up her mind. She was fearful of taking a step that might make her happy or unhappy for life, as though her entire future now hinged on a single word, and she could not bring herself to utter it. Fearful too of a marriage of convenience, for she knew that her heart yearned for passionate love, despite her valiant efforts to suppress all such feelings after her disillusionment. As for Otto, well. . she had danced with him, she had laughed and jested with him, but not for a single moment did she find herself picturing him in her mind, indeed she seemed to forget what he looked like the moment he was out of her sight. On the other hand, he was manifestly kind and sincere, and at first the realisation that he was in love with her had certainly been gratifying, so much so that she told herself it would pain her to cause him grief, or to refuse him anything, including her hand in marriage. And while she thus wilfully blinded herself, the gentleness of his quiet adoration seemed to pour balm on her wounded heart.

In her recent state of self-delusion, the thought of becoming his wife had lulled her into a sense of calm contentment, and something akin to a rosy future had risen before her eyes. Moreover, she had considered the financial advantages.

Another cheering prospect was that of gaining her independence, being her own mistress. At last she would be able to leave her sister’s house, where, notwithstanding her private income, she always felt constrained and de trop, as if she were a demanding lodger whose presence was tolerated for appearance’s sake alone. But beneath all these deliberations warming her to Otto’s favours there lurked, like an unseen adder, the bitter regret at the shattering of her dreams, and if she ever gave herself to him it would be for the sake of revenge, revenge upon Fabrice, upon herself.

Yet now that Otto had actually proposed, now that she was obliged to come up with an answer in the absence of a grand, all-consuming passion, she had shied away from giving it.

Otto, for his part, bided his time; at least he was discreet.

For some days past he had avoided the Van Raat residence. Eline thought he deserved a reward for his tact, so she ventured to ask Betsy — she could not help blushing a little — to invite him to an informal gathering with Freddie and Etienne.

He would come, she would speak to him, and she had a sense of no longer possessing a will of her own, as though some unseen power were pushing her down a steep slope towards her inevitable fate; she felt as though blindfolded, groping for her happiness, her hands outstretched, her ears straining to catch the faintest echo of that joy, yet knowing it would elude her for ever.

. .

Betsy poured the tea. Sharing the sofa with her were her mother-in-law and Madame Eekhof, deep in conversation with Emilie de Woude; Henk stood with his hands in his pockets listening attentively to Vincent, while Eline, Paul and the Eekhof girls discussed the music books lying on the piano. Then Otto and Etienne arrived.

‘Where’s Frédérique?’ asked Betsy in some surprise, as she held out her hand to Otto.

‘Frédérique is feeling rather tired; she asked to be excused,’ he answered simply.

‘She’s often out of sorts these days,’ said Etienne with finality, as though to lend weight to his brother’s words.

Eline’s heart began to beat faster. She felt very nervous, although she succeeded in covering her emotion with a veneer of gaiety. She felt as if everyone in the room could guess what she was thinking, and hardly dared glance about for fear of seeing all eyes fixed upon her. But when she did venture to look up, nothing had changed: the old ladies were chatting with Betsy and Emilie, Vincent was talking in an undertone to Henk, and now Etienne was shaking hands with Paul and the girls.

Otto, however, came straight towards her. She was flustered, and feared that it showed, but her secret discomfort added a trace of tentativeness to her slim figure, which was very becoming. She heard him say good evening in his simple, unassuming way, but there was something warm and generous about his voice, which sounded to her like a promise of tenderness. Suddenly she felt a new emotion, a melting softness in her heart, which she did not comprehend.

He joined the small gathering by the piano, standing close to her but chatting with Ange while Léonie giggled at Etienne’s flirtatious attentions. Now and then he glanced at her, seeking to involve her in their conversation about nothing; she smiled, without hearing what passed. Her ears buzzed with the confusion of voices, and she could not keep track of her thoughts, which flittered about her brain like so many butterflies.

She knew she had to resist lapsing into one of her soothing meditations; she could hardly stand there daydreaming in the middle of a salon full of people, and after making one or two light remarks in a voice she hardly recognised as her own, so muffled did it sound, she moved away.

‘You play too, don’t you, Vincent?’ she heard Betsy ask, while out of the corner of her eye she saw the ladies rising from the sofa and Henk moving to the salon, where he proceeded to take the mother-of-pearl counters from a Japanese box. She felt she was dreaming. She saw the cards spread out on the circular red cloth in the shape of an S; she saw the candles burning at the corners of the table, she saw Madame Eekhof’s bejewelled fingers drawing a card.

