Free Eline Vere by Louis Couperus

at least a year and a half. When we last spoke I believe he was about to go to London, where he’d found some position; working on a newspaper or something of that nature. Can you imagine, they say he was with the Foreign Legion in Algiers for a time, butI don’t believe any of it. He’s supposed to have done all sorts of things, and he never has a penny.’
    â€˜Yes, I remember him now. I think we met at some time,’ Emilie said with a yawn. ‘A curious customer.’
    â€˜Yes, he is, but he knows he has to behave himself after a fashion when he’s in The Hague, where his relatives live, which he does, and so we put up with him.’
    â€˜Ah well, there’s a black sheep in most families,’ Emilie remarked philosophically.
    Eline gave a light laugh at the popular expression, and at long last folded her pink ostrich-feather fan.
    . . .
    The third act passed without her comprehending much of the scene with Manoël, but she did get the gist of the great duet sung by Hermosa and Xaïma: the reunion of mother and daughter after the refrain '
Debout, enfants de l’Ibérie!
'
    The curtain fell to thunderous applause, and three times the two actresses were called to the front, where they were presented with bouquets and baskets of flowers.
    â€˜Oh please, Mr de Woude, be so kind as to explain the intrigue to me. Je n’y vois pas encore clair!’ said Eline, turning to Georges.
    Before he could reply, however, Betsy proposed taking a turn in the foyer, and they all stood up and left the box. Seated on the ottoman in the foyer, Georges summarised the plot for Eline, who listened with more interest than her expression revealed. Now that she knew why Xaïma was terrified of Ben-Saïd she regretted all the more having missed the drawing of lots in the first act and Xaïma’s sale into slavery in the second.
    She caught sight of Vincent coming down the steps. He made his way towards them with a casual, familiar air, as if he had seen his cousins only yesterday.
    â€˜Why, Vincent! Fancy seeing you here!’ exclaimed Eline.
    â€˜Hello Eline! Hello Betsy! Delighted to see you again. Ah, and the Honourable Miss van Berg en Woude, am I right?’
    They shook hands.
    â€˜Nearly right! Your memory for names is admirable, unlike mine, because I had quite forgotten yours,’ responded Emilie.
    Betsy introduced Vincent and Georges.
    â€˜And how is everybody? Well, I hope?’
    â€˜Rather astonished, really!’ laughed Eline. ‘I suppose you have come to say that you are off again tomorrow to St Petersburg, or Constantinople, haven’t you?’
    He smiled, studying her through his lorgnette, his pale-blue eyes like faded porcelain behind the lenses. His features were regular and handsome, almost too handsome for a man, with a fine straight nose, a neat mouth which frequently twitched with something akin to mockery, and a thin blond moustache. But his looks were a little spoiled by his complexion, which was sallow and fatigued. Of slight build, he was simply dressed in a dark half-formal suit, beneath which his feet looked remarkably narrow. His hands, too, were finely shaped, with slender, pallid fingers like those of an artist, and they reminded Eline of her father.
    He took a seat and, in reply to Eline’s question, told her a touch wearily that he had only arrived in The Hague yesterday, on business. He had spent some time in Malaga recently, something to do with the wine trade, and had previously been with an insurance company in Brussels; prior to that he had invested in a carpet factory in Smyrna, which had gone bankrupt. Things had not been going his way, really, and he was beginning to tire of all the travelling; he had not sat still by any means, but fate was against him, everything seemed to go wrong. There was a chance of a position with a quinine farm on Java, but first he had to obtain the proper information. He was hoping to see