CHAPTER VIII.
It was the fifth of December, and from early morn a mysterious stir and excitement, a joyous whispering, an anxious stowing away from peering eyes, had prevailed all day at the van Erlevoorts.
A little after seven in the evening the Verstraetens arrived; the two cousins, Jan and Karel, who had taken part in the tableaux, accompanied them; then came the van Raats and Eline, followed by old Madame van Raat and Paul; Henk, however, and Jan Verstraeten did not enter the drawing-room, but mysteriously disappeared in a little cupboard where Marie and Lili had already laid a parcel of costumes.
In the large drawing-room Madame van Erlevoort received her guests, who met with a jubilant welcome from the little van Ryssels and from Hector, and neither Mathilde nor Miss Frantzen could succeed in their efforts to stop the ear-splitting noise.
“Now, why did you not bring Ben with you?” Madame van Erlevoort asked Betsy, indignantly.
“Really, madam, Ben is too young; he is only three, you must remember, and it will be so late to-night.”
“He could have ridden home with our Martha. It’s a pity; I had something for him just to suit him,” said Madame van Erlevoort, in a tone of disappointment.
In the opposite drawing-room, where the girls, with Otto, Paul, and Etienne, were talking and laughing, there was a stir, and the young van Ryssels looked up with nervous curiosity. Martha had just come in, and she had smilingly said something to Frédérique.
“Now, children and all good folks,” cried Frédérique, with a dignified face, “silence! Santa Claus has arrived and wants to know if he may enter. Do you agree, mamma?”
They all kept themselves as serious as possible, with many a furtive glance at the little van Ryssels.
Meanwhile, Santa Claus made his appearance in his white gaberdine, and long red cloak bordered with gold lace. His hair and beard were long and white, and on his head he wore a golden mitre. With much dignity he made his entry into the room, leaning on his staff, and his black page behind him, dressed in a costume which those who had witnessed the recent tableaux at the Verstraetens’ would probably have recognized. The three women-servants and Willem followed them by way of rear-guard, and remained in the room looking on.
The grown-up people all bowed, with a self-conscious smile, before my lord bishop.
Santa Claus muttered a greeting, and all but stumbling over his immensely long gaberdine, he walked up to the sofa, where old Madame van Raat and Madame Verstraeten were seated, surrounded by Madame van Erlevoort, Mr. Verstraeten, Mathilde, Betsy, and Otto. No one troubled himself to rise from his seat, and Madame van Erlevoort welcomed the illustrious guest with a most familiar smile.
“Why doesn’t grandma get up?” whispered Ernestine wondering, as she raised her delicate intelligent little face to Marie’s. “I thought she would have got up when such an old, strange gentleman came in.”
“Mais, écoute donc, comme elle est fine!” Marie whispered to Eline, who stood next to her.
But Eline did not hear; she stood laughing with Paul and Etienne at Santa Claus, whose gaberdine was certainly coming down, and already quite covered his feet, whilst a streak of fair hair became visible between his gray locks and his mitre.
Now Santa Claus raised his deep, full voice, and as, with an energetic wrench, he pulled up his gaberdine into his girdle, he motioned the little van Ryssels to come to him. They did not feel quite sure of the business, but when Santa Claus took one of the bags from his little servant’s hands, and opening it began to scatter its contents about, the youngsters’ faces grew radiant with joy, they forgot their terror, and one and all they threw themselves, tumbling over Hector, on the floor, to scramble for what they could find—ginger-nuts, figs, nuts, oranges, chocolate.
“Scramble away, scramble away,” Santa Claus cried encouragingly, “we’ve got a lot more; look here! Come, you big boys, don’t you want something too?”
The cousins Verstraeten did not wait for a second invitation, and joined in the scramble.
“Will you save them for me, grandma?” screamed Nico, and poured a torrent of sweet-stuff into his grandma’s lap; “then I’ll go and fetch some more!”
“Nico, Nico!” remonstrated Mathilde.
“Never mind,” said Madame van Erlevoort kindly.
