They walked on, and Jeanne ordered the saucepans, and Eline went into the china-shop and chose a milk-jug for her. At the same time her mind was still running on Fabrice, and at times she felt an irresistible longing to open the envelope and look at his portraits. She was so passionately fond of music, and Fabrice sang with such pathos, with so much more feeling than other actors. He was still young, she thought; he would yet be famous, and make his début in Paris. Jeanne never went to the opera, and probably had never yet seen him.
Would she, Eline, meet him one day in the street, she wondered? And how would he look, in his everyday clothes? Yes; one morning she would pretend to have an early call to make somewhere, and she would pass by the opera-house. Perhaps there might be a rehearsal, and if so she would probably meet some of the artistes in the neighbourhood of the building. Absorbed in her own thoughts she did not always hear what Jeanne was saying; but she continued to look at her, as she walked by her side, with those sympathetic eyes and that winning smile, which were among Eline’s greatest charms.
Meanwhile they had turned the corner, and on reaching the Hoogewal, she took leave of Jeanne.
“Well, good-bye, I’ll come and look you up soon, Jany; remember me to Ferelyn, do you hear? Come, Ben, shake hands with the lady.”
In her longing after affection, Jeanne felt something like a grateful glow of warmth at the sound of that name Jany; it seemed like an echo of former days, when as a girl every one called her Jany. [[87]]
And she hurried back to the Hugo de Grootstraat, full of high spirits, longing once more to be in her little home, with her husband and her little darlings of children.
Eline smiled to herself as she passed through the Willemspark on her way home. The bare branches over her head glistened with hoar frost, and the frigid air was clear and seemingly full of vague echoes. She felt a strong impulse to give expression to her happiness in that free atmosphere, by an outburst of joyous song. Was she a little smitten then—with that——
No, no, it was too absurd; it was only that he sang well!