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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1069 ***</div>

<h1>Four Short Stories</h1>

<h2 class="no-break">By Émile Zola</h2>

<hr />

<h2>Contents</h2>

<table summary="" style="">

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"><b>NANA</b></a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0001">CHAPTER I</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0002">CHAPTER II</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0003">CHAPTER III</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0004">CHAPTER IV</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0005">CHAPTER V</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0006">CHAPTER VI</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0007">CHAPTER VII</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0008">CHAPTER VIII</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0009">CHAPTER IX</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0010">CHAPTER X</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0011">CHAPTER XI</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0012">CHAPTER XII</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0013">CHAPTER XIII</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0014">CHAPTER XIV</a><br /><br /></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0016"><b>THE MILLER&rsquo;S DAUGHTER</b></a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0015">CHAPTER I</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0016">CHAPTER II</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0017">CHAPTER III</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0018">CHAPTER IV</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0019">CHAPTER V</a><br /><br /></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0022"><b>CAPTAIN BURLE</b></a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0020">CHAPTER I</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0021">CHAPTER II</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0022">CHAPTER III</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0023">CHAPTER IV</a><br /><br /></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0027"><b>THE DEATH OF OLIVIER BECAILLE</b></a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0024">CHAPTER I</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0025">CHAPTER II</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0026">CHAPTER III</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0027">CHAPTER IV</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> <a href="#link2HCH0028">CHAPTER V</a></td>
</tr>

</table>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"></a> NANA</h2>

<h3> by Émile Zola</h3>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"></a> CHAPTER I</h2>

<p>
At nine o&rsquo;clock in the evening the body of the house at the Theatres des
Variétés was still all but empty. A few individuals, it is true, were sitting
quietly waiting in the balcony and stalls, but these were lost, as it were,
among the ranges of seats whose coverings of cardinal velvet loomed in the
subdued light of the dimly burning luster. A shadow enveloped the great red
splash of the curtain, and not a sound came from the stage, the unlit
footlights, the scattered desks of the orchestra. It was only high overhead in
the third gallery, round the domed ceiling where nude females and children flew
in heavens which had turned green in the gaslight, that calls and laughter were
audible above a continuous hubbub of voices, and heads in women&rsquo;s and
workmen&rsquo;s caps were ranged, row above row, under the wide-vaulted bays
with their gilt-surrounding adornments. Every few seconds an attendant would
make her appearance, bustling along with tickets in her hand and piloting in
front of her a gentleman and a lady, who took their seats, he in his evening
dress, she sitting slim and undulant beside him while her eyes wandered slowly
round the house.
</p>

<p>
Two young men appeared in the stalls; they kept standing and looked about them.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t I say so, Hector?&rdquo; cried the elder of the two, a tall
fellow with little black mustaches. &ldquo;We&rsquo;re too early! You might
quite well have allowed me to finish my cigar.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
An attendant was passing.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, Monsieur Fauchery,&rdquo; she said familiarly, &ldquo;it won&rsquo;t
begin for half an hour yet!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Then why do they advertise for nine o&rsquo;clock?&rdquo; muttered
Hector, whose long thin face assumed an expression of vexation. &ldquo;Only
this morning Clarisse, who&rsquo;s in the piece, swore that they&rsquo;d begin
at nine o&rsquo;clock punctually.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
For a moment they remained silent and, looking upward, scanned the shadowy
boxes. But the green paper with which these were hung rendered them more
shadowy still. Down below, under the dress circle, the lower boxes were buried
in utter night. In those on the second tier there was only one stout lady, who
was stranded, as it were, on the velvet-covered balustrade in front of her. On
the right hand and on the left, between lofty pilasters, the stage boxes,
bedraped with long-fringed scalloped hangings, remained untenanted. The house
with its white and gold, relieved by soft green tones, lay only half disclosed
to view, as though full of a fine dust shed from the little jets of flame in
the great glass luster.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Did you get your stage box for Lucy?&rdquo; asked Hector.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied his companion, &ldquo;but I had some trouble to get
it. Oh, there&rsquo;s no danger of Lucy coming too early!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He stifled a slight yawn; then after a pause:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You&rsquo;re in luck&rsquo;s way, you are, since you haven&rsquo;t been
at a first night before. The Blonde Venus will be the event of the year. People
have been talking about it for six months. Oh, such music, my dear boy! Such a
sly dog, Bordenave! He knows his business and has kept this for the exhibition
season.&rdquo; Hector was religiously attentive. He asked a question.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And Nana, the new star who&rsquo;s going to play Venus, d&rsquo;you know
her?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;There you are; you&rsquo;re beginning again!&rdquo; cried Fauchery,
casting up his arms. &ldquo;Ever since this morning people have been dreeing me
with Nana. I&rsquo;ve met more than twenty people, and it&rsquo;s Nana here and
Nana there! What do I know? Am I acquainted with all the light ladies in Paris?
Nana is an invention of Bordenave&rsquo;s! It must be a fine one!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He calmed himself, but the emptiness of the house, the dim light of the luster,
the churchlike sense of self-absorption which the place inspired, full as it
was of whispering voices and the sound of doors banging&mdash;all these got on
his nerves.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, by Jove,&rdquo; he said all of a sudden, &ldquo;one&rsquo;s hair
turns gray here. I&mdash;I&rsquo;m going out. Perhaps we shall find Bordenave
downstairs. He&rsquo;ll give us information about things.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Downstairs in the great marble-paved entrance hall, where the box office was,
the public were beginning to show themselves. Through the three open gates
might have been observed, passing in, the ardent life of the boulevards, which
were all astir and aflare under the fine April night. The sound of carriage
wheels kept stopping suddenly; carriage doors were noisily shut again, and
people began entering in small groups, taking their stand before the ticket
bureau and climbing the double flight of stairs at the end of the hall, up
which the women loitered with swaying hips. Under the crude gaslight, round the
pale, naked walls of the entrance hall, which with its scanty First Empire
decorations suggested the peristyle of a toy temple, there was a flaring
display of lofty yellow posters bearing the name of &ldquo;Nana&rdquo; in great
black letters. Gentlemen, who seemed to be glued to the entry, were reading
them; others, standing about, were engaged in talk, barring the doors of the
house in so doing, while hard by the box office a thickset man with an
extensive, close-shaven visage was giving rough answers to such as pressed to
engage seats.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;There&rsquo;s Bordenave,&rdquo; said Fauchery as he came down the
stairs. But the manager had already seen him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, ah! You&rsquo;re a nice fellow!&rdquo; he shouted at him from a
distance. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s the way you give me a notice, is it? Why, I
opened my Figaro this morning&mdash;never a word!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Wait a bit,&rdquo; replied Fauchery. &ldquo;I certainly must make the
acquaintance of your Nana before talking about her. Besides, I&rsquo;ve made no
promises.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then to put an end to the discussion, he introduced his cousin, M. Hector de la
Faloise, a young man who had come to finish his education in Paris. The manager
took the young man&rsquo;s measure at a glance. But Hector returned his
scrutiny with deep interest. This, then, was that Bordenave, that showman of
the sex who treated women like a convict overseer, that clever fellow who was
always at full steam over some advertising dodge, that shouting, spitting,
thigh-slapping fellow, that cynic with the soul of a policeman! Hector was
under the impression that he ought to discover some amiable observation for the
occasion.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Your theater&mdash;&rdquo; he began in dulcet tones.
</p>

