“Yes,” said Cateau, “I shall be here.”
Utterly worn out, the artistes flung themselves down in the comfortable chairs in the conservatory, where a dainty little supper was served.
“What was prettiest? What was prettiest?” all cried together
Then there was a general expression of opinion, to the accompaniment of clattering plates and forks, and the jingling of glasses.
CHAPTER II.
It was half-past two when the van Raats returned from the supper to the Nassauplein. At their house all was in darkness. While Henk drew the bolt across the door Betsy thought she would take a look at her sleeping boy, snugly ensconced in his little white cot up-stairs. She took up her candle and went up-stairs, whilst he, laden with papers, walked into the breakfast-room, where the gas was still burning.
Arrived in her dressing-room, she removed her cloak from her shoulders. In the small grate the flame curled upward like the fiery tongue of a dragon. There was something indefinably soothing [[10]]in the atmosphere of the room, something like a warm vapour, mingled with the sweet faint odour of violets. After giving a glance at her child, she sat down with a sigh of fatigue, in an arm-chair. Then the door opened, and Eline, in a dressing-gown of white flannel, her hair falling in thick waves down her back, entered.
“What, Elly, not in bed yet?”
“No, I—have been reading. Did you enjoy yourself?”