“And you must not laugh at her; I was very fond of her; she really was a second mother to us, and when that long illness ended in her death, I felt the loss keenly, I was as alone in the world. You see, all these things were not exactly calculated to make my youth a very gay one.” And she smiled a saddened smile, whilst at the thought of all she had been deprived of, her eyes glistened with moisture. “But when you look at Paul and Etienne, and the girls, it’s nothing but laughter and pleasure—really, enough to make me jealous. And that Toos, too, she is a dear child.”
The artistes came down from the platform. Losch had finished. [[30]]Paul and Etienne, with Freddy, Marie, and Cateau came forward, whilst Lili went to bed, thoroughly exhausted with the excitement of the last two days.
“Good morning, Miss Vere,” said Cateau, as she held out her little hand to Eline.
Eline felt a sudden, indescribable, unreasoning sympathy for that child, so simple and so unconsciously engaging, and as she rose to go, she was obliged to hide her emotion by playfully embracing the child.
“Good-bye, darling,” she said dotingly. “I am going, Madame Verstraeten; there is still plenty left for you to do, now that all that excitement is over. Ah! yes—I promised Betsy to ask you for the tickets. May I have them?”
It was still early, only half-past two, and Eline thought what a long time it was since she had visited old Madame van Raat, and she knew that the old lady liked her, and was always glad to have a chat in the afternoon. Henk never failed to visit his mother every morning after his ride, and the two boarhounds, whom his wife had banished from his home, followed him undisturbed up the stairs in his mother’s house. As for Betsy, of her the old lady saw very little; Betsy was well enough aware that Madame van Raat did not care for her. Eline, however, had succeeded in winning her affections, by means of a certain most engaging manner she had when in the company of aged ladies; in the tone of her voice, in her little attentions, there was a something, a delicate flavour of respect, which charmed the old dame.
Eline returned through the Java-straat to the Laan van Meerdervoort, and found Madame van Raat alone, seated in her high-backed chair, her hands folded in her lap. And in the young girl’s eyes she appeared such a picture of mute sadness; over the rich faded furniture there hovered such a melancholy shadow of past comfort; the whole apartment was filled with such an atmosphere of sorrow, and about the folds of the dark green curtains there hung such a mist of melancholy, that on entering, Eline felt her heart grow cold within her, as though a voice had told her that life was not worth living.
But she struggled against the feeling. She recalled those thoughts which in the morning had brought her such lightness of heart. She smiled, and her tone assumed that vague respect, mingled with [[31]]somewhat of love and pity, and with much animation she spoke about Paul, about the tableaux, about that evening’s dinner, and the opera—and promised Madame van Raat to send her some books, nice light literature, in which one looked at the world through rose-coloured glasses.
It pained her to chatter in this way; she would much rather have sat and cried with the old dame, in sympathetic melancholy, but she controlled herself, and even plucked up courage to touch upon a more serious subject. With her engaging, respectful manner, she took Madame to task for having been discovered by her with moistened eyes, which now she would not own; she was not inquisitive, but she would so gladly console and cheer her, if she could; and why did she not again make her her confidante, as she had done before, and so on.
And the old lady, already placed at her ease by this charm of manner, smilingly shook her head; really, there was nothing the matter at all; she only felt a little lonely. Ah, it was her own fault, she feared, for there was very little in which she still took any interest. Other old people read the papers and continued to take an interest in things generally; but not she. Yes, it was all her own fault; but Eline was a dear girl; why could not Betsy be a little like her?