<p>
Bordenave interrupted him with a savage phrase, as becomes a man who dotes on
frank situations.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Call it my brothel!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At this Fauchery laughed approvingly, while La Faloise stopped with his pretty
speech strangled in his throat, feeling very much shocked and striving to
appear as though he enjoyed the phrase. The manager had dashed off to shake
hands with a dramatic critic whose column had considerable influence. When he
returned La Faloise was recovering. He was afraid of being treated as a
provincial if he showed himself too much nonplused.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I have been told,&rdquo; he began again, longing positively to find
something to say, &ldquo;that Nana has a delicious voice.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Nana?&rdquo; cried the manager, shrugging his shoulders. &ldquo;The
voice of a squirt!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The young man made haste to add:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Besides being a first-rate comedian!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;She? Why she&rsquo;s a lump! She has no notion what to do with her hands
and feet.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
La Faloise blushed a little. He had lost his bearings. He stammered:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t have missed this first representation tonight for the
world. I was aware that your theater&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Call it my brothel,&rdquo; Bordenave again interpolated with the frigid
obstinacy of a man convinced.
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile Fauchery, with extreme calmness, was looking at the women as they
came in. He went to his cousin&rsquo;s rescue when he saw him all at sea and
doubtful whether to laugh or to be angry.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do be pleasant to Bordenave&mdash;call his theater what he wishes you
to, since it amuses him. And you, my dear fellow, don&rsquo;t keep us waiting
about for nothing. If your Nana neither sings nor acts you&rsquo;ll find
you&rsquo;ve made a blunder, that&rsquo;s all. It&rsquo;s what I&rsquo;m afraid
of, if the truth be told.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;A blunder! A blunder!&rdquo; shouted the manager, and his face grew
purple. &ldquo;Must a woman know how to act and sing? Oh, my chicken,
you&rsquo;re too STOOPID. Nana has other good points, by
heaven!&mdash;something which is as good as all the other things put together.
I&rsquo;ve smelled it out; it&rsquo;s deuced pronounced with her, or I&rsquo;ve
got the scent of an idiot. You&rsquo;ll see, you&rsquo;ll see! She&rsquo;s only
got to come on, and all the house will be gaping at her.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He had held up his big hands which were trembling under the influence of his
eager enthusiasm, and now, having relieved his feelings, he lowered his voice
and grumbled to himself:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, she&rsquo;ll go far! Oh yes, s&rsquo;elp me, she&rsquo;ll go far! A
skin&mdash;oh, what a skin she&rsquo;s got!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then as Fauchery began questioning him he consented to enter into a detailed
explanation, couched in phraseology so crude that Hector de la Faloise felt
slightly disgusted. He had been thick with Nana, and he was anxious to start
her on the stage. Well, just about that time he was in search of a Venus.
He&mdash;he never let a woman encumber him for any length of time; he preferred
to let the public enjoy the benefit of her forthwith. But there was a deuce of
a row going on in his shop, which had been turned topsy-turvy by that big
damsel&rsquo;s advent. Rose Mignon, his star, a comic actress of much subtlety
and an adorable singer, was daily threatening to leave him in the lurch, for
she was furious and guessed the presence of a rival. And as for the bill, good
God! What a noise there had been about it all! It had ended by his deciding to
print the names of the two actresses in the same-sized type. But it
wouldn&rsquo;t do to bother him. Whenever any of his little women, as he called
them&mdash;Simonne or Clarisse, for instance&mdash;wouldn&rsquo;t go the way he
wanted her to he just up with his foot and caught her one in the rear.
Otherwise life was impossible. Oh yes, he sold &rsquo;em; HE knew what they
fetched, the wenches!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Tut!&rdquo; he cried, breaking off short. &ldquo;Mignon and Steiner.
Always together. You know, Steiner&rsquo;s getting sick of Rose; that&rsquo;s
why the husband dogs his steps now for fear of his slipping away.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
On the pavement outside, the row of gas jets flaring on the cornice of the
theater cast a patch of brilliant light. Two small trees, violently green,
stood sharply out against it, and a column gleamed in such vivid illumination
that one could read the notices thereon at a distance, as though in broad
daylight, while the dense night of the boulevard beyond was dotted with lights
above the vague outline of an ever-moving crowd. Many men did not enter the
theater at once but stayed outside to talk while finishing their cigars under
the rays of the line of gas jets, which shed a sallow pallor on their faces and
silhouetted their short black shadows on the asphalt. Mignon, a very tall, very
broad fellow, with the square-shaped head of a strong man at a fair, was
forcing a passage through the midst of the groups and dragging on his arm the
banker Steiner, an exceedingly small man with a corporation already in evidence
and a round face framed in a setting of beard which was already growing gray.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Bordenave to the banker, &ldquo;you met her yesterday
in my office.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah! It was she, was it?&rdquo; ejaculated Steiner. &ldquo;I suspected as
much. Only I was coming out as she was going in, and I scarcely caught a
glimpse of her.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Mignon was listening with half-closed eyelids and nervously twisting a great
diamond ring round his finger. He had quite understood that Nana was in
question. Then as Bordenave was drawing a portrait of his new star, which lit a
flame in the eyes of the banker, he ended by joining in the conversation.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, let her alone, my dear fellow; she&rsquo;s a low lot! The public
will show her the door in quick time. Steiner, my laddie, you know that my wife
is waiting for you in her box.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He wanted to take possession of him again. But Steiner would not quit
Bordenave. In front of them a stream of people was crowding and crushing
against the ticket office, and there was a din of voices, in the midst of which
the name of Nana sounded with all the melodious vivacity of its two syllables.
The men who stood planted in front of the notices kept spelling it out loudly;
others, in an interrogative tone, uttered it as they passed; while the women,
at once restless and smiling, repeated it softly with an air of surprise.
Nobody knew Nana. Whence had Nana fallen? And stories and jokes, whispered from
ear to ear, went the round of the crowd. The name was a caress in itself; it
was a pet name, the very familiarity of which suited every lip. Merely through
enunciating it thus, the throng worked itself into a state of gaiety and became
highly good natured. A fever of curiosity urged it forward, that kind of
Parisian curiosity which is as violent as an access of positive unreason.
Everybody wanted to see Nana. A lady had the flounce of her dress torn off; a
man lost his hat.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, you&rsquo;re asking me too many questions about it!&rdquo; cried
Bordenave, whom a score of men were besieging with their queries.
&ldquo;You&rsquo;re going to see her, and I&rsquo;m off; they want me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He disappeared, enchanted at having fired his public. Mignon shrugged his
shoulders, reminding Steiner that Rose was awaiting him in order to show him
the costume she was about to wear in the first act.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By Jove! There&rsquo;s Lucy out there, getting down from her
carriage,&rdquo; said La Faloise to Fauchery.
</p>

