The following evening, about half-past nine, the guests arrived. Uncle Daniel and Elise courteously welcomed their somewhat loosely-picked-up acquaintances. The young men of the club, the count, the actor, the dueller and his blonde wife, were the first to make their appearance; and after that Eline saw them pass in review before their host and hostess, and a strange review it was. The gentlemen with something artificial or Bohemian about them, the ladies with much too big diamonds, and in faded silken trains. She did not feel herself at home at all in this circle, and yet she felt amused by these strange folk, who wandered about the crowded salons, the light from the candles in the Venetian chandelier glinting strangely over all that antique bronze, that antique china, that antique furniture. And there was a variety about the guests that charmed her. Eline withdrew herself a little when she saw St. Clare and Vincent approach. They were in evening dress, and it struck her that there was something distingué about them both. But after they had greeted uncle and Elise, they did not seem to observe her among the noisy groups by which they were surrounded, and Eline felt herself quite forsaken, although a little old lady, wrinkled and brown as a nut, with little red plumes in her hair, eagerly conversed with her about painters and sculptors. The old lady affected to be a great patron of struggling artists.
“I suppose it is an artistic soirée this evening?” she asked with blinking eyes.
“I believe it is,” answered Eline, with growing irritation.
“You sing, do you not?” [[274]]
“Oh, no! I do not sing any more. The doctor has forbidden me to sing.”
“I suppose you intended to go on the stage?”
“Oh, no. Not at all.”
Some gentlemen came forward and bowed to the old lady, and she introduced them to Eline. They were very talented artists. Musicians, actors, painters, misunderstood geniuses all of them. The little old lady overwhelmed Eline with operas, poems, panoramas which they had written, created, and painted; their fame would ere long resound throughout the world, for she would protect them.
Eline felt as if all those misunderstood geniuses were hemming her in. Things began to shimmer and dance before her eyes, and it was a relief when she saw St. Clare coming towards her once more.
“You are so surrounded,” he laughed softly, “one can scarcely penetrate.”