The Later Life Part 37

"She has gone away ... with Henri...."

"Gone away?"

"Run away perhaps ... with Henri.... I don't know where. Van Raven doesn't know where. n.o.body knows. Adolph van Naghel, my brother-in-law the commissary, has made enquiries ... and has found out nothing.... We dissuaded her from seeking a divorce; so did Adolph. Then, no doubt because of that, she ran away with Henri, with her brother. She absolutely refuses to live with Eduard. She has run away.... Constance, where has she gone to? I don't know! Constance, it's a terrible thing! But keep it to yourself, don't tell anybody. Mamma doesn't know. I want to pretend, if there's nothing else for it, if they don't come back, that she has gone on a little journey, a trip somewhere, alone with her brother. We must pretend that, Constance. I don't think they intend to come back. Henri has been very excited lately: he fought Eduard, came to blows with him, for ill-treating his sister. You know how fond they are of each other, Emilie and Henri. It's almost unnatural, in a brother and sister. Now they've run away.... Oh dear, Constance, I am so terribly unhappy!"

She threw herself into Constance' arms, sobbed, with her arms round Constance' neck:

"Constance, Constance, help me!... I have no one to turn to, no one I can talk to. Adolph is helping me with the business-matters; Otto too. Louise is very kind; but she and Otto think that Emilie ought to divorce her husband, on the ground of cruelty. But, Constance, in our cla.s.s, men don't beat their wives! It never happens. It's an awful thing. It only happens with the lower orders!... Oh dear, Constance, I am so unhappy!... The business-matters will be settled.... But there are debts. I thought that we were living within our income, but I don't know: there appear to be debts. Bills mount up so.... I did so hope that the boys would finish their course. Frans will; but now Henri ... that mad idea ... going away with Emilie ... running away ... n.o.body knows where.... Oh dear, Constance, I am so unhappy: help me, do help me!"

She lay back limply in Constance' arms and the tears flowed incessantly down her pale face, which in those few weeks had fallen away till it was the face of an old woman. She lay there feeble and ill; and it seemed as if Van Naghel's death, coming suddenly as an additional catastrophe on that evening of misfortunes--her guests in the drawing-room, Emilie hiding upstairs, Van Raven waiting below--had so terribly shaken her composure, the composure of a prudent, resourceful woman of the world, that she was simply compelled to speak of private matters which she would never have mentioned before.... An instinct drove her into Constance' arms, drove her to unbosom herself to Constance as the only one who could understand her. Her near-sighted, blinking eyes sought anxiously, through her tears, to read the expression on Constance' face. And she was so broken, so shattered that Constance had to make an effort to realize that it was really Bertha whom she held in her arms.

The ill-feeling which she had cherished for months past was gone. None of it remained in her soul, in her heart, as though she had pa.s.sed out of the depths of that atmosphere to purer heights of understanding and feeling. Only for a moment did she still remember that evening when she herself, in this same room, had implored Bertha and Van Naghel to help her "rehabilitate" herself in the eyes of their friends and of the Hague. It seemed long ago, years ago. She could hardly understand herself: that she could have begged so earnestly for something that was so small, of such little importance to her soul, to the world. She could not have done it now.... She did not understand how she could so long have cherished a grudge against Van Naghel, against Bertha ... because they did not ask her to their official dinners, when the invitation would have given her the rehabilitation which she sought. At the present moment, she did not even desire that rehabilitation, did not care about it, treated it as something that had become of no value: an idea which had withered and shrivelled within her and which blew away like a dead leaf to far-off s.p.a.cious skies.... Addie? He did not need his mother's rehabilitation in the eyes of the Hague. The boy would make his own way in life.... Oh, how small she had been, to beg for it; to go on bearing a grudge, months on end, for something so little, so infinitesimal ... so absolutely non-existent!... She felt that something had grown up inside her and was looking down upon all that earlier business.... No, there was no bitterness left. She felt a deep pity and a sisterly affection for this poor, old woman, Bertha, who now lay feebly and impotently in her arms, begging ... for what? She collected her thoughts: what could she do, how could she help Bertha? Her thoughts crowded upon one another rapidly; she thought vaguely of Van der Welcke, of Addie: what could they do, how could they help Bertha, how get upon the track of Emilie and Henri? And in the end she could think of nothing to say but:

"Yes, Bertha, the best thing will be to pretend that Emilie has gone for a trip with her brother. We will put it like that, if necessary. What does Van Raven want to do?"