Santa Claus and the little page shook out their big sacks, which had been growing limper and limper by degrees, and turned them inside out, as a proof that they were quite empty.
“Oh, now we are going to the dining-room!” cried Ernestine, and she jumped up and clapped her little hands with pleasure.
“Oh yes; to our little tables!” Johan chimed in.
Every one rose, and they followed the Saint and the children to the small drawing-room, and the girls giggled at Santa Claus’s falling wig, but the Saint called out to the servants and Willem—
“Quick, throw open the doors; make haste!”
The folding-doors were opened, and the children stormed into the well-lit room, where, instead of the dining-table, there now stood four small tables; on each of them lay a name in letters of chocolate, on each of them rose a tower of toys.
The Verstraetens and the van Raats whispered to the servants, and their gifts to the youngsters were brought in also, one by one—hoops, whips, balls, tin soldiers, and a cow that gave milk.
Meanwhile Santa Claus and his little slave took their departure, and as it was close upon half-past eight, Mathilde considered it time to stop the fun. But even with Miss Frantzen’s assistance she was not to achieve her object very quickly. The children got muddled in their attempts to collect their toys and dainties; from Ernestine’s pocket a shower of nuts fell on the floor; Johan’s tin soldiers could not be got into their box again, and Lientje with her hoop and Nico with a trumpet rushed along the room followed by Hector, without troubling themselves much more about the rest of their property, which was scattered all around.
“Come, children,” cried Mathilde, “make haste now; ’tis getting bed-time.”
But they heard nothing; the little van Ryssels, mad with joy, ran up and down, scattering about in wildest disorder the toys which the others had gathered together, and Frédérique joined in the fun, and took Nico on her back, whilst he made a horse of her, and struck her on the back with his whip.
The little Verstraetens, too, ran after Tina and Johan, along the marble hall, making a furious stampede with their boots.
Mathilde clasped her hands in despair. No one took any notice of her. Miss Frantzen was assisting the servant with the toys, and the young girls were laughing with Paul and Etienne. Fortunately she caught sight of Otto, who was speaking to Betsy and Madame Verstraeten, and she walked towards him and took his hand.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Otto, do help me; the children must really go to bed, and they won’t even listen to me. Mamma is not a bit of help either.”
Madame van Erlevoort, in fact, was at that moment in the other room, very busy filling Lientje’s toy tea-service with milk, water, and sugar, and old Madame van Raat and Mr. Verstraeten stood looking on with much amusement.
“Oh, I see; Otto is to act the bogey man again,” he said good-humouredly.
“No, no bogey man; but really I shall go crazy if you don’t come to my assistance. Did you ever see such uncontrollable creatures as those children of mine, Betsy? Are you coming, Otto?”
Betsy laughed.
“You had better just go and assert your authority as uncle, Mr. van Erlevoort,” said Madame Verstraeten.
Otto accompanied Mathilde, first to Freddie.
“Come, Freddie, Nico must go to bed. Come, Nico, quick; to-morrow you may ride again on auntie’s back. Down, Hector!”
“You have nothing to do with my back, do you hear?” said Freddie; “do you hear, little grandpapa? Come, Niek, little grandpapa says we must leave off.”
Nico obeyed, pouting, as he asked for his trumpet. Otto went into the hall, where he checked the two eldest in their mad race.
“Come, Tine and Jo; mamma wants you to go to bed now. Don’t be disobedient now, or you will make mamma cross.”
“What a lot we’ve got this year, uncle!” cried Ernestine, out of breath.
Mathilde came into the hall, leading Nico and Lientje by the hand.
“Just fancy, there was mamma, quietly playing at tea-parties with Tine,” she said, and her despairing face made Otto smile. “Really if it were midnight, mamma would——”
“Ma, dear, mustn’t we say good-night first to everybody?” screamed Johan.
“No, no!” cried Mathilde, quite terrified, and grasped the little hands close; “I shall wish all the people good-night for you. Thank you, Otto.”
She gave him a friendly nod, and he nodded back with his genial smile and his frank eyes.
And Mathilde took the children up-stairs.
