But she kept her word, and pleaded so well that Madame Verstraeten went to fetch Lili, who wept bitterly and kissed Emilie fondly. But an engagement was out of the question for the present. Madame Verstraeten did not care about these poor folks’ engagements, which sometimes lasted for years, and Emilie declared to Lili that a union of hearts, sanctioned by her parents, meant much already, under the existing circumstances. It was better so, after all, was it not? If on further acquaintance they did not suit each other, there would be no harm done; and if they grew to like each other more and more—well, so much the better. Come; she should not look at it too gloomily, the victory gained over the steel-clad hearts of her parents was not an unimportant one. And what more did she really want? To marry at once—reception to-morrow—in a day or two to the Stadhuis and the church, and then make their entry in a little attic somewhere! Yes; that would be very nice!
Lili laughed between her tears, and kissed her parents; whatever papa and mamma thought fit, she was satisfied.
That afternoon Georges was asked to dinner, and after the meal a splendid September night was spent in the garden. It was late when Georges left; late when Marie and Lili retired to their room and undressed. Marie listened kindly and patiently to Lili’s [[207]]chattering about hundreds of plans for the future. She would love to travel, and Georges’ employment gave promise of that. Snugly she crept into the cool sheets, smiling at the rosy visions of her fancy, her arms bent over the little head encircled by its dishevelled mass of fair hair. Marie too crept into bed, and for a moment all was quiet in the dark room, when there was a gentle knocking at the door, which the next moment was opened. The girls started in alarm.
“Hush, hush! ’tis only me,” whispered a soft, subdued voice, and they saw a small, bent figure in white night-gown and cap, with a lighted candle in hand, enter the room. “Hush! I was only coming for a little chat.”
It was old Dien, the ancient servant of the Verstraetens’, the good-natured old body who was always so handy when they had parties or tableaux-vivants. She approached, treading softly in her stockings, while the candle-light reflected a yellow glow on her shrivelled, white-capped face.
“But, Dien, you frighten me! You look like a ghost!” cried Marie.
“Hush, quiet! They are all in bed; but I thought you wouldn’t be asleep yet. I want to have a little chat—may I?”
“Certainly, Dien; certainly you may,” said Lili with animation. “What have you got to say?”
Dien seated herself on the edge of Lili’s bed.
“You can understand, old Dien is not so old but she can tell when there’s something stirring. And you see, when she does notice it, she can’t keep it to herself; she must out with it. You little rascal!” She held up her finger to Lili threateningly.