Everything seemed to be happening in the remote distance. Vincent seated himself opposite Madame van Raat; Henk was to be partnered with Madame Eekhof. Betsy came up with Emilie in tow; they would take a turn later.

‘Would it be all right if we made some music, or are they very serious about their game?’ Léonie asked Betsy, pointing to the card table.

‘Oh by all means, amusez-vous toujours!’ responded Betsy, inviting Otto and Emilie to join her on the sofa. Her manner with those outside her family was unfailingly gracious.

‘Go on, Eline, do let us hear you! We’re dying to hear your lovely siren song!’ Léonie continued, in irrepressible high humour. ‘And I shall play the accompaniment with my light-as-fairy fingers.’

‘Oh no, Léonie, please. I’m not in voice this evening.’

‘Not in voice? I don’t believe you! Come! Allons, chante ma belle! What is it to be?’

‘Yes, Eline, do sing for us!’ called Madame van Raat from the adjoining salon, after which she anxiously asked her partner what was the meaning of trumps.

‘No really, Madame, I cannot; no, Léo, not today. I can always tell when I’m not in voice, and I hardly ever refuse, do I? But didn’t you say you had brought some music with you?’

‘Yes, but they aren’t the right sort of songs to start the evening with; we can have them later. Let’s have something serious first — please, Eline, I beg you.’

‘No, I can’t possibly!’ said Eline, shaking her head. It was out of the question: she felt herself in a fever with the blood rising to her cheeks, her eyelids drooping, her pulse throbbing, her fingers trembling. She would never be able to contain her vibrato, she had no voice today.

‘Can’t possibly?’ she heard someone murmur behind her, and glanced round. It was Otto, gazing at her admiringly from the sofa he was sharing with Betsy and Emilie. Again she shook her head from side to side. She felt awkward as she did so, although she looked artlessly alluring to the others.

‘Really, I could not. .’

She quickly averted her face, in case he might suspect the cause of her reluctance. Meeting his gaze had greatly embarrassed her, even though there was no trace of reproof in his eyes. She had a feeling there was something afoot among the friends and relations filling the adjoining rooms with their animated conversation. The atmosphere was charged, somehow, and yet, she reasoned, Betsy and Madame van Raat were the only ones there who knew that Otto had already proposed and that an answer would be expected of her this very evening. But whatever the others might suspect, they would not be so indiscreet as to press her to reveal her secret before she was ready; thankfully, they were too well-bred for that.

Léonie accused Eline of being a spoilsport, whereupon Paul and Etienne clamoured for Léonie to sing instead, and offered to fetch her music book for her from the vestibule, where she had left it out of false modesty. They started for the door, but Léonie tried to stop them, causing an abrupt, frolicsome stir, at which the whist-players looked up from their cards. Etienne squeezed past her, and soon returned in triumph, waving the dog-eared score of La Mascotte. The Eekhof girls were duly persuaded, and launched into a laughing, halting, high-pitched rendition of the duet between Pipo and Bettino.

‘O, mon Pipo, mon Dieu, qu’t’es bien!’ they sang, while Etienne played the accompaniment, frequently striking doubtful chords.

But everyone was delighted anyway, which emboldened Etienne and Paul to join in. They did so with great gusto, and the foursome warbled on in blithe disregard of both time and tune, lingering over the dreamy ‘Un baiser c’est bien douce chose’ and brightening over the comical air of ‘Le grand singe d’Amérique’.

Eline sat on a pouffe, leaning her fevered temple against the piano, almost deafened by Etienne’s vigorous striking of the keys. She was tapping her hand on her knee in time to the music so as to appear interested, but her ears ached from the thrum of the instrument, and the noise prevented her from thinking and making a decision. Her emotions kept swinging from one extreme to the other. Yes, she would accept him: his love, albeit unrequited, would make her happy, it was her fate. . No, she could not go against her deepest feeling, she could not allow herself to be shackled to someone she did not love. She grew quite giddy from swinging back and forth like a pendulum, it was as if there were a clock thudding in her brain: yes, no, yes, no. . What a relief it would be simply to shut her eyes and point at random to the answer. But no, she owed it to herself to think things through properly. If only that clock would stop ticking. . she was in no condition to battle with her emotions, she was too frail.

She would cease all meditation, she would surrender to the invisible forces pushing her down that steep slope, she would give herself up entirely to the circumstances of the moment — let them decide. Her eyes met Otto’s, and a tremor ran down her spine. She rose.

. .

Vincent got up from the whist table; Betsy took his place.

‘Well, Elly, have you thought of anything outrageous yet?’ asked Vincent, imitating her tone.

