“Come round one Thursday afternoon; we always practise then.”
“Oh! then I am in school.”
“Well, one evening then, nous verrons.”
“Yes, with pleasure—Eline.”
She pronounced that name for the first time since Eline’s request, and she let it fall from her lips, much flattered at the familiarity. Then she took leave, urged thereto by her mother.
Eline stood still for a moment, by accident, beside Frédérique. She had already said good-bye, and was waiting for Betsy, who en passant was talking to Mr. Verstraeten, and she was on the point of saying something to Freddie. But she waited, until Freddie spoke first—and both remained silent.
On her way home, Cateau in ecstasy poured all kinds of nice things about Eline and Paul into Madame van der Stoor’s ears.
New Year’s Day had come and gone. On New Year’s Eve Betsy invited the Verstraetens and Erlevoorts, as well as Madame Van Raat and Paul, to an oyster supper, and a happy evening was spent in the warm comfort of her drawing-room. Now the winter days followed each other in unbroken monotony, whilst the evenings glided on for Betsy and Eline in one long string of [[99]]dinner-parties and soirées. The van Raats had a large circle of acquaintances, and Betsy was famous for her choice little dinners, never with more than twelve persons at the utmost, and always served with the most unstinted and refined luxury. They lived in a coterie, the various members of which saw one another often and intimately, and they were very pleased with the circle in which they moved.
Eline, meanwhile, in the midst of that light glamour of worldliness continued to feed the flame of her secret love in silent happiness, and thought it all very romantic. One morning she had been shopping, and as she was returning along the Princessegracht, she saw Fabrice slowly coming from the Bosch, close by the Bridge. She felt her heart beating, and scarcely dared look up. Still, at last, with apparent indifference she just ventured to glance at him. He wore a short frieze overcoat; a woollen muffler was thrown carelessly about his throat, and he walked, his hands in his pockets, with a somewhat surly expression on his dark face, shaded by the broad brim of his soft felt hat. He gave her the impression of haughty reserve, and this made her idealize. No doubt he was of a good family, for she thought there was something very distingué in his powerful frame; his parents had been against his devoting himself to his art, but he had felt a calling within him that was irresistible; he had received his musical training at a conservatoire, and he had made his début. And now a bitter disappointment filled his soul; he discovered that the surroundings of actors in which he had to move was too rude and uncultured for him; he felt himself different from them, and he withdrew himself within the coldness of his pride. He thought of his youth, of his childhood, and again he saw his mother before him, entreating him with clasped hands to bid farewell to his determination and think no more of the stage.
From that day Eline was seized with the caprice, as Betsy called it, to take long walks in the morning. She thought the Bosch so beautiful in winter, she said; it was grand to see those lofty upright stems, like pillars of marble, after the snow; it was like a cathedral. Henk accompanied her once or twice with Leo and Faust, the two boarhounds, but he preferred his usual morning ride, and she went alone, after she had fetched the two dogs out of the stable. They sprang up at her with their big paws, and like two rough pages waited near her protectingly in their wild playfulness. [[100]]