<p>
It was, in fact, Lucy Stewart, a plain little woman, some forty years old, with
a disproportionately long neck, a thin, drawn face, a heavy mouth, but withal
of such brightness, such graciousness of manner, that she was really very
charming. She was bringing with her Caroline Hequet and her
mother&mdash;Caroline a woman of a cold type of beauty, the mother a person of
a most worthy demeanor, who looked as if she were stuffed with straw.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You&rsquo;re coming with us? I&rsquo;ve kept a place for you,&rdquo; she
said to Fauchery. &ldquo;Oh, decidedly not! To see nothing!&rdquo; he made
answer. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve a stall; I prefer being in the stalls.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Lucy grew nettled. Did he not dare show himself in her company? Then, suddenly
restraining herself and skipping to another topic:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why haven&rsquo;t you told me that you knew Nana?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Nana! I&rsquo;ve never set eyes on her.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Honor bright? I&rsquo;ve been told that you&rsquo;ve been to bed with
her.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But Mignon, coming in front of them, his finger to his lips, made them a sign
to be silent. And when Lucy questioned him he pointed out a young man who was
passing and murmured:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Nana&rsquo;s fancy man.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Everybody looked at him. He was a pretty fellow. Fauchery recognized him; it
was Daguenet, a young man who had run through three hundred thousand francs in
the pursuit of women and who now was dabbling in stocks, in order from time to
time to treat them to bouquets and dinners. Lucy made the discovery that he had
fine eyes.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, there&rsquo;s Blanche!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s she who
told me that you had been to bed with Nana.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Blanche de Sivry, a great fair girl, whose good-looking face showed signs of
growing fat, made her appearance in the company of a spare, sedulously
well-groomed and extremely distinguished man.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The Count Xavier de Vandeuvres,&rdquo; Fauchery whispered in his
companion&rsquo;s ear.
</p>

<p>
The count and the journalist shook hands, while Blanche and Lucy entered into a
brisk, mutual explanation. One of them in blue, the other in rose-pink, they
stood blocking the way with their deeply flounced skirts, and Nana&rsquo;s name
kept repeating itself so shrilly in their conversation that people began to
listen to them. The Count de Vandeuvres carried Blanche off. But by this time
Nana&rsquo;s name was echoing more loudly than ever round the four walls of the
entrance hall amid yearnings sharpened by delay. Why didn&rsquo;t the play
begin? The men pulled out their watches; late-comers sprang from their
conveyances before these had fairly drawn up; the groups left the sidewalk,
where the passers-by were crossing the now-vacant space of gaslit pavement,
craning their necks, as they did so, in order to get a peep into the theater. A
street boy came up whistling and planted himself before a notice at the door,
then cried out, &ldquo;Woa, Nana!&rdquo; in the voice of a tipsy man and hied
on his way with a rolling gait and a shuffling of his old boots. A laugh had
arisen at this. Gentlemen of unimpeachable appearance repeated: &ldquo;Nana,
woa, Nana!&rdquo; People were crushing; a dispute arose at the ticket office,
and there was a growing clamor caused by the hum of voices calling on Nana,
demanding Nana in one of those accesses of silly facetiousness and sheer
animalism which pass over mobs.
</p>

