“Nico, you will drive me crazy with that blaring noise. Put that thing down now, and eat properly. There, it’s all running down your jacket!” cried Mathilde.
“Oh, he is only making a little music; eh, little dot?” said Madame [[57]]van Erlevoort, and she drew her arm round the child, who, without much respect for his grandma, blew his trumpet right into her ear.
After dinner Freddie and Etienne romped about with the children, whilst Madame van Erlevoort retired to her boudoir, and Otto sat down to smoke his cigar beside Mathilde, who took up some embroidery. Rika, the servant, cleared the table, much hampered in the process by Nico, and in fear and trembling for the safety of the tray upon which she had placed the dirty plates and glasses. At last the clock struck eight, and Miss Frantzen came to fetch the children.
“Ciel de mon âme!” cried Frédérique, half smothered on the sofa between Ernestine, Johan, and Lientje, and with an effort she extricated herself from the labyrinth of arms and legs that twined itself about her like an octopus. “I must get up-stairs; Mathilde, will you help me?”
“Yes; I am coming,” answered Mathilde, rising. “And you, children, you be off to bed, quick!”
“No, I won’t; I want to see Aunt Freddie look pretty first,” cried Ernestine, in a little whining voice. “And I want to help auntie, too.”
“Auntie can do without your help, and pretty she always is. Come now, go up-stairs, all of you, with Miss Frantzen; allons, like good children.”
Freddie ran off, and as Madame van Erlevoort was asleep, Mathilde could for once exert her influence, and the four of them were bundled off up the stairs, with an admonition on each step, as Nico wanted to run down again, and Lientje remained sitting on the floor, playing with Hector.
“I am coming directly, Freddie!” cried Mathilde; “as soon as the children are up-stairs.”
Freddie was already in her room, brushing out the wavy masses of her hair. Mathilde was to dress it: she did it so deftly. And she set about arranging everything—her fan, her gloves, her handkerchief, her pale-blue satin shoes. A nervous blush suffused her clear pale face, as she looked at herself in the mirror and smiled, until in each cheek there formed a little dimple. “Yes; it would be all right,” she said. In half an hour Mathilde came back with Martha, the chamber-maid, and Frédérique sat down in front of the glass, in her white under-bodice and blue shoes. [[58]]