The piano had fallen silent. Léonie had gone to sit with Emilie, and was giving her a vivid description of a recent dance hosted by the Van Larens. Etienne spun round on the piano stool, which made Ange laugh so much that she collapsed on to the pouffe with her hands covering her face. Paul, laughing too, leafed through some sheet music.

‘What? How do you mean?’ faltered Eline.

‘Remember you told me a while ago how you wanted to do something outrageous? Well, I’m only asking if you’ve thought of anything yet. I’ll gladly join in.’

His jocular manner irked her. In her present, unusually serious frame of mind, the mention of that frivolous outburst held an echo of her vanished hopes. No, she had no desire to indulge in anything in the least shocking or foolhardy; she wished to be sensible, as sensible as Otto was. It had been folly enough to allow herself to be disappointed in love, if she could call her craze thus, and she would never let her emotions run away with her again.

She struggled to ward off the bitter regret rearing its ugly head like an adder in her soul.

Groping for some light-hearted reply to Vincent’s banter, she was seized with alarm. A new thought suddenly imposed itself. No, there was no turning back. Otto and Betsy were obviously expecting her to accept. Why would she have asked Betsy to invite him to an intimate gathering if she merely wished to see him? Surely she would have written him a note otherwise? She had made her decision, that was that, and the panic of a moment ago gave way to a sense of immense calm flooding her entire being.

‘But my dear girl, I do believe your mind’s rambling!’ laughed Vincent. He had asked her why Georges de Woude was not in attendance, and she had murmured distractedly:

‘Oh, isn’t he here?’

This made Eline laugh, too, now that she was herself again. They sat down.

‘Forgive me, I have a slight—’ she murmured, touching her finger to a stray curl at her temple.

‘Ah, a headache! I know all about them,’ he said, observing her quizzically. ‘I believe it’s a family complaint, we Veres are prone to headaches.’

She looked up at him, startled. Had he guessed anything?

‘I had one myself just now; it was the music that brought it on — you know, all that banging on the piano. It was just as if I could see all sorts of lurid colours, green, yellow and orange. Whenever that vivacious young lady — Léonie, I believe her name is — begins to sing, I see orange.’

‘And what about when I sing? What do you see then?’ she asked coquettishly.

‘Ah that’s completely different,’ he replied gravely. ‘Whenever you sing I see a harmonious plethora of pinks and purples, all soft and melting. Your low notes are pink, the high ones purple and shiny. When Paul sings everything goes grey, with a tinge of violet at times.’

She began to laugh, as did Paul, who had overheard the last remark.

‘But Vincent, you’re hallucinating!’

‘Maybe so. Still, it’s an extraordinary sensation, seeing colours like that. Has it never happened to you?’

She reflected a moment, while Ange and Etienne, having caught what Vincent was saying, came closer.

‘No, I don’t think it has.’

‘Don’t you ever find that certain musical notes remind you of a particular fragrance, such as opopanax or reseda? The sound of an organ is like incense. Hearing you sing Beethoven’s Ah Perfido always brings back the scent of verbena for me, especially one of the high passages at the end. Next time you sing it I’ll tell you exactly which one.’

Ange giggled.

‘Oh, Mr Vere, how wonderful it must be to have such a keen sense of smell!’

Everyone smiled, and Vincent too seemed in high spirits.

‘But it’s true, parole d’honneur.’

‘I’ll tell you what: some people remind me of animals,’ whispered Etienne. ‘Henk, for instance, reminds me of a big dog, Betsy of a hen and Madame van der Stoor of a crab.’

Peals of laughter ensued, at which Otto, Emilie and Léonie, rose from their seats and drew near.

‘What’s so funny?’ asked Emilie eagerly,

‘Madame van der Stoor is a crab!’ hooted Ange, with tears in her eyes from laughing.

‘And me, Etienne, what do I remind you of?’ demanded Léonie.

‘Oh, you and Ange are a pair of puppy dogs, woof, woof,’ cried Etienne. ‘As for Miss de Woude,’ he whispered in Ange’s ear, ‘she reminds me of a turkey, with her double chin. Miss Frantzen’s a turkey, too, of a slightly different kind. Willem the manservant is a dignified stork, and Dien, the Verstraetens’ old housemaid, is a cockatoo.’

‘What a menagerie! A veritable Noah’s ark!’ tittered Léonie.

‘And Eline?’ asked Paul.

‘Ah, Eline,’ echoed Etienne dreamily. ‘Sometimes she’s a peacock, sometimes a serpent, but right now she’s a little dove.’

They all laughed heartily, shaking their heads at his extravagant fancies.

. .