<p>
But above all the din the bell that precedes the rise of the curtain became
audible. &ldquo;They&rsquo;ve rung; they&rsquo;ve rung!&rdquo; The rumor
reached the boulevard, and thereupon followed a stampede, everyone wanting to
pass in, while the servants of the theater increased their forces. Mignon, with
an anxious air, at last got hold of Steiner again, the latter not having been
to see Rose&rsquo;s costume. At the very first tinkle of the bell La Faloise
had cloven a way through the crowd, pulling Fauchery with him, so as not to
miss the opening scene. But all this eagerness on the part of the public
irritated Lucy Stewart. What brutes were these people to be pushing women like
that! She stayed in the rear of them all with Caroline Hequet and her mother.
The entrance hall was now empty, while beyond it was still heard the long-drawn
rumble of the boulevard.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;As though they were always funny, those pieces of theirs!&rdquo; Lucy
kept repeating as she climbed the stair.
</p>

<p>
In the house Fauchery and La Faloise, in front of their stalls, were gazing
about them anew. By this time the house was resplendent. High jets of gas
illumined the great glass chandelier with a rustling of yellow and rosy flames,
which rained down a stream of brilliant light from dome to floor. The cardinal
velvets of the seats were shot with hues of lake, while all the gilding shone
again, the soft green decorations chastening its effect beneath the too-decided
paintings of the ceiling. The footlights were turned up and with a vivid flood
of brilliance lit up the curtain, the heavy purple drapery of which had all the
richness befitting a palace in a fairy tale and contrasted with the meanness of
the proscenium, where cracks showed the plaster under the gilding. The place
was already warm. At their music stands the orchestra were tuning their
instruments amid a delicate trilling of flutes, a stifled tooting of horns, a
singing of violin notes, which floated forth amid the increasing uproar of
voices. All the spectators were talking, jostling, settling themselves in a
general assault upon seats; and the hustling rush in the side passages was now
so violent that every door into the house was laboriously admitting the
inexhaustible flood of people. There were signals, rustlings of fabrics, a
continual march past of skirts and head dresses, accentuated by the black hue
of a dress coat or a surtout. Notwithstanding this, the rows of seats were
little by little getting filled up, while here and there a light toilet stood
out from its surroundings, a head with a delicate profile bent forward under
its chignon, where flashed the lightning of a jewel. In one of the boxes the
tip of a bare shoulder glimmered like snowy silk. Other ladies, sitting at
ease, languidly fanned themselves, following with their gaze the pushing
movements of the crowd, while young gentlemen, standing up in the stalls, their
waistcoats cut very low, gardenias in their buttonholes, pointed their opera
glasses with gloved finger tips.
</p>

<p>
It was now that the two cousins began searching for the faces of those they
knew. Mignon and Steiner were together in a lower box, sitting side by side
with their arms leaning for support on the velvet balustrade. Blanche de Sivry
seemed to be in sole possession of a stage box on the level of the stalls. But
La Faloise examined Daguenet before anyone else, he being in occupation of a
stall two rows in front of his own. Close to him, a very young man, seventeen
years old at the outside, some truant from college, it may be, was straining
wide a pair of fine eyes such as a cherub might have owned. Fauchery smiled
when he looked at him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Who is that lady in the balcony?&rdquo; La Faloise asked suddenly.
&ldquo;The lady with a young girl in blue beside her.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He pointed out a large woman who was excessively tight-laced, a woman who had
been a blonde and had now become white and yellow of tint, her broad face,
reddened with paint, looking puffy under a rain of little childish curls.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s Gaga,&rdquo; was Fauchery&rsquo;s simple reply, and as this
name seemed to astound his cousin, he added:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t know Gaga? She was the delight of the early years of
Louis Philippe. Nowadays she drags her daughter about with her wherever she
goes.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
La Faloise never once glanced at the young girl. The sight of Gaga moved him;
his eyes did not leave her again. He still found her very good looking but he
dared not say so.
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile the conductor lifted his violin bow and the orchestra attacked the
overture. People still kept coming in; the stir and noise were on the increase.
Among that public, peculiar to first nights and never subject to change, there
were little subsections composed of intimate friends, who smilingly forgathered
again. Old first-nighters, hat on head, seemed familiar and quite at ease and
kept exchanging salutations. All Paris was there, the Paris of literature, of
finance and of pleasure. There were many journalists, several authors, a number
of stock-exchange people and more courtesans than honest women. It was a
singularly mixed world, composed, as it was, of all the talents and tarnished
by all the vices, a world where the same fatigue and the same fever played over
every face. Fauchery, whom his cousin was questioning, showed him the boxes
devoted to the newspapers and to the clubs and then named the dramatic
critics&mdash;a lean, dried-up individual with thin, spiteful lips and, chief
of all, a big fellow with a good-natured expression, lolling on the shoulder of
his neighbor, a young miss over whom he brooded with tender and paternal eyes.
</p>