“Then you can bear all that noise and turmoil?” asked old Madame van Raat of Madame van Erlevoort, and she looked at her smilingly, but wondering, with her sad, lack-lustre eyes.
There was a sudden calm after the exodus of the children. They left the dining-room, where the toys were still scattered about; the apartment was closed, and the guests went into the double drawing-room, where Madame van Erlevoort poured out tea.
“Can I bear it, madam? I feel myself live again under it; it rejuvenates me. I need the life of youth about me. I never spent a drearier time than when my daughters and my son Théodore were married, and yet I still had three children left me. But I must see those little beings fluttering about me; there is nothing that keeps one in a brighter condition like their wild gaiety. May I pour you out another cup?”
Madame van Raat handed her cup, and envied Madame van Erlevoort her youthful vivacity with her gray hairs. She compared her with herself, and her own melancholy solitude, the effect of which she felt doubly keen, after her former life of cloudless happiness, and her present existence stood out in cruel contrast to the joy-surrounded old age of that happy grandmamma.
“And you don’t know how sorry I am that I see so little of Théodore’s six. The boy is in love with country life, and won’t hear of it when I attempt to persuade him to come and live in the Hague.”
“Your daughter in England has only one child, has she not?” asked Madame Verstraeten and Madame van Stralenburg.
Madame van Erlevoort bent down to Madame Verstraeten, and whispered something mysterious in her ear, whilst in reply to Mr. Verstraeten, who nodded to her smilingly, she archly winked her eye.
Thereupon Madame van Erlevoort related how the little van Ryssels had placed their shoes aside the previous evening, when Henk and Jan Verstraeten came in, both smiling, and Henk with a very red face. Mathilde too came back, and many nice things were related about the children. All at once there was a furious ringing at the house-bell.
All eyes turned to the door as it opened. Willem, Truitje, and Rika between them dragged a big box into the room, towards Madame van Erlevoort.
“Oh!” exclaimed Frédérique; “that is the box from London!”
Madame van Erlevoort informed Madame van Raat that every year at St. Nicholas, her son-in-law Howard sent her a big box containing something for everybody. Willem, armed with crowbar and pincers, and assisted by Etienne, removed the screws and nails. Every one was on the watch, and the shower of presents commenced.
Eline made a little heap of her presents. Oh, how she was being spoilt, she declared, radiant with smiles. From Martha’s hand she took another packet; slowly she broke the string, cautiously looking about for a seal, or some stray letter or cipher, to give her a clue to the sender. But she found nothing of the kind, the address ran simply—“Mdlle. E. Vere.” It was a gray leather case; she opened it, wondering who could have sent it. Inside the case, resting on the gray velvet, lay a fan of beautifully-carved mother-of-pearl. She took it up, and slowly opened it; she looked at it in admiration.
“Bucchi!” she softly said, as she read the name of the painter at the bottom; “Bucchi!”
The fan was, in fact, painted by the Italian artist, a fantasy of roses and fairies on a groundwork of ivory satin.
“From whom can this come?” she said. “How splendid!”
Every one rose, every one crowded round Eline, who carefully held the fan open, and the costly gift attracted general admiration. Eline was astonished. From Madame van Raat she had had a scent set, that she knew; from Henk and Betsy——
“Betsy dear, must I thank you for this?” she asked, rising.
Betsy shook her head.
“Parole d’honneur—not me, Eline.”
Of course she had had a bracelet from Betsy and Henk; but who, then, sent this fan?
“Would it be from—Vincent perhaps?” she asked.
“From Vincent? No, no; what put that into your head now? What young man would make such a present? Let me look at it.”
Eline handed her the fan.
“’Tis really magnificent,” said Betsy.
Eline shook her head, quite at a loss for a clue. Meanwhile the fan was passed from hand to hand, and Eline carefully scanned every one’s face, but she could gather not the least sign from any of them. But suddenly Frédérique raised her head, with a look of surprise on her face. She quickly recovered herself, and with apparent indifference approached Eline.
“May I see the case one moment?” she asked.
