“You often sing with Mr. van Raat; has he a nice voice?” asked Cateau.
“A little weak, but very pretty.”
“Oh! I should so much like to hear you together.”
“Well, I dare say you will some day.”
“You have such a splendid voice; oh! I think it so delightful to hear you sing.”
Eline gave a little laugh, flattered by Cateau’s ecstasy.
“Really? But, Toos, don’t go on calling me Miss Vere, ’tis so formal; call me Eline in future, will you?”
Cateau blushed with pleasure, and stroked the fur of Eline’s muff. She gave herself completely over to the charm of that melodious voice, to the fascinating influence of that soft, gazelle-like glance.
Eline felt more than usually in need of much affection and tenderness. In her innermost heart, her admiration for Fabrice had blazed forth in a passion that filled her whole being, and to which she felt constrained to give vent, without betraying herself. [[97]]The wealth of love which she felt was in her, and which she durst not proclaim, she attempted to share amongst those who were worthy of it, like a costly bouquet of which she threw a flower to those around her. Those chosen ones she beamed upon with her captivating glance, and was enraptured when she saw that others felt themselves drawn towards her; but on the other hand it gave her pain when she was met with coldness in return. Thus it was with Frédérique’s inexplicable surliness; and although at first with a certain haughtiness she would take no notice of it, she now did her best to win her affection, and on meeting her she had addressed her with all the charm of her manner. But Frédérique’s answers were given in a curt, careless tone, and with averted head; she suspected that Eline had remarked her coolness, but she was of too frank a nature to be able to hide her feelings: she had no tact to feign what she did not feel.
The conversation turned on portraits, and Madame Verstraeten passed by Eline and Cateau to take from a table an album which she wanted to show Madame van der Stoor and Madame Eekhof.