<p>
But he interrupted himself on seeing La Faloise in the act of bowing to some
persons who occupied the box opposite. He appeared surprised.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What?&rdquo; he queried. &ldquo;You know the Count Muffat de
Beuville?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, for a long time back,&rdquo; replied Hector. &ldquo;The Muffats had
a property near us. I often go to their house. The count&rsquo;s with his wife
and his father-in-law, the Marquis de Chouard.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with some vanity&mdash;for he was happy in his cousin&rsquo;s
astonishment&mdash;he entered into particulars. The marquis was a councilor of
state; the count had recently been appointed chamberlain to the empress.
Fauchery, who had caught up his opera glass, looked at the countess, a plump
brunette with a white skin and fine dark eyes.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You shall present me to them between the acts,&rdquo; he ended by
saying. &ldquo;I have already met the count, but I should like to go to them on
their Tuesdays.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Energetic cries of &ldquo;Hush&rdquo; came from the upper galleries. The
overture had begun, but people were still coming in. Late arrivals were
obliging whole rows of spectators to rise; the doors of boxes were banging;
loud voices were heard disputing in the passages. And there was no cessation of
the sound of many conversations, a sound similar to the loud twittering of
talkative sparrows at close of day. All was in confusion; the house was a
medley of heads and arms which moved to and fro, their owners seating
themselves or trying to make themselves comfortable or, on the other hand,
excitedly endeavoring to remain standing so as to take a final look round. The
cry of &ldquo;Sit down, sit down!&rdquo; came fiercely from the obscure depths
of the pit. A shiver of expectation traversed the house: at last people were
going to make the acquaintance of this famous Nana with whom Paris had been
occupying itself for a whole week!
</p>

<p>
Little by little, however, the buzz of talk dwindled softly down among
occasional fresh outbursts of rough speech. And amid this swooning murmur,
these perishing sighs of sound, the orchestra struck up the small, lively notes
of a waltz with a vagabond rhythm bubbling with roguish laughter. The public
were titillated; they were already on the grin. But the gang of clappers in the
foremost rows of the pit applauded furiously. The curtain rose.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By George!&rdquo; exclaimed La Faloise, still talking away.
&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a man with Lucy.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He was looking at the stage box on the second tier to his right, the front of
which Caroline and Lucy were occupying. At the back of this box were observable
the worthy countenance of Caroline&rsquo;s mother and the side face of a tall
young man with a noble head of light hair and an irreproachable getup.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do look!&rdquo; La Faloise again insisted. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s a man
there.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Fauchery decided to level his opera glass at the stage box. But he turned round
again directly.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s Labordette,&rdquo; he muttered in a careless voice, as
though that gentle man&rsquo;s presence ought to strike all the world as though
both natural and immaterial.
</p>

<p>
Behind the cousins people shouted &ldquo;Silence!&rdquo; They had to cease
talking. A motionless fit now seized the house, and great stretches of heads,
all erect and attentive, sloped away from stalls to topmost gallery. The first
act of the Blonde Venus took place in Olympus, a pasteboard Olympus, with
clouds in the wings and the throne of Jupiter on the right of the stage. First
of all Iris and Ganymede, aided by a troupe of celestial attendants, sang a
chorus while they arranged the seats of the gods for the council. Once again
the prearranged applause of the clappers alone burst forth; the public, a
little out of their depth, sat waiting. Nevertheless, La Faloise had clapped
Clarisse Besnus, one of Bordenave&rsquo;s little women, who played Iris in a
soft blue dress with a great scarf of the seven colors of the rainbow looped
round her waist.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You know, she draws up her chemise to put that on,&rdquo; he said to
Fauchery, loud enough to be heard by those around him. &ldquo;We tried the
trick this morning. It was all up under her arms and round the small of her
back.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But a slight rustling movement ran through the house; Rose Mignon had just come
on the stage as Diana. Now though she had neither the face nor the figure for
the part, being thin and dark and of the adorable type of ugliness peculiar to
a Parisian street child, she nonetheless appeared charming and as though she
were a satire on the personage she represented. Her song at her entrance on the
stage was full of lines quaint enough to make you cry with laughter and of
complaints about Mars, who was getting ready to desert her for the
companionship of Venus. She sang it with a chaste reserve so full of sprightly
suggestiveness that the public warmed amain. The husband and Steiner, sitting
side by side, were laughing complaisantly, and the whole house broke out in a
roar when Prullière, that great favorite, appeared as a general, a masquerade
Mars, decked with an enormous plume and dragging along a sword, the hilt of
which reached to his shoulder. As for him, he had had enough of Diana; she had
been a great deal too coy with him, he averred. Thereupon Diana promised to
keep a sharp eye on him and to be revenged. The duet ended with a comic yodel
which Prullière delivered very amusingly with the yell of an angry tomcat. He
had about him all the entertaining fatuity of a young leading gentleman whose
love affairs prosper, and he rolled around the most swaggering glances, which
excited shrill feminine laughter in the boxes.
</p>

<p>
Then the public cooled again, for the ensuing scenes were found tiresome. Old
Bosc, an imbecile Jupiter with head crushed beneath the weight of an immense
crown, only just succeeded in raising a smile among his audience when he had a
domestic altercation with Juno on the subject of the cook&rsquo;s accounts. The
march past of the gods, Neptune, Pluto, Minerva and the rest, was well-nigh
spoiling everything. People grew impatient; there was a restless, slowly
growing murmur; the audience ceased to take an interest in the performance and
looked round at the house. Lucy began laughing with Labordette; the Count de
Vandeuvres was craning his neck in conversation behind Blanche&rsquo;s sturdy
shoulders, while Fauchery, out of the corners of his eyes, took stock of the
Muffats, of whom the count appeared very serious, as though he had not
understood the allusions, and the countess smiled vaguely, her eyes lost in
reverie. But on a sudden, in this uncomfortable state of things, the applause
of the clapping contingent rattled out with the regularity of platoon firing.
People turned toward the stage. Was it Nana at last? This Nana made one wait
with a vengeance.
</p>

