“Where does he think of going to then?”
“He wants to live by himself; that is best too for a young man, is it not? But your bedroom is a very large one, you know that room next to mine?”
“Oh yes, I remember, ’tis a splendid room.”
In her room the gas was lit, and the French windows were open, so that the cool evening air blew inside. Eline coughed a little when she entered.
“’Tis rather cool, I shall close the window,” said the old lady.
Eline looked about her in astonishment, and her eyes grew moist.
“But, little madam, little madam, what have you done?” she exclaimed with emotion.
For wherever her eye went she saw some souvenir of her rooms on the Nassauplein. There was her Psyche yonder, her toilet dishes; in this corner her writing-desk, her letter-rack; there hung her Venetian mirror; round about her in tasteful profusion her statuettes were arranged; while almost the only thing that was new in the room was the big bedstead, on which the dark blue curtains were suspended like a baldaquin from the wall. [[255]]
“Does it suit you?” asked Madame van Raat. “I thought you would like your own things best; but, child, what is the matter now, what are you crying about?”
She allowed Eline’s arms to encircle her, and Eline wept on her shoulder and kissed her again and again. The old lady made her sit down on the couch, and sat down beside her, and Eline still leaned against her as a weeping child leans against her mother.