Now that the fête was over, she began to think over it all in the solitude of her room. It was five o’clock, and she felt almost too tired to undress herself. She did not feel so much hurt because of his presumption. But—that evening, for the first time after so long a period of lethargy, she had forgotten her sorrows a little. She had found a little amusement, and been somewhat of her former self again, and he had embittered that innocent pleasure by reminding her that she was in a circle to which she was not suited. Did she not know that as well as he? and it was just because she knew it—because she felt that he was right—because he felt as she felt herself, that she was hurt. Why had he not allowed her to pass a brief moment of happiness in peace? Why had he spoken to her about her relations? What did Henk and Betsy care if she did throw herself away among the curious acquaintances of uncle and Elise? But she did not do so, she had scarcely spoken a word to any one except Vincent and himself. She had only amused herself at the [[279]]expense of a circle which surrounded her. She threw herself in her black satin dress on a chair, and, as she thought about that which had given her offence, she felt it gradually evaporating like a cloud of mist. But still she wanted to feel hurt; yes, she did feel hurt, very much hurt indeed. Yet after all it was not so very bad. It was for her sake that he had felt so annoyed at the strange coterie in which she found herself. He had shown her his annoyance so frankly, and she could still hear him say in that discontented voice—
“How did you get here? Are you here with the consent of your relations?”
He took an interest in her, genuine interest, with all the haughty pride of his sunny, truthful temperament, and a great desire suddenly overmastered her to go to him and ask his pardon, his counsel. It would be delicious to conform herself entirely to his will; it would mean peace, much-longed-for peace and calm. About twelve o’clock, after a short sleep, she entered the room with a pale face and dark blue circles under her eyes, and found Elise, with a couple of the servants, busy rearranging the disorder which the orgies of the previous evening had brought about. Elise was very satisfied with her soirée, and wished Eline a happy new year. Uncle Daniel was out.
“What a number of glasses they broke! If you want to breakfast, Eline, you must go to the dining-room. Here you are only in my way. Pardon me for saying so. But it was very jolly yesterday, was it not?”
Eline went to the dining-room. She ate something and remained a little while idling. She waited for some one—for St. Clare—but neither Vincent nor he came, nor did they come the following day, nor the next. If Eline had dared she would have written him.
While she dreamily awaited his arrival she received a letter from Madame van Raat, who wrote her, that although he was living at Bodegraven just now, she saw Paul occasionally, and that he seemed to have some secret grief which she could not guess. She was very sorry that a kind of estrangement had come between her and her son, and she doubted whether she had always shown him sufficient tenderness.
“She not enough tenderness!” thought Eline, “why she was all tenderness, at least to me.” [[280]]
When she came to the end of the letter she started violently. Jeanne Ferelyn had died in Bangil. Eline’s eyes filled with tears.
“Great heavens! Great heavens!” she repeated slowly, and a nervous sob shook her frame. Her poor friend was dead! Oh! how tenderly Jeanne had nursed her when she was prostrate with bronchitis in that little home of theirs! How gentle and loving Jeanne had always been! How affectionate she was to herself and her children. And now she was dead! What happiness had her life brought her? None—none at all! And Madame van Raat, she had her sorrows. Paul had his. What was life but one great sorrow?
She sobbed violently over the letter, and could not reconcile herself to the thought that Jeanne was dead. Jeanne is dead! Jeanne is dead! It was hissing in her ears and in her brain. She had so much to thank Jeanne for, and she would never see her again, for Jeanne was dead! Oh, great heavens, she was dead!