<p>
It was a deputation of mortals whom Ganymede and Iris had introduced,
respectable middle-class persons, deceived husbands, all of them, and they came
before the master of the gods to proffer a complaint against Venus, who was
assuredly inflaming their good ladies with an excess of ardor. The chorus, in
quaint, dolorous tones, broken by silences full of pantomimic admissions,
caused great amusement. A neat phrase went the round of the house: &ldquo;The
cuckolds&rsquo; chorus, the cuckolds&rsquo; chorus,&rdquo; and it &ldquo;caught
on,&rdquo; for there was an encore. The singers&rsquo; heads were droll; their
faces were discovered to be in keeping with the phrase, especially that of a
fat man which was as round as the moon. Meanwhile Vulcan arrived in a towering
rage, demanding back his wife who had slipped away three days ago. The chorus
resumed their plaint, calling on Vulcan, the god of the cuckolds.
Vulcan&rsquo;s part was played by Fontan, a comic actor of talent, at once
vulgar and original, and he had a role of the wildest whimsicality and was got
up as a village blacksmith, fiery red wig, bare arms tattooed with
arrow-pierced hearts and all the rest of it. A woman&rsquo;s voice cried in a
very high key, &ldquo;Oh, isn&rsquo;t he ugly?&rdquo; and all the ladies
laughed and applauded.
</p>

<p>
Then followed a scene which seemed interminable. Jupiter in the course of it
seemed never to be going to finish assembling the Council of Gods in order to
submit thereto the deceived husband&rsquo;s requests. And still no Nana! Was
the management keeping Nana for the fall of the curtain then? So long a period
of expectancy had ended by annoying the public. Their murmurings began again.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s going badly,&rdquo; said Mignon radiantly to Steiner.
&ldquo;She&rsquo;ll get a pretty reception; you&rsquo;ll see!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At that very moment the clouds at the back of the stage were cloven apart and
Venus appeared. Exceedingly tall, exceedingly strong, for her eighteen years,
Nana, in her goddess&rsquo;s white tunic and with her light hair simply flowing
unfastened over her shoulders, came down to the footlights with a quiet
certainty of movement and a laugh of greeting for the public and struck up her
grand ditty:
</p>

<p class="poem">
&ldquo;When Venus roams at eventide.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
From the second verse onward people looked at each other all over the house.
Was this some jest, some wager on Bordenave&rsquo;s part? Never had a more
tuneless voice been heard or one managed with less art. Her manager judged of
her excellently; she certainly sang like a squirt. Nay, more, she didn&rsquo;t
even know how to deport herself on the stage: she thrust her arms in front of
her while she swayed her whole body to and fro in a manner which struck the
audience as unbecoming and disagreeable. Cries of &ldquo;Oh, oh!&rdquo; were
already rising in the pit and the cheap places. There was a sound of whistling,
too, when a voice in the stalls, suggestive of a molting cockerel, cried out
with great conviction:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;That&rsquo;s very smart!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
All the house looked round. It was the cherub, the truant from the
boarding-school, who sat with his fine eyes very wide open and his fair face
glowing very hotly at sight of Nana. When he saw everybody turning toward him
he grew extremely red at the thought of having thus unconsciously spoken aloud.
Daguenet, his neighbor, smilingly examined him; the public laughed, as though
disarmed and no longer anxious to hiss; while the young gentlemen in white
gloves, fascinated in their turn by Nana&rsquo;s gracious contours, lolled back
in their seats and applauded.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;That&rsquo;s it! Well done! Bravo!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana, in the meantime, seeing the house laughing, began to laugh herself. The
gaiety of all redoubled itself. She was an amusing creature, all the same, was
that fine girl! Her laughter made a love of a little dimple appear in her chin.
She stood there waiting, not bored in the least, familiar with her audience,
falling into step with them at once, as though she herself were admitting with
a wink that she had not two farthings&rsquo; worth of talent but that it did
not matter at all, that, in fact, she had other good points. And then after
having made a sign to the conductor which plainly signified, &ldquo;Go ahead,
old boy!&rdquo; she began her second verse:
</p>

<p class="poem">
&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis Venus who at midnight passes&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Still the same acidulated voice, only that now it tickled the public in the
right quarter so deftly that momentarily it caused them to give a little shiver
of pleasure. Nana still smiled her smile: it lit up her little red mouth and
shone in her great eyes, which were of the clearest blue. When she came to
certain rather lively verses a delicate sense of enjoyment made her tilt her
nose, the rosy nostrils of which lifted and fell, while a bright flush suffused
her cheeks. She still swung herself up and down, for she only knew how to do
that. And the trick was no longer voted ugly; on the contrary, the men raised
their opera glasses. When she came to the end of a verse her voice completely
failed her, and she was well aware that she never would get through with it.
Thereupon, rather than fret herself, she kicked up her leg, which forthwith was
roundly outlined under her diaphanous tunic, bent sharply backward, so that her
bosom was thrown upward and forward, and stretched her arms out. Applause burst
forth on all sides. In the twinkling of an eye she had turned on her heel and
was going up the stage, presenting the nape of her neck to the
spectators&rsquo; gaze, a neck where the red-gold hair showed like some
animal&rsquo;s fell. Then the plaudits became frantic.
</p>

