Eline was herself at a loss to account for her sadness of yesterday. How and whence came that fit of melancholy, without any definite cause? what was the overwhelming joy too that could have so suddenly chased those clouds away?
To-day she felt animated, happy, joyous; she was sorry that she had not seen the tableaux yesterday, and she feared that Mr. and Madame Verstraeten did not take her indisposition au sérieux. What a nice, pleasant man he was, Mr. Verstraeten, always full of fun! and Madame Verstraeten, what a dear good soul! She knew no one like her, so charming and kind. And then, seated at her piano, now practising a shake, then a chromatic scale, she allowed her thoughts to wander to other nice people amongst her acquaintances. Yes; all had their good qualities: the Ferelyns, Emilie de Woude, old Madame van Raat, Madame van Erlevoort, even Madame van der Stoor. As for Cateau she was a doll.
And the idea struck her that she would rather like to join that [[23]]company of players. Yes; they had an admirable conception of the amenities of life. Frédérique, Marie, Lili, Paul and Etienne, ever gay, ever together, full of droll plans for their amusement. Indeed, it must be very nice, prettily arrayed in romantic costumes, to be the objects of general admiration. Paul had a very pretty voice, it would be splendid to sing duets with him. It quite slipped her memory that only a few days ago she had assured her singing-master that his voice was absolutely void of tone. But to-day she was in a pleasant humour, and sang a second waltz, that of “Juliette” in Gounod’s opera. She adored Gounod.
It had just struck half-past ten when there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” she cried, and looking round she let her slender fingers rest on the keyboard. Paul van Raat entered.
“Bon jour, Eline. Hallo, young rascal!”
“What, Paul, you?” She rose, somewhat surprised to see him. Ben ran towards his uncle and hoisted himself up on his knees.
“How early you are! I thought you were coming to sing this afternoon. But you are welcome all the same; do you hear? Sit down and tell me about the tableaux,” Eline exclaimed with much animation; then, remembering her illness of the previous day, she continued in a languid voice—
“I was awfully sorry I was so ill yesterday. Had a terrible headache.”
“You don’t look much the worse for it.”