‘So I did,’ said Otto.
‘Papa was furious! You were sent to your room and put on bread and water for three whole days, remember?’
‘Yes I do,’ said Otto, smiling.
‘And you refused to beg Papa’s pardon for answering back when he told you off, and then Mama insisted you should anyway. Remember?’
He squeezed her arm gently in response, moved almost to tears. The remembrance of that summer in his boyhood evoked a whole train of associations with another summer, during which he had strolled in this very park not with Suzanne, but with. .
‘I say, Otto!’ Suzanne said abruptly. ‘Won’t you be homesick for The Hague, living all by yourself in Elzen?’
‘Oh no!’ he exclaimed with feeling. ‘Not at all! I have no desire to be in The Hague.’
She glanced at him, startled by his emotion.
‘Life in the country appeals to me, and I look forward to my new office,’ he added.
‘Is there any particular reason you want to leave The Hague?’ she asked softly.
‘A particular reason? No, none at all.’
He seated himself on a park bench, but she remained standing, absently plucking sprays of blossom from the overhanging honeysuckle while she tried to find the words to continue.
‘Oh, Otto, it’s not on account of — on account of—?’ she faltered.
He looked straight ahead a moment, then replied in a slow, dull voice.
‘My dear Suzanne, what are you thinking? That I want to leave The Hague because of Eline?’
‘Yes,’ she said timidly. She sat down beside him and began to arrange the flowers into a posy.
‘My dear Sis,’ he resumed, sounding as if he were reciting a rehearsed response, ‘whatever gave you that idea? Did you really think a fellow would spend the rest of his life mourning a girl who goes back on her word? Of course I was sorry at first, and I was sad, too. But it’s all over now, I assure you. Over and done with. . one stops seeing the other person, gradually one stops thinking about them, and in due course one forgets. A broken heart never killed anyone in real life, and besides, a man’s heart does not break as easily as you might think: men have work to do, business to attend to, and life simply goes on, leaving them little time to ponder their losses, even if they wished to. It is different with women, I believe; they give in to their feelings more readily, don’t they?’
He stood up, as in a dream, and she followed him.
‘Yes, I suppose they do,’ she said, with little conviction.
‘One forgets,’ he continued in the same dull tone, ‘and so it can easily happen, after a time, that one meets someone else, someone one can love and who will make one happy. It happens all the time. That’s life.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ she said, and he was reminded of something Eline had said in her letter: ‘then you will find a girl who is worthy of you, and who will make you happy.’
‘So don’t you go thinking I am pining with romantic love!’ he concluded, with a strained smile. ‘I’m not that far gone, you know.’
She fell silent, saddened by his response. He was like Mathilda, too proud to share his grief with anyone, preferring to maintain a certain stoic, outward composure. She did not let him notice that she was undeceived by his pose, and they walked on for a while, saying little. All at once they caught the sound of animated chatter some way off. It was Marianne, ensconced among the lilies of the valley, relating the story of Ein Gebet to Frédérique.
‘It’s a bit melodramatic, but so lovely, so moving! You see, Raoul is doing penance for his mother, who was a tremendous sinner, apparently, although I cannot imagine she could have done anything really wicked. He enters the priesthood and chastises himself. I didn’t sleep a wink after I’d read the bit about him blessing the marriage of Rassillo and Editha. Editha is ever so soft-hearted and sweet, and Raoul has always loved her. Berthalda, though, is incredibly passionate, oh, exaggeratedly so! Anyway, as I was telling you, Berthalda put poison on the wafer, and so, when Raoul gives Editha the wafer she collapses, and instead of repeating the marriage vows, she cries out “Raoul!” and dies. Sad, isn’t it? I couldn’t stop crying! Berthalda does penance too; she enters a convent, a subterranean one where the sun never shines, and Raoul’s hair turns white overnight.’
Otto and Suzanne, who had been hiding behind some trees to eavesdrop, went on their way again.
‘Look at my hair, Suzanne!’ said Otto with the same strained smile: ‘It didn’t turn white overnight! I am not a bit like Raoul, you see!’
She said nothing, trying to smile as she clung to his arm, swinging her honeysuckle posy with her free hand, and to end the silence she hummed a tune.
. .
At De Horze life continued at a steady, unhurried pace. Otto had left for Elzen, and Etienne was extraordinarily diligent, taking off straight after breakfast to study in his room upstairs and disappearing again after lunch for more work. In the evening he joined the rest of the company for a little entertainment, such as leapfrogging over Van Stralenburg and throwing mock punches at him, but when everybody retired he went back to his desk to put in a few more hours of study. He had a veritable craze for his books, in Madame van Erlevoort’s opinion, and seemed not to be deterred by any anxious looks or complaints about his pallor from her or anyone else.
One day Etienne received a letter from Paul, telling him of his plan to visit De Horze in the near future, after which he would travel on to Germany or Italy for an extended tour. Theodore responded somewhat scoffingly to this news, fearing that Paul would lure Etienne away from his books and even try to persuade him to accompany him on his travels. Madame van Erlevoort, however, was very pleased, for she thought Paul’s presence would do Etienne a world of good — the boy was working far too hard, all that zealous studying was bound to make him ill.
Frédérique had given a radiant smile when she heard of Paul’s intended visit, but had said nothing. She wore the same radiant smile when she studied her rosy reflection in the glass on the morning of his arrival. With her brown eyes sparkling like dark gems, her thick, chestnut hair curling silkily about her milk-white neck, she could not help thinking how pretty she looked in her simple dress of pink cotton, lithe and strong, smiling in that regal, munificent, way. Yes indeed, she was quite exhilarated!
Was it because of the sun lighting up her eyes and the peachy glow on her cheeks? Or was it because the person she could not get out of her mind was about to arrive? As she surveyed her appearance, lost in conjecture, she forgot her sense of pride, she forgot all about wanting Paul to be different in certain ways; she found herself being swept away on a wave of emotion that she was powerless to resist, and she was thrilled by her own weakness before the sublime effervescence invading her soul.
He arrived, and when she shook his hand she had the sensation that she had never seen him before. How tall he was, and how handsome, with his cheerful blue-grey eyes, his bushy moustache and his white teeth! How infectious his laughter, hearty and full, and so disarming! She returned his laugh with her own, uttered some pleasantries, and was struck by his manner towards her: it was not a bit like the way he laughed and joked with Françoise, Ange, or Léonie, or with any of the other girls for that matter. There was a gentle intimacy in his gaze, as there was in his tone of voice, from which every trace of cynicism or forwardness had vanished.
Was it the country air that made him look so attractive, so fresh-faced and sincere? Theodore at any rate was pleased to see Paul in such good form, and promptly pressed him to stay with them for a few days, on condition that he should not distract Etienne too much from his books. Paul gave his solemn promise and accepted the invitation with gratitude. When they were all gathered together on the veranda to enjoy a light May wine, Frédérique could not help noticing how he held everyone’s attention. No, he wasn’t half as vain and frivolous as she had thought, and she — well, she found him very engaging, to say the least.