<p>
The close of the act was not so exciting. Vulcan wanted to slap Venus. The gods
held a consultation and decided to go and hold an inquiry on earth before
granting the deceived husband satisfaction. It was then that Diana surprised a
tender conversation between Venus and Mars and vowed that she would not take
her eyes off them during the whole of the voyage. There was also a scene where
Love, played by a little twelve-year-old chit, answered every question put to
her with &ldquo;Yes, Mamma! No, Mamma!&rdquo; in a winy-piny tone, her fingers
in her nose. At last Jupiter, with the severity of a master who is growing
cross, shut Love up in a dark closet, bidding her conjugate the verb &ldquo;I
love&rdquo; twenty times. The finale was more appreciated: it was a chorus
which both troupe and orchestra performed with great brilliancy. But the
curtain once down, the clappers tried in vain to obtain a call, while the whole
house was already up and making for the doors.
</p>

<p>
The crowd trampled and jostled, jammed, as it were, between the rows of seats,
and in so doing exchanged expressions. One phrase only went round:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s idiotic.&rdquo; A critic was saying that it would be
one&rsquo;s duty to do a pretty bit of slashing. The piece, however, mattered
very little, for people were talking about Nana before everything else.
Fauchery and La Faloise, being among the earliest to emerge, met Steiner and
Mignon in the passage outside the stalls. In this gaslit gut of a place, which
was as narrow and circumscribed as a gallery in a mine, one was well-nigh
suffocated. They stopped a moment at the foot of the stairs on the right of the
house, protected by the final curve of the balusters. The audience from the
cheap places were coming down the steps with a continuous tramp of heavy boots;
a stream of black dress coats was passing, while an attendant was making every
possible effort to protect a chair, on which she had piled up coats and cloaks,
from the onward pushing of the crowd.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Surely I know her,&rdquo; cried Steiner, the moment he perceived
Fauchery. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m certain I&rsquo;ve seen her somewhere&mdash;at the
casino, I imagine, and she got herself taken up there&mdash;she was so
drunk.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;As for me,&rdquo; said the journalist, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t quite know
where it was. I am like you; I certainly have come across her.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He lowered his voice and asked, laughing:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;At the Tricons&rsquo;, perhaps.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Egad, it was in a dirty place,&rdquo; Mignon declared. He seemed
exasperated. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s disgusting that the public give such a reception
to the first trollop that comes by. There&rsquo;ll soon be no more decent women
on the stage. Yes, I shall end by forbidding Rose to play.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Fauchery could not restrain a smile. Meanwhile the downward shuffle of the
heavy shoes on the steps did not cease, and a little man in a workman&rsquo;s
cap was heard crying in a drawling voice:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh my, she ain&rsquo;t no wopper! There&rsquo;s some pickings
there!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
In the passage two young men, delicately curled and formally resplendent in
turndown collars and the rest, were disputing together. One of them was
repeating the words, &ldquo;Beastly, beastly!&rdquo; without stating any
reasons; the other was replying with the words, &ldquo;Stunning,
stunning!&rdquo; as though he, too, disdained all argument.
</p>

<p>
La Faloise declared her to be quite the thing; only he ventured to opine that
she would be better still if she were to cultivate her voice. Steiner, who was
no longer listening, seemed to awake with a start. Whatever happens, one must
wait, he thought. Perhaps everything will be spoiled in the following acts. The
public had shown complaisance, but it was certainly not yet taken by storm.
Mignon swore that the piece would never finish, and when Fauchery and La
Faloise left them in order to go up to the foyer he took Steiner&rsquo;s arm
and, leaning hard against his shoulder, whispered in his ear:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You&rsquo;re going to see my wife&rsquo;s costume for the second act,
old fellow. It IS just blackguardly.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Upstairs in the foyer three glass chandeliers burned with a brilliant light.
The two cousins hesitated an instant before entering, for the widely opened
glazed doors afforded a view right through the gallery&mdash;a view of a
surging sea of heads, which two currents, as it were, kept in a continuous
eddying movement. But they entered after all. Five or six groups of men,
talking very loudly and gesticulating, were obstinately discussing the play
amid these violent interruptions; others were filing round, their heels, as
they turned, sounding sharply on the waxed floor. To right and left, between
columns of variegated imitation marble, women were sitting on benches covered
with red velvet and viewing the passing movement of the crowd with an air of
fatigue as though the heat had rendered them languid. In the lofty mirrors
behind them one saw the reflection of their chignons. At the end of the room,
in front of the bar, a man with a huge corporation was drinking a glass of
fruit syrup.
</p>

<p>
But Fauchery, in order to breathe more freely, had gone to the balcony. La
Faloise, who was studying the photographs of actresses hung in frames
alternating with the mirrors between the columns, ended by following him. They
had extinguished the line of gas jets on the facade of the theater, and it was
dark and very cool on the balcony, which seemed to them unoccupied. Solitary
and enveloped in shadow, a young man was standing, leaning his arms on the
stone balustrade, in the recess to the right. He was smoking a cigarette, of
which the burning end shone redly. Fauchery recognized Daguenet. They shook
hands warmly.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What are you after there, my dear fellow?&rdquo; asked the journalist.
&ldquo;You&rsquo;re hiding yourself in holes and crannies&mdash;you, a man who
never leaves the stalls on a first night!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;But I&rsquo;m smoking, you see,&rdquo; replied Daguenet.
</p>

<p>
Then Fauchery, to put him out of countenance:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, well! What&rsquo;s your opinion of the new actress? She&rsquo;s
being roughly handled enough in the passages.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Bah!&rdquo; muttered Daguenet. &ldquo;They&rsquo;re people whom
she&rsquo;ll have had nothing to do with!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
That was the sum of his criticism of Nana&rsquo;s talent. La Faloise leaned
forward and looked down at the boulevard. Over against them the windows of a
hotel and of a club were brightly lit up, while on the pavement below a dark
mass of customers occupied the tables of the Café de Madrid. Despite the
lateness of the hour the crowd were still crushing and being crushed; people
were advancing with shortened step; a throng was constantly emerging from the
Passage Jouffroy; individuals stood waiting five or six minutes before they
could cross the roadway, to such a distance did the string of carriages extend.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What a moving mass! And what a noise!&rdquo; La Faloise kept
reiterating, for Paris still astonished him.
</p>