‘Etienne is always jolly,’ Eline remarked to Otto when the little group had dispersed; she turned to smile and wave at Madame van Raat, who had ceded her place at the whist table to Emilie. Vincent, meanwhile, was besieged by the Eekhof girls clamouring to know whether he planned to start a perfumery store.

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Otto. ‘Etienne is very jolly. He has every reason to be so, since he has everything he could wish for.’

His tone was a touch wistful, as if for him that were not the case, and Eline could not think of any reply. For a while they remained standing side by side, wordlessly. She extended her hand to touch the plumes in the Makart bouquet, and the turmoil in her mind began again.

‘Have you nothing to say to me?’ he murmured. There was no trace of reproach in his voice.

She took a deep breath.

‘Truly, I. . oh, not just yet, please forgive me. Later, I promise, in a while. .’

‘All right, later. I will be patient — for as long as I am able,’ he said, and his calm voice soothed the tangled web of her emotions. She could not refuse him now, but neither could she declare herself.

She felt a rush of admiration for his tact and gentleness as he continued to converse on various topics that held little interest for either of them. That unassuming nature was in fact his greatest asset, that was why people liked him so much; he was so sincerely himself that he seemed incapable of having any secrets he might prefer to keep hidden. While he spoke he made no pretence of discussing anything of the slightest importance, he simply wished to remain standing beside her, and for that he needed to engage her attention — it was all so evident in the warm resonance of his voice. His mind was not in the conversation, and he didn’t even care if she noticed. For the first time she felt something like pity for him. She was being cruel, she was making him suffer, and again she felt that strange, melting softness in her heart.

Gerard went round bearing silver trays laden with refreshments.

‘Would you like a sorbet, Madame, and a pastry?’ Eline asked Madame van Raat, who was sitting alone on the sofa looking rather forlorn, although she smiled now and then at the cluster of young people telling each other’s fortunes with the cards.

‘Look,’ she said to Otto. ‘Henk’s Mama is all by herself, I had better go and keep her company.’

He nodded kindly and went to listen to the horoscope Ange was drawing for Paul. Eline beckoned Gerard and took a sorbet and a pastry from the tray, which she offered to Madame van Raat. Then she seated herself beside the old lady and took her hand.

Ignoring the refreshments, Madame van Raat looked into Eline’s eyes.

‘Well, what is it to be?’ asked Madame.

In her state of melting tenderness, Eline wasn’t even annoyed by the old lady’s persistence. She replied very softly, almost inaudibly:

‘I. . I shall say yes.’

She sighed, and felt the tears welling up in her eyes as she heard herself speak. Yes, she would accept. She could find nothing more to say to the old lady, for that one statement filled her mind so completely that it absorbed every other thought. They sat together a moment in silence, with their backs half turned to the cheerful gathering across the room. Suddenly Eline became aware of Ange’s shrill voice reading out the cards one by one.

‘Now listen carefully, Mr van Erlevoort. I’m much cleverer at this than Madame Lenormand, you know. Here’s yours: King of Hearts. You are in a vale of tears, I see, but not for long. You shall be very rich, and you shall live in a chateau in the Pyrenees. Or would you prefer a villa in Nice? Ah! There she is! The Queen of Hearts! You are rather far apart, but all the cards in between are favourable. You will have to overcome many obstacles to reach her, for she is much sought-after: look, here’s the King of Clubs, and the King of Diamonds, and there’s even a commoner, a Social Democrat if you please, the Jack of Spades!’

‘Ooh, Black Jack!’ cried Léonie. ‘Fie on him!’

Eline smiled wanly, brushing away a tear that clung to her lashes, and Madame van Raat smiled too.

‘There, see how splendidly those aces are turning up!’ Ange pursued excitedly. ‘Have no fear, Mr van Erlevoort, have no fear, it’s all clearing up nicely.’

‘The cards seem to bode well,’ murmured Madame van Raat.

Eline smiled with pursed lips, but she was unnerved. Black Jack had reminded her of Fabrice.

. .

The whist players had risen, and everyone was talking at once. The fortune-telling had given rise to merriment all round, and when Ange prophesied that Etienne would never marry, he protested vehemently, saying he had no intention of remaining a bachelor all his life.