Eline handed her the case, and Frédérique eagerly scrutinized and felt the gray leather and the gray velvet.
“Have you got the slightest idea who could have sent me that?” asked Eline, and she raised her arms in mock despair.
Frédérique shrugged her shoulders, and laid the case down.
“No—I really don’t know,” she said, somewhat coolly, and she looked with some curiosity into Eline’s hazel eyes.
An indefinable antipathy seemed to her to radiate from out of those gazelle-like eyes, and to lie hidden in the mock despair at the unknown giver. She cast not another glance at the universally admired fan, and during the remainder of the evening she was quieter than ever she had been before.
The torrent of presents had ceased. Madame van Erlevoort asked her guests to leave her two terribly disarranged drawing-rooms, full of paper, straw, bran, and rubbish, when Willem once more opened the doors of the dining-room, and the table, ready laid for supper, looked bright and inviting enough.
It was a gay and lively supper-party. Mr. Verstraeten kept Madame van Erlevoort and Betsy, between whom he was seated, amused with his jokes, and Mathilde, next to Betsy, often joined in the laughter. Henk, seated between his mother and his aunt, wanted nothing; whilst Otto and Eline were busily engaged in conversation, and Etienne chattered noisily with Lili and Marie.
“Freddie, how quiet you are, chère amie,” said Paul, as he took possession of a lobster salad, seeking in vain to set his little neighbour, generally animated enough, a-talking. “Didn’t receive enough presents to your liking, perhaps?”
“Quiet? am I quiet? How can you say such a thing?” answered Freddie, and she began to chatter with an overpowering animation, which sounded like an echo of Etienne’s. But still there was something artificial about it; her laugh was not always a hearty one; and every now and then she stole a furtive glance at Eline, as she sat there, brilliant in her beauty, in lively chat with Otto. Yes, there was something very fascinating about her, something of a siren’s charm; her beautiful dreamy eyes half closed, as she laughed, while the soft line of her delicate lips faded away in two small dimples. And those beautiful hands, peeping out so white from amid the black lace and the dark red bows of her bodice, and that coquettish-looking diamond, one single brilliant stone, trembling like a drop of crystal in the black tulle round her throat. Yes, Frédérique thought her bewitching; but still, she could not help it, she thought her antipathetic; and almost with anxiety her eyes followed those of Otto, whose glance seemed riveted to the siren.
Meanwhile, however, she continued laughing and talking with Paul, with Etienne, and Lili, and Marie, and old Madame van Raat declared across the table that the family’s arch-elf of fun was thoroughly sustaining her reputation.
The champagne streamed into the glasses, and Mr. Verstraeten drank a toast to the ever-youthful hostess, with her beautiful white hair, and thanked her with a kiss for the jolly evening. Eline and Otto drank together to some toast of which Frédérique could not catch the words, and which she would gladly have given her best present to understand; but still she did not ask.
“Etienne, what a noise you’re making!” she cried, with some impatience, to her brother, who, with all the strength of his lungs, sang something about—
“Buvons jusqu’a à la lie!”
while his glass nearly spilt its contents over Lili’s plate. But when she had said so much, she was sorry for it; why should not others enjoy themselves, if she could not?
The supper was over, the carriages were waiting for the guests, who left one by one, laden with the presents each had received. Mathilde felt tired, and soon went up-stairs, whilst Madame van Erlevoort and Otto were packing the presents together.
“What a state the rooms are in!” said Frédérique, as she kicked a cardboard box aside. Then she approached the table; ah, where was the fan? Eline had taken it away with her. Then she kissed her mother and Otto, playfully rumpled Etienne’s hair, and took her presents up-stairs.
Slowly she undressed herself, so slowly that the chill air made her shiver. And as she, trembling with cold, crept under her blankets, she once more saw Eline before her, in all her bewitching grace, in her black lace, smiling at Otto. It all began to whirl before her eyes, like a confused kaleidoscope—Henk, in his dress as Santa Claus, with his falling gaberdine, and Jan Verstraeten as the little page, the box from London, the fan by Bucchi.