Louis Couperus - Eline Vere

. .

A week elapsed, during which the Veres saw neither Vincent nor St Clare, as they were away in Holland. There was talk of a masked ball, hosted by the Count. Uncle Daniel would not attend in fancy dress, but Eliza would be going as an oriental dancer, and Eline, whose imagination had deserted her, was thinking of doing the same.

When the invitation arrived Eline thought of St Clare. What would he say if she accepted? But she had no desire to spend the evening at home alone, so she banished the thought from her mind and concentrated on her costume.

The two friends returned on the day before the ball. Eline thought she saw a flicker of concern in St Clare’s eyes when he heard of the event, but he made no comment. The following evening at around half-past eight he and Vincent called at avenue Louise. Both of them had been invited to be of the party; Vincent had accepted, St Clare had not. He wished to see Eline, but was told that she had just started her toilette. When St Clare reiterated his request with some urgency, Eline sent word that she would see him shortly and asked him to wait.

The reception room was deserted, as Uncle Daniel and Eliza were also preparing themselves. Vincent, in evening dress, settled himself on a couch and took up l’Indépendence to skim the news. St Clare posted himself in the balcony with his hands thrust in his pockets, staring out of the window at the snow gleaming dingily beneath the street lamps. The servant entered with tea for the gentlemen.

‘I must say I admire your pluck, Lawrence!’ Vincent remarked in English as he slowly stirred his tea. ‘Are you sure she will take it all in good part?’

‘I have no choice. It is the only way.’ St Clare replied resolutely, and declined the offer of tea.

When the servant was gone they kept silent for a time, until Eline entered. A rosy blush of face powder hid the sallowness of her skin; her hair was already dressed for the ball with chains of glittering coins, which fell in three tiers across her forehead. Further than that she had not proceeded with her costume, and had wrapped a white flannel peignoir about her in some haste. Vincent stood up, and she apologised for the state she was in. Nonetheless, she looked alluring.

‘You wanted to speak to me urgently, I believe?’ she said softly to St Clare, extending her hand. ‘So please excuse my undress. Do take a seat.’

They sat down, while Vincent repaired to the winter garden with his newspaper. St Clare looked intently at Eline.

‘What do you wish to say to me?’ she asked.

‘First of all, I must apologize for disturbing you so rudely during your preparations for the ball.’

‘Oh that’s all right; I have plenty of time.’

‘I am very grateful that you came at once. I hope you understand that I would not have intruded had it not been for a good reason. I have a request to make you.’

‘An urgent request?’

‘Indeed, an urgent request. And I run the risk that you will be very angry with me when I tell you what it is; that you will feel hurt, and that you will tell me to mind my own business.’

It began to dawn on her, vaguely, what his request would be.

‘Come on then, out with it!’ she said simply.

‘You said I might take the same interest in you as a brother would take in a sister. Is that right, or am I mistaken?’

‘No, that is quite right.’

‘Well, if you were my sister, I would ask you to do me a great favour by not going to that ball tonight.’

She did not answer.

‘If you were my sister, I would tell you that Vincent and I made some enquiries as to the guest list for the ball, and that I am certain that a large proportion of the guests are even less reputable than some of the people your uncle and aunt count among their friends. If you were my sister I could hardly express myself more plainly. But I hope you will understand my concern, now that you have some idea of the type of people that have been invited.’

She lowered her eyes.

‘And therefore, at the risk of interfering in a matter that does not concern me, at the risk of your uncle and aunt taking offence at my meddling in your affairs, at the risk of you yourself, having forgiven me one indiscretion already, becoming very angry with me, I ask you again: please don’t go to the ball. You do not belong there.’

Still she remained silent, twisting the sash of her peignoir around her finger.

‘Are you very angry?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she replied very softly after a pause. ‘No, I am not angry. And I shall do as you ask. I shan’t go.’

‘Do you mean that?’ he exclaimed joyfully.

‘I mean it,’ she said. ‘I shan’t go. I am very grateful to you for making enquiries about the kind of people who will be there. To tell you the truth, I had a feeling that you might not approve, but I dreaded having to stay at home all by myself. I find it so depressing.’

‘You had a feeling I might not approve?’ he echoed, smiling.

‘Yes!’ she replied. ‘You are such a good friend to me; I would hate to do anything against your wishes. As for tonight — your wish is my command.’

‘Thank you!’ he murmured, pressing her hand. ‘I appreciate that very much.’

‘Oh, as well you might!’ she said brightly, although she was somewhat startled by her own submissiveness. ‘Do you realise that it took me almost an hour to arrange all those coins in my hair? And all for nothing!’

‘I am serious — I appreciate it very much, really!’ he said earnestly.

Uncle Daniel came in.

‘Bonsoir, St Clare. You are not coming with us, are you? But Eline! Shouldn’t you be getting dressed?’

Eline’s stammered reply was lost in the vociferations of Eliza, who was berating the manservant in the adjoining room, and a moment later Eliza swept in, resplendent in Algerian draperies and a headdress of coins, with dainty Moorish mules on her feet.

‘Bonsoir, St Clare! What a shame you won’t be joining us! Good gracious, Eline, look at you!’

Vincent emerged from the winter garden.

‘It’s almost half-past nine and you’ve only done your hair!’ pursued Eliza. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘I don’t believe your niece will be accompanying you, dear lady,’ said St Clare, as Eline was too flustered to speak. ‘We heard, Vincent and I, that the society would be rather mixed this evening — and consequently I have advised Miss Vere to stay at home rather than expose herself to undesirable encounters. I hope you don’t mind. Of course I knew she would be in safe hands with her uncle and you to chaperone her, but I couldn’t help feeling that keeping such company would be rather less suitable for a young girl than for a married lady — even such a charming one as yourself! Was I very wrong?’

Eliza wondered whether or not she should take offence, since his tone, though determined, was friendly enough. Daniel Vere shrugged his shoulders.

‘Wrong?’ echoed Eliza. ‘Well, I wouldn’t know. Of course Eline can do as she likes. If she would rather not go, eh bien, soit, then we shall have to pretend she has a headache. Easy as kiss-your-thumb. But you will be abysmally bored, Eline.’

‘No, really, I would rather stay at home,’ said Eline. ‘That is, if you don’t mind.’

‘Not at all, my dear. Liberté chérie, as they say.’

The servant came in with the fur coats, and announced that the carriage was waiting. He held up Eline’s cloak.

‘If your uncle and aunt have no objection, I should like to keep you company for a little while,’ said St Clare.

They had no objection, and Eline felt mildly confused.

‘Goodbye, have fun!’ she said with a timid smile when Uncle Daniel, Eliza and Vincent took their departure.