Ange and Léonie then prevailed upon Paul to sing a piece by Massenet, to Léonie’s accompaniment. While he sang, Betsy kept a watchful eye on her sister and Otto; she was sure that nothing had transpired between them as yet. Why was Eline being so coy? Betsy herself had not made such a fuss in her day, she had accepted Van Raat’s stammered proposal quite graciously. What was Eline dithering about? What reason could she possibly have to reject Van Erlevoort? They were made for each other. She was annoyed by her sister’s sentimental wavering when she had the opportunity of marrying into a good family, and a man in a fair position to boot. Her glance rested coldly on Eline’s slender frame, to which that very wavering quality lent an additional allure, and Betsy noted this, as she noted the unwonted earnestness in her sister’s demeanour. What a to-do about such a simple matter! But when her eye fell on her husband, who was chatting to Otto, she felt even more annoyed. What a simpleton he was! Did he really have no idea why Otto was dining at their house tonight?

Madame van Raat had already left, later than was her habit and in considerable disappointment, for she had been hoping to hear the announcement of Eline’s engagement in the intimate setting of her son’s home. It was now past midnight; Madame Eekhof and her daughters took their leave, as did Emilie. Vincent and Paul also prepared to go, while Henk and Etienne escorted the high-spirited girls down the hall to their carriage.

Betsy, Eline and Otto stayed behind in the anteroom. An awkward silence fell. Then Betsy went through to the salon, where she busied herself tidying the card table.

Eline felt the ground crumble beneath her feet. She could not hide her confusion from Otto, who, although he had not meant to impose on her a second time this evening, found himself unable to resist the temptation to do so, since they were alone.

‘Eline,’ he whispered in a choked voice, ‘must I really leave you like this, without an answer?’

She held her breath a moment in fright; then, with a shuddering sigh, she murmured:

‘Otto. . truly, I. . I cannot. . not yet!’

‘Goodnight, then, please forgive me for asking again,’ he said, and with that he lightly pressed her fingers and left.

She, however, suddenly felt herself melting away. Quaking all over, she almost fell to the floor, but saved herself by clutching the door curtain for support, and she cried out, in full surrender to the tide of her emotion:

‘Otto! Otto!’

A low cry escaped him as he came running back to catch her in his arms, and beaming with joy he drew her into the anteroom again.

‘Eline, Eline!’ he cried. ‘Is it true?’

She did not speak, but flung herself sobbing, broken, defeated, against his chest, and felt his arms tighten about her.

‘So you. . you will be my wife?’

She ventured to lift her face to him, locked in his embrace, and answered him only with her tearful gaze and a fleeting smile.

‘Eline, my angel,’ he whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead.

From the salon came the sound of voices: Henk and Etienne had returned from the vestibule, Etienne in his greatcoat, holding his hat in his hand.

‘What’s keeping Otto?’ Eline heard him exclaim, and she also heard Betsy whisper something in reply.

Otto looked down, smiling at Eline’s emotion as she wept with her cheek to his chest.

‘Shall we?’ he said simply, radiating joy.

Slowly, very slowly she allowed him to lead her towards the salon, softly sobbing in his arms, her face buried in his shoulder. Betsy came towards them, smiling, and darted a glance of complicity at Otto as she shook his hand. Henk and Etienne were taken completely by surprise.

‘Van Raat, may I. . may I introduce you to my fiancée?’ said Otto.

Henk too began to smile, while Etienne grinned from ear to ear and rolled his eyes.

‘What a sly old fox you are!’ he exclaimed, wagging his finger at his brother. ‘Keeping us in the dark like this!’

But Eline, still in tears, broke away from Otto’s embrace and flung her arms around Henk’s neck. He kissed her, and mumbled in his deep voice:

‘Well, well, little sister, I congratulate you with all my heart! Now then, don’t cry, no need for that, is there? Come on, give me a smile, there’s a good girl.’

She hid her face in her hands, which moved Betsy to step forward and smooth a stray curl from her sister’s forehead before kissing her too.

‘I’m so glad my little soirée turned out so well!’ she said pointedly.

. .

Henk wanted Otto to stay a little longer when Etienne discreetly made to slip away, but Eline murmured faintly that she was ever so tired, so Otto declined. He was too elated to wish for anything more: he would go, brimming with joy. And she thought it very sweet of him to simply shake her hand in farewell instead of kissing her in front of everyone.

As soon as the brothers had gone Eline fled to her room, where she came upon Mina lighting the lamp. The maids had already heard the news from Gerard, who had entered the salon at an inopportune moment, and Mina congratulated her, peering at her with an inquisitive smile.

‘Thank you, Mina. . thank you,’ stammered Eline.

Alone at last, she glanced in the mirror, and was shocked to see the tear-streaked pallor of her cheeks. But the next instant she felt as though her soul were sliding into a tranquil, blue lagoon, she felt the still waters close over her and found herself in what appeared to be realm of eternal peace, a Nirvana of hitherto unimagined beatitude.