Another period of babbling and waiting; then another footman appeared. Again everybody sprang to his feet. Again all, except the silent Holsmas, railed at such stupidity.
The crowd became more restless. Innumerable times were they fooled by some footman or other, who opened a door to break the monotony. The people were already beginning to complain, but softly, cautiously.
Walter was carried away with the elegance and magnificence of it all. One thing, however, jarred upon his sense of propriety: he wondered how such swell folk could say such commonplace things. The Holsmas said nothing. Only once, when Uncle Sybrand pointed to a certain box, did they join in the general hubbub.
"I shall be sorry if I have left little Erich all for nothing," said Mevrouw Holsma.
"Yes, but I had rather be with him myself. The child is sick. I'm not going to wait much longer."
"It's doubtful whether she will come with the others. I've heard that she's full of moods and mischief. She cares nothing for convention. It seems to run in the blood."
"If she isn't here by ten o'clock I'm going. I don't care much about it, anyway."
This conversation occupied Walter for a short time. Who was this person on whose account Mevrouw Holsma had left the bedside of her sick child?
The tension of expectancy was broken, and a momentary excitement pulsed through the multitude. All arose to their feet, and remained standing.
An emperor, or something of the kind, entered the royal box. Walter could see little; but he inferred what was going on from whisperings he heard about him. His majesty had made a quick rush for his chair, turning over a few other chairs in so doing. That was a habit of his. Then he looked about the auditorium for a moment with squinted eyes, jerked up his chair and fell into it. He was in a hurry. The public was now at liberty to take their seats.
The other boxes were now filled quickly, as if by a stroke of magic. Remarkable costumes were on exhibition. There were bodices three inches wide, with skirts of as many yards. Voluptuous bosoms hovered between chin and girdle. Scanty sleevelets did not know whether they were to cover arms or shoulders. The ladies wore kid gloves reaching to their armpits, and on their heads were turbans and flower-gardens. The uniforms of the gentlemen were even more conspicuous. Those shakos! The enemy would have run at the sight of them.