<p>
The bell rang for some time; the foyer emptied. There was a hurrying of people
in the passages. The curtain was already up when whole bands of spectators
re-entered the house amid the irritated expressions of those who were once more
in their places. Everyone took his seat again with an animated look and renewed
attention. La Faloise directed his first glance in Gaga&rsquo;s direction, but
he was dumfounded at seeing by her side the tall fair man who but recently had
been in Lucy&rsquo;s stage box.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What IS that man&rsquo;s name?&rdquo; he asked.
</p>

<p>
Fauchery failed to observe him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah yes, it&rsquo;s Labordette,&rdquo; he said at last with the same
careless movement. The scenery of the second act came as a surprise. It
represented a suburban Shrove Tuesday dance at the Boule Noire. Masqueraders
were trolling a catch, the chorus of which was accompanied with a tapping of
their heels. This &rsquo;Arryish departure, which nobody had in the least
expected, caused so much amusement that the house encored the catch. And it was
to this entertainment that the divine band, let astray by Iris, who falsely
bragged that he knew the Earth well, were now come in order to proceed with
their inquiry. They had put on disguises so as to preserve their incognito.
Jupiter came on the stage as King Dagobert, with his breeches inside out and a
huge tin crown on his head. Phoebus appeared as the Postillion of Lonjumeau and
Minerva as a Norman nursemaid. Loud bursts of merriment greeted Mars, who wore
an outrageous uniform, suggestive of an Alpine admiral. But the shouts of
laughter became uproarious when Neptune came in view, clad in a blouse, a high,
bulging workman&rsquo;s cap on his head, lovelocks glued to his temples.
Shuffling along in slippers, he cried in a thick brogue.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;m blessed! When ye&rsquo;re a masher it&rsquo;ll never do
not to let &rsquo;em love yer!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
There were some shouts of &ldquo;Oh! Oh!&rdquo; while the ladies held their
fans one degree higher. Lucy in her stage box laughed so obstreperously that
Caroline Hequet silenced her with a tap of her fan.
</p>

<p>
From that moment forth the piece was saved&mdash;nay, more, promised a great
success. This carnival of the gods, this dragging in the mud of their Olympus,
this mock at a whole religion, a whole world of poetry, appeared in the light
of a royal entertainment. The fever of irreverence gained the literary
first-night world: legend was trampled underfoot; ancient images were
shattered. Jupiter&rsquo;s make-up was capital. Mars was a success. Royalty
became a farce and the army a thing of folly. When Jupiter, grown suddenly
amorous of a little laundress, began to knock off a mad cancan, Simonne, who
was playing the part of the laundress, launched a kick at the master of the
immortals&rsquo; nose and addressed him so drolly as &ldquo;My big
daddy!&rdquo; that an immoderate fit of laughter shook the whole house. While
they were dancing Phoebus treated Minerva to salad bowls of negus, and Neptune
sat in state among seven or eight women who regaled him with cakes. Allusions
were eagerly caught; indecent meanings were attached to them; harmless phrases
were diverted from their proper significations in the light of exclamations
issuing from the stalls. For a long time past the theatrical public had not
wallowed in folly more irreverent. It rested them.
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless, the action of the piece advanced amid these fooleries. Vulcan, as
an elegant young man clad, down to his gloves, entirely in yellow and with an
eyeglass stuck in his eye, was forever running after Venus, who at last made
her appearance as a fishwife, a kerchief on her head and her bosom, covered
with big gold trinkets, in great evidence. Nana was so white and plump and
looked so natural in a part demanding wide hips and a voluptuous mouth that she
straightway won the whole house. On her account Rose Mignon was forgotten,
though she was made up as a delicious baby, with a wicker-work burlet on her
head and a short muslin frock and had just sighed forth Diana&rsquo;s plaints
in a sweetly pretty voice. The other one, the big wench who slapped her thighs
and clucked like a hen, shed round her an odor of life, a sovereign feminine
charm, with which the public grew intoxicated. From the second act onward
everything was permitted her. She might hold herself awkwardly; she might fail
to sing some note in tune; she might forget her words&mdash;it mattered not:
she had only to turn and laugh to raise shouts of applause. When she gave her
famous kick from the hip the stalls were fired, and a glow of passion rose
upward, upward, from gallery to gallery, till it reached the gods. It was a
triumph, too, when she led the dance. She was at home in that: hand on hip, she
enthroned Venus in the gutter by the pavement side. And the music seemed made
for her plebeian voice&mdash;shrill, piping music, with reminiscences of
Saint-Cloud Fair, wheezings of clarinets and playful trills on the part of the
little flutes.
</p>

<p>
Two numbers were again encored. The opening waltz, that waltz with the naughty
rhythmic beat, had returned and swept the gods with it. Juno, as a peasant
woman, caught Jupiter and his little laundress cleverly and boxed his ears.
Diana, surprising Venus in the act of making an assignation with Mars, made
haste to indicate hour and place to Vulcan, who cried, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve hit on
a plan!&rdquo; The rest of the act did not seem very clear. The inquiry ended
in a final galop after which Jupiter, breathless, streaming with perspiration
and minus his crown, declared that the little women of Earth were delicious and
that the men were all to blame.
</p>

<p>
The curtain was falling, when certain voices, rising above the storm of bravos,
cried uproariously