to introduce him to his wife, Brauws hurried him down the stairs. Once outside, he breathed again, recovered his usual placidity.
Chapter IX
“I went last night with Van Vreeswijck to hear Brauws speak at Diligentia,” said Van der Welcke, one morning. “The fellow’s inspired. He speaks extempore and magnificently; he’s an orator. A splendid fellow, the way he spoke: it was astounding. … I knew him years ago at Leiden. He was a queer chap even then. He did not belong to any particular club, not to ours either: his family is nothing out of the way. His father has a factory, I believe, somewhere in Overijssel. He himself has nothing of the tradesman about him. He used to coach us dull beggars and help us get up our examinations. I should never have passed without him. He knows about everything, he’s not only good at law. He’s read everything; he has a tremendous memory. He’s travelled a lot and done all sorts of things, but I can’t find out exactly what. Now he’s lecturing. This evening, he’s lecturing in Amsterdam. I asked him to dinner, but he refuses to come, says he’s shy with ladies. Silly fellow!”
The newspapers printed lengthy reports of Brauws’ speeches on Peace. He spoke in all the large Dutch towns and in many of the smaller ones. When he was to speak at the Hague for the second time, Van der Welcke said, excitedly:
“Constance, you must absolutely go and hear Brauws this evening. He’s grand. You know, I can never listen to any one for more than a quarter of an hour. …”
“Nor I for more than three minutes,” said Paul, who was there. “But I love to talk for an hour on end myself.”
“But Brauws: the fellow electrifies you. Though I think that Peace idea of his all rot. But that makes no difference: the chap speaks magnificently. … I’m dining with Van Vreeswijck and we’re going on together.”
Paul asked Constance to go with him. That evening, the little hall of Diligentia—the proceeds were to go to the fund for the Boer wounded—was full: Constance and Paul had difficulty in finding seats.
“All sorts of people,” Paul observed. “A curious audience. An olla podrida of every set in the Hague. Here and there, the very select people have turned up, no doubt brought by Van Vreeswijck: look, there are the Van der Heuvel Steijns; and there’s the French minister; and there, as I live, is Van Naghel, with his colleague from the Treasury. … And look, there’s Isidore the hairdresser. … A bit of everything, a bit of everything. … How brotherly and sisterly the Hague has become this evening: it makes me feel quite sentimental!”
Brauws made his entrance, to faint applause.
“The fellow’s not in evening-dress; he’s wearing a frock-coat. I suppose he’s playing the demagogue or the preacher.”
But he had to stop, for Brauws at once began to speak from the rostrum. He had nothing with him, not a note; and his voice was firm but very gentle. He began with a masterly exposition of the present political situation, sketching it in broad outlines, like an enormous picture, for all those people in front of him. His voice became clearer; his eyes looked through the hall, steady and bright, like two shining stars. Constance, who seldom read any political news, listened, was at once interested, wondered vaguely for a moment that she lived like that, from day to day, without knowing the times in which she lived. The present took shape before her in those few sentences of Brauws’. Then he spoke of Peace, which would be essential sooner or later, which was already making its joyous way into the mind of the nations, even though they were actually still waging war upon one another. It was as though wide and radiant vistas opened under his words; and his voice, at first so gentle, now rang through the hall, triumphantly confirming the glad tidings. He spoke without pausing, for two hours on end; and, when he stopped, the hall was breathless for a moment, the audience forgot to cheer. Then indeed applause burst forth, jubilant; but by that time Brauws was gone. They called him back, but he did not return; and the audience streamed out.
Constance and Paul were in the crush, when they saw Van Vreeswijck and Van der Welcke behind them.
“Mevrouw,” said Van Vreeswijck, bowing. “What do you think of our friend?”
“Wonderful,” said Constance, excitedly.
“The fellow speaks well,” said Paul, “but he is too earnest. He means all he says. People don’t like that in the long run.”
Van der Welcke protested vehemently, as he pushed through the close-packed crowd, and declared that he was converted, that he believed in Peace.
They reached the street: the hum of the crowd floated through the wintry air.
“How excited our stolid Haguers are!” said Paul.
“There’s our man,” said Van Vreeswijck.
“Yes, there he is!” exclaimed Van der Welcke.
And he darted forwards, stopped Brauws, who was walking fast and saw nobody, and seized his hand. The others drew near. Van Vreeswijck, out of politeness, stayed by Constance, waved his hand to Brauws. Van der Welcke was in a great state of excitement:
“Where are you going?” they heard him ask Brauws. “To the Witte?”
“No, my dear fellow, home.”
“Home? Can you go home now? Won’t you come to the Witte? I say, do let me introduce you to my wife, to my brother-in-law. …”
Brauws started:
“No, Hans, honestly. … No, no. … What’s the good? …”
Constance heard and could not help smiling. She walked on with Van Vreeswijck and Paul.
“Yes, yes,” Van der Welcke insisted.
Brauws no doubt realized that Constance had heard, for he said, in a voice of despair:
“Very well then, Hans. …”
“Constance! Paul!” cried Van der Welcke, proud of his friend, and caught them up.
He would have liked to introduce Brauws to the whole world, to the whole audience streaming out of Diligentia.
“Let me introduce you: my friend, Max Brauws; my wife; my brother-in-law, Van Lowe.”
They shook hands. Brauws remained standing in front of Constance, shyly and awkwardly. She tried to pay him a compliment that would not sound too obvious; and, like the tactful woman that she was, she succeeded. Paul also said something; they walked on, Van Vreeswijck silently amused at Van der Welcke’s excitement and Brauws’ awkwardness.
“And are you really going home? Won’t you come to the Witte?” Van der Welcke urged, in imploring tones.
“My dear Hans, what would you have me do at the Witte?”
“So you’re going home.”
“Yes, I’m going home, but I’ll walk a bit of the way with you.”
And, wishing to appear polite, he bowed vaguely to Constance, but said nothing more.
It was a delightful winter evening, with a sharp frost and a sky full of twinkling stars.
“I love walking,” said Constance. “When I’ve heard anything fine—music, a play, or a speech like to-night’s—I would much rather walk than rattle home in a cab.”
“My dear fellow!” cried Van der Welcke, still bubbling over with enthusiasm. “You’ve converted me! I believe in it, I believe in that Peace of yours!”
Brauws gave a sudden bellow.
“There, now the chap’s laughing at me again!” said Van der Welcke, in an injured tone.
“Well,” said Brauws, “shall