Madame van Raat lost all hope of her ability to restore some measure of vitality in Eline. It was as she had feared: the task Reijer had assigned to her, and which she so dearly wished to fulfil, was proving beyond her powers. Her hopes faded, and she subsided into the grey mists of her own private melancholy. Hours went by during which the old lady and the young girl sat together in the same room without exchanging a single word, each of them lost in hopeless reverie.
. .
Eline was aware that this desultory cohabitation could not last. There was something about Madame van Raat and about her home, something she could not define, that irritated her. She found herself unable to contain her exasperation at times, and would burst out with some harsh, unkind remark, often for no reason whatsoever. The old lady’s only answer would be a momentary, wounded stare, which would instantly fill Eline with remorse. Sometimes she could not bring herself to apologise, and would scarcely open her mouth for the rest of the day. At other times she was so consumed by guilt that she went down on her knees and hid her face in the old lady’s lap, weeping and begging to be forgiven, lamenting that when she was in one of her black moods. . she knew not where they came from or how to control them. . oh, it was like being possessed by demons, as if she had no will of her own!
Madame van Raat dissolved in tears, too, and kissed her, but the next day the same demons bore down on Eline to crush her will.
Something had to be done, thought Eline. She wrote a long letter to her uncle Daniel and Eliza, in which she bared her soul more than she had ever dared before. She informed them that she felt utterly miserable in The Hague, that she would die of dreariness if she stayed much longer with Madame van Raat, notwithstanding the latter’s great kindness to her, and that she longed desperately for a change of environment. Uncle Daniel came to The Hague and declared to Eline, in the old lady’s presence although without mentioning the letter, that he and his wife missed her and wondered whether she would pay them another visit.
Eline was undecided, but Madame van Raat urged her in mournful tones to accept her uncle’s kind invitation, and it was arranged there and then that she should accompany him to Brussels two days later.
When Daniel Vere was gone, Madame van Raat sat slumped in her chair, her grey head sunk down upon her breast, shattered by the enormity of her disappointment. Another two days and Eline would leave! That would be the end of it! Weak as she was, she had hoped to make herself useful, she had hoped to infuse just a little fresh vigour into the dear young creature’s listless existence, but she could not help seeing that she was defeated: Eline was languishing in her home, Eline yearned for variety! How could she, an old woman, have had such presumption!
Seeing the old lady’s mute sorrow, Eline was overcome with despair, despair over her own egotism. She had not given the slightest thought to Madame van Raat when she wrote that letter to her uncle Daniel; she had thought only of herself, and now she was causing the old lady great distress, even though she herself was convinced that exchanging The Hague for Brussels would not change anything, really, least of all rid her of the fatigue that had plagued her body and soul for the past two years.
‘My dear little Mama!’ she cried tearfully. ‘Are you very sad to see me go? I can hardly think you would have wished to keep me with you, me, ungrateful, cross creature that I am!’
She sank down on a low stool at the old lady’s feet and kissed her hand.
‘Sad? Yes, it makes me sad, Elly!’ faltered Madame van Raat, gently stroking Eline’s forehead. ‘But it will be for the best. Far be it from me to wish you to leave, even if you are not always as sweet-tempered with me as you used to be. Oh, if only I could be confident that you would find happiness here eventually, then I would not tell you to go. But as it is, I say to you: go, my poor child, with my blessing, and come back whenever you wish.’
Eline began to sob.
‘It’s all my fault, I know it is! You are such a dear, you have been so very kind to me, and I have yet to hear you utter a single word against me. You spoil me as if I were your own flesh and blood, and in return I fly into rages and say abominable things! Oh, what a wretched creature I am! How I wish I could be different! Time was when I would have loved nothing more than to be spoilt by you, but now. . now it makes no difference! It’s not that I don’t love you, because I do, I love you more than anyone else in the world, but, you see, nothing matters to me any more, nothing, nothing!’
‘Fie, Eline, fie! You shouldn’t say such things.’
‘Oh, I know I’m horrid! But am I to blame? Don’t you think I would much rather be good and kind and happy? But I cannot change the way I am, it’s impossible! You told me that I ought to pray, you said it would make me feel better. Well, I went to church, and it didn’t help. . and I can’t pray properly the way you do, either! I did pray for something once, a long time ago, but my prayer went unanswered.’
She thought of that night at De Horze, when she had prayed to God that her happiness, the gentle felicity she had found with Otto, might remain with her for ever.
‘I’ll tell you what I prayed for!’ she pursued hoarsely, coughing as she rose to her feet and began to walk aimlessly about the room, wringing her thin hands as if they were ice-cold. ‘I was so happy then, happier than I thought I could ever be. It was a lovely time, so peaceful and so tranquil; everyone was good and kind to me. I couldn’t imagine what I had done to deserve such great happiness, and then. . then all of a sudden I began to be afraid that things might change. That was when I prayed to God to make that wondrous happiness last for ever. And from that moment on — when I was afraid and prayed to God — from that moment on things did begin to change, very slowly, but surely. I can see it so clearly now! I shouldn’t have given in to doubt, I shouldn’t have been afraid, I shouldn’t have prayed! Don’t you see? That is why I cannot and will not pray any more.’
She flung herself on the sofa in a nervous flood of tears, but jumped up again immediately with a wild, hunted look. Her eyes darted this way and that and her fingers were in constant motion, touching a vase here or a flower basket there, toying with the fringe of the window-curtain, tracing arabesques on the steamed-up panes. Abruptly recovering herself, she found that she could not recall what she had just said.
‘I don’t suppose you understand, do you?’ she said doubtfully to Madame van Raat, whose mournful gaze had followed her every movement.
‘Yes, my dear, I believe I do,’ she stammered, overcome with grief over Eline’s lost chance of happiness.
Eline stared. For a moment she deeply regretted her half-remembered confession, but the sympathy beaming from Madame’s eyes reassured her.
‘So you understand what I mean? You understand why I can never be happy again?’ she asked, sinking down on the footstool once more.
Madame van Raat did not answer; with tears in her eyes she put her arm around Eline’s neck and kissed her. They remained thus a moment, in silence.
‘And will you forgive me, just a little, for leaving you?’
‘Oh, why won’t you stay with me?’