CHAPTER V.
About a week after the tableaux-vivants, Lili Verstraeten was sitting in the small drawing-room, where the representation had taken place. The room had long since resumed its usual appearance, and in the grate burned a cheerful fire. Outdoors it was cold; there was a bleak wind, and it threatened rain. Marie had gone shopping with Frédérique van Erlevoort, but Lili had preferred to stay at home, and so she settled herself cosily in a big, old-fashioned, tapestry-covered arm-chair. She had taken Victor Hugo’s Notre Dame de Paris with her, but she did not wish to force herself to read, if she did not care for it, and the book, in its red calf cover and with gilt edges, lay unopened in her lap. How nice it was to do nothing except dream the time away! how stupid of Marie and Freddie to go out in such wretched weather! What did she care about the weather! let it pour and blow outdoors as much as it liked, indoors it was beautiful; the clouds subdued the light, the low hanging curtains allowed it but [[47]]a modest access. Papa sat reading in the conservatory, where it was lightest; she could just catch a glimpse of his dear gray head, and she noticed how quickly he turned the pages; yes, he was really reading, not like her, who had taken her book just for a make-believe. She never felt ennui, though she did nothing at all; on the contrary, she enjoyed those musing thoughts, rose-leaves wafted along by gentle breezes; soap-bubbles, bright and airy, which she loved to watch, floating on high, and the rose-leaves blew away, the bubbles broke, but she wished neither her rose-leaf to be an ivy plant, clinging closely to her, nor her bubbles to be a captive balloon. Mamma was still up-stairs, ever active—ah! she could not lighten mamma’s work; she would do everything herself, though Marie occasionally helped a little. She inwardly hoped no visitors would come to disturb her in her dolce far niente. How jolly it was! How nice to watch the flame curling and twisting round the live coal! The grate was a miniature hell, the peat-blocks were rocks, and between them there were yawning precipices, all fire and glowing embers—it was like Dante! The souls of the damned hovered about the brinks of the precipices, shuddering at the fiery mass.… And, smiling at the wildness of her own fantasy, she averted her eyes, somewhat dazed with staring into the fire. But a week ago, on that very spot yonder, they had posed before their applauding acquaintances. How different it all looked then! The scenes, the lyres, the cross, and all the rest of the paraphernalia were stowed away in the lumber-room. The dresses were nicely folded up by Dien, and put away in boxes. But it had been a jolly time, what with the consultations beforehand with Paul and Etienne, the rehearsals, and so forth. How they had laughed! what trouble they had taken for the sake of a few moments’ entertainment!
Papa still read on, turning page after page. How the rain beat against the window-panes! how it rushed down the pipe! Yes; Freddie and Marie were out for their enjoyment … how grand it was to be snug and safe from all the wet. And her feet sought the soft warmth of the hearth-rug; her fair head nestled deeper into the cushions of the old chair.
Freddie was to go to a dance that evening. How could she stand it, going out night after night! Yes; she was very fond of it herself—a nice dance, a sociable soirée; but she liked staying at home too; to read, to work, or to—do nothing. But as for ennui, she [[48]]did not know what it was, and her life flowed on like a limpid rivulet. She was so entirely in love with her darling parents; she only hoped things would ever remain as they were; she would not mind being an old maid.… Quasimodo, Esmeralda, Phœbus de Châteaupers—oh, why had she not taken Longfellow with her? she did not care about the Cour des Miracles, but she longed for Evangeline or the Golden Legend—
“My life is little,
Only a cup of water,
But pure and limpid——”
How poetic she was getting! she laughed at herself, and looked out into the garden, where the dripping bare branches were swaying to and fro in the wind. There was a ring at the bell, and light footsteps and laughter echoed through the hall. Freddie and Marie were returning home, they would go up-stairs she supposed; no—they were coming this way, and entered the room, their wet wraps removed, but bringing with them a rush of wind and a chill dampness.
“Well, I never!” cried Marie; “my lady seated by the fire warming herself. That’s right!”
“Would my lady like a pillow for her back?” asked Freddie teasingly.