‘Ooh, Black Jack!’ cried Léonie. ‘Fie on him!’
Eline smiled wanly, brushing away a tear that clung to her lashes, and Madame van Raat smiled too.
‘There, see how splendidly those aces are turning up!’ Ange pursued excitedly. ‘Have no fear, Mr van Erlevoort, have no fear, it’s all clearing up nicely.’
‘The cards seem to bode well,’ murmured Madame van Raat.
Eline smiled with pursed lips, but she was unnerved. Black Jack had reminded her of Fabrice.
. .
The whist players had risen, and everyone was talking at once. The fortune-telling had given rise to merriment all round, and when Ange prophesied that Etienne would never marry, he protested vehemently, saying he had no intention of remaining a bachelor all his life.
Ange and Léonie then prevailed upon Paul to sing a piece by Massenet, to Léonie’s accompaniment. While he sang, Betsy kept a watchful eye on her sister and Otto; she was sure that nothing had transpired between them as yet. Why was Eline being so coy? Betsy herself had not made such a fuss in her day, she had accepted Van Raat’s stammered proposal quite graciously. What was Eline dithering about? What reason could she possibly have to reject Van Erlevoort? They were made for each other. She was annoyed by her sister’s sentimental wavering when she had the opportunity of marrying into a good family, and a man in a fair position to boot. Her glance rested coldly on Eline’s slender frame, to which that very wavering quality lent an additional allure, and Betsy noted this, as she noted the unwonted earnestness in her sister’s demeanour. What a to-do about such a simple matter! But when her eye fell on her husband, who was chatting to Otto, she felt even more annoyed. What a simpleton he was! Did he really have no idea why Otto was dining at their house tonight?
Madame van Raat had already left, later than was her habit and in considerable disappointment, for she had been hoping to hear the announcement of Eline’s engagement in the intimate setting of her son’s home. It was now past midnight; Madame Eekhof and her daughters took their leave, as did Emilie. Vincent and Paul also prepared to go, while Henk and Etienne escorted the high-spirited girls down the hall to their carriage.
Betsy, Eline and Otto stayed behind in the anteroom. An awkward silence fell. Then Betsy went through to the salon, where she busied herself tidying the card table.
Eline felt the ground crumble beneath her feet. She could not hide her confusion from Otto, who, although he had not meant to impose on her a second time this evening, found himself unable to resist the temptation to do so, since they were alone.
‘Eline,’ he whispered in a choked voice, ‘must I really leave you like this, without an answer?’
She held her breath a moment in fright; then, with a shuddering sigh, she murmured:
‘Otto. . truly, I. . I cannot. . not yet!’
‘Goodnight, then, please forgive me for asking again,’ he said, and with that he lightly pressed her fingers and left.
She, however, suddenly felt herself melting away. Quaking all over, she almost fell to the floor, but saved herself by clutching the door curtain for support, and she cried out, in full surrender to the tide of her emotion:
‘Otto! Otto!’
A low cry escaped him as he came running back to catch her in his arms, and beaming with joy he drew her into the anteroom again.
‘Eline, Eline!’ he cried. ‘Is it true?’
She did not speak, but flung herself sobbing, broken, defeated, against his chest, and felt his arms tighten about her.
‘So you. . you will be my wife?’
She ventured to lift her face to him, locked in his embrace, and answered him only with her tearful gaze and a fleeting smile.
‘Eline, my angel,’ he whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead.
From the salon came the sound of voices: Henk and Etienne had returned from the vestibule, Etienne in his greatcoat, holding his hat in his hand.
‘What’s keeping Otto?’ Eline heard him exclaim, and she also heard Betsy whisper something in reply.
Otto looked down, smiling at Eline’s emotion as she wept with her cheek to his chest.
‘Shall we?’ he said simply, radiating joy.
Slowly, very slowly she allowed him to lead her towards the salon, softly sobbing in his arms, her face buried in his shoulder. Betsy came towards them, smiling, and darted a glance of complicity at Otto as she shook his hand. Henk and Etienne were taken completely by surprise.
‘Van Raat, may I. . may I introduce you to my fiancée?’ said Otto.
Henk too began to smile, while Etienne grinned from ear to ear and rolled his eyes.
‘What a sly old fox you are!’ he exclaimed, wagging his finger at his brother. ‘Keeping us in the dark like this!’
But Eline, still in tears, broke away from Otto’s embrace and flung her arms around Henk’s neck. He kissed her, and mumbled in his deep voice:
‘Well, well, little sister, I congratulate you with all my heart! Now then, don’t cry, no need for that, is there? Come on, give me a smile, there’s a good girl.’
She hid her face in her hands, which moved Betsy to step forward and smooth a stray curl from her sister’s forehead before kissing her too.
‘I’m so glad my little soirée turned out so well!’ she said pointedly.
. .
Henk wanted Otto to stay a little longer when Etienne discreetly made to slip away, but Eline murmured faintly that she was ever so tired, so Otto declined. He was too elated to wish for anything more: he would go, brimming with joy. And she thought it very sweet of him to simply shake her hand in farewell instead of kissing her in front of everyone.
As soon as the brothers had gone Eline fled to her room, where she came upon Mina lighting the lamp. The maids had already heard the news from Gerard, who had entered the salon at an inopportune moment, and Mina congratulated her, peering at her with an inquisitive smile.
‘Thank you, Mina. . thank you,’ stammered Eline.
Alone at last, she glanced in the mirror, and was shocked to see the tear-streaked pallor of her cheeks. But the next instant she felt as though her soul were sliding into a tranquil, blue lagoon, she felt the still waters close over her and found herself in what appeared to be realm of eternal peace, a Nirvana of hitherto unimagined beatitude.
XVI
It was a fresh, bright day in May, after a week of nothing but rain and chilly mist. Jeanne had sent the children — Dora, Wim and Fritsje — for a walk in the Scheveningen woods with the nursemaid while she stayed behind, as there was always so much to do. She now felt lonely and forlorn in the cramped apartment over the grocer’s shop, sitting there all by herself, doing the mending in the pallid ray of sunlight that she now welcomed in her abode, without a thought for her carpet and curtains. Frans was out; he had taken the train to Amsterdam to consult a specialist. It was now half-past one, she established, glancing at the mantel clock ticking loudly in the quiet room. Frans would not be back until about half-past five. The intervening hours seemed to her like an eternity, for all that she was glad of the chance to work without interruption.
When the sunbeam slanted on her face she did not mind; on the contrary, she basked in its feeble warmth. The light shimmered about her light-brown hair, giving her pale, sunken cheeks an alabaster translucence; it shimmered, too, over the slender, delicate fingers plying the needle with practised regularity. Oh, how she longed for the summer! She could not wait for May to end — all that damp, misty weather they’d been having, and so rarely a clear day! How silly of her to have expected this month of May to live up to the exalted reputation it had among all those romantic poets!