“Quiet? am I quiet? How can you say such a thing?” answered Freddie, and she began to chatter with an overpowering animation, which sounded like an echo of Etienne’s. But still there was something artificial about it; her laugh was not always a hearty one; and every now and then she stole a furtive glance at Eline, as she [[82]]sat there, brilliant in her beauty, in lively chat with Otto. Yes, there was something very fascinating about her, something of a siren’s charm; her beautiful dreamy eyes half closed, as she laughed, while the soft line of her delicate lips faded away in two small dimples. And those beautiful hands, peeping out so white from amid the black lace and the dark red bows of her bodice, and that coquettish-looking diamond, one single brilliant stone, trembling like a drop of crystal in the black tulle round her throat. Yes, Frédérique thought her bewitching; but still, she could not help it, she thought her antipathetic; and almost with anxiety her eyes followed those of Otto, whose glance seemed riveted to the siren.
Meanwhile, however, she continued laughing and talking with Paul, with Etienne, and Lili, and Marie, and old Madame van Raat declared across the table that the family’s arch-elf of fun was thoroughly sustaining her reputation.
The champagne streamed into the glasses, and Mr. Verstraeten drank a toast to the ever-youthful hostess, with her beautiful white hair, and thanked her with a kiss for the jolly evening. Eline and Otto drank together to some toast of which Frédérique could not catch the words, and which she would gladly have given her best present to understand; but still she did not ask.
“Etienne, what a noise you’re making!” she cried, with some impatience, to her brother, who, with all the strength of his lungs, sang something about—
“Buvons jusqu’a à la lie!”
while his glass nearly spilt its contents over Lili’s plate. But when she had said so much, she was sorry for it; why should not others enjoy themselves, if she could not?
The supper was over, the carriages were waiting for the guests, who left one by one, laden with the presents each had received. Mathilde felt tired, and soon went up-stairs, whilst Madame van Erlevoort and Otto were packing the presents together.
“What a state the rooms are in!” said Frédérique, as she kicked a cardboard box aside. Then she approached the table; ah, where was the fan? Eline had taken it away with her. Then she kissed her mother and Otto, playfully rumpled Etienne’s hair, and took her presents up-stairs.
Slowly she undressed herself, so slowly that the chill air made [[83]]her shiver. And as she, trembling with cold, crept under her blankets, she once more saw Eline before her, in all her bewitching grace, in her black lace, smiling at Otto. It all began to whirl before her eyes, like a confused kaleidoscope—Henk, in his dress as Santa Claus, with his falling gaberdine, and Jan Verstraeten as the little page, the box from London, the fan by Bucchi.