“Good morning!” Eline said cheerily.
“What, are you up already? Well, that’s quick, I am sure! Are you coming down soon?”
“Yes; I shall be ready in a moment.”
“Morning, Eline!” she heard a new voice shouting. Eline looked out and caught sight of Gustave, a good-looking little fellow of ten, with a pair of saucy blue eyes, a regular street arab, with ever-dirty hands, and comical as a young clown.
“Morning, Gus,” she cried.
“I say, Eline, you know what you promised me?”
“No.” [[189]]
“You will marry me, and not Uncle Otto, eh? You have promised me, you know.”
“Yes; all right, Gus. But I must make haste and dress, or I shall never be ready!” cried Eline, again busy with her hair in front of the glass.
She could hear the bustle in the garden increase every moment, and it made her nervous. Her fine eyes were still rather small, her fringy curls did not fall as she wanted them. Again from out of the garden, full of sunlight and shadow, a cheery hum of voices ascended, among which she could distinguish Théodore’s big voice, as well as the lusty shouts of the little van Ryssels.