"He won't consent to a divorce.... And it would be an awful thing, you know.... Oh, Constance, they have not been married ten months!"

A weariness suddenly came over her, like the abrupt extinction of all the little mundane interests that had always meant so much to her.

"But," she murmured, "if he beats her ... perhaps it is better that they should be divorced.... I don't know.... We are going to Baarn: there is a small villa to let there. I should prefer to take it at once and go down there with Louise and Marianne.... Karel gives me a lot of trouble: he doesn't behave well, no, he doesn't behave well. And he is still so young. Perhaps he will go to live with Adolph, his guardian, who will be very strict with him. I don't know what to do, I can do nothing.... I used to do everything with Van Naghel, he and I together. He was really good and kind. We were always thinking of the children, both of us. He was tired ... of being in the Cabinet; but he went on, for the children's sake...."

Her unconscious simplicity, in implying that Van Naghel was in the Cabinet for the sake of his children and not of his country, seemed to strike Constance for the first time: she almost smiled, held Bertha closer to her.

"He couldn't very well resign ... and he didn't want to," Bertha continued, feebly. "And now I don't know what to do. I feel so very much alone; and yet I was once a capable woman, wasn't I, Constance? Now I no longer feel capable. Perhaps that life was too crowded. And, Constance, what was the use of it all? My children, our children, for whom we lived, are none of them happy. I have grown weary and old ... for nothing. I wish that we were at Baarn now. I want to live there quietly, with the two girls. Louise is nice, so is Marianne. They neither of them want to go about any more. They're not happy, no, they are not happy. Oh, my poor, poor children!... You must never tell Mamma, Constance. Mamma doesn't know: dear Mamma! There is no need for her to know, poor dear! Better leave her under the impression that all is well with us, even though Van Naghel is gone...."

And she sobbed at the thought that she was alone. Then, suddenly, she drew herself up a little, made Constance take a chair, sat down beside her and asked, peering anxiously through her tears into Constance' face:

"Constance, tell me ... Marianne?"

"Yes, Bertha?"

"Are you fond of Marianne?"

"Yes, very."

"Still?"

"Yes, still."

"Constance...."

"Yes, Bertha?"

"It is just as well ... that we are going to Baarn.... Tell me, Constance: Van der Welcke...."

"Well?"

"What sort of a man is he?"

"What do you mean, Bertha?" asked Constance, gently.

"Is ... is it his fault?... Is he a gentleman?"

Constance defended her husband calmly, but not without astonishment that Bertha could speak so frankly about that ... as if they both knew all about it:

"No, Bertha, I don't think that Henri ... that it is Henri's fault. I don't think it's Marianne's fault either. Bertha, I don't believe they can help it. They have an attraction for each other, a very great attraction...."

A tenderness came over her soul, like a glow, like a glowing compa.s.sion.

"Constance, they must not let themselves go. They must struggle against it."

"Who can tell what they are doing, Bertha? Who can tell what goes on inside them?"

"No, they are not struggling."

"Who can tell?"

"No, no.... Constance, it is just as well that we are going to Baarn."

They heard voices in the drawing-room, loud voices, with an Indian accent. The Ruyvenaers were going:

"Good-bye, Ber-r-rtha," said Aunt Lot, looking through the door. "We're going, Ber-r-rtha."

Constance and Bertha went back to the drawing-room. Bertha forgot to wipe the tears from her eyes, kissed Aunt Lot. Adolphine and Cateau came up to Bertha:

"Ber-tha," whined Cateau; and this time she whined with a vengeance. "We just want-ed to say a word to you. Emilie-tje must not get a di-vorce."

"No," said Adolphine, "if she goes and gets a divorce, the family will become impossible. It'll create a scandal, if they are divorced."

"Ye-es," Cateau droned aloud, "it would be a scan-dal, Ber-tha. Don't you think so too, Constance?"

"There's no question of it ... for the moment," said Constance. "Emilie has gone abroad for a bit with Henri; and the change is sure to do her good and make her a little calmer."

"Oh?... Has she gone a-broad?"

"Where to?" asked Adolphine, all agog.

"They were to go to Paris," said Constance, without hesitating.

"O-oh?... Has Emilie-tje gone to ... Pa-ris?"

"Yes, with her brother," Constance repeated.

A minute later, she found an opportunity of saying quietly to Bertha:

"It's better like that, Bertha; better to say it as if it was quite natural... If you don't say it yourself ... and they come to hear...."

"Thank you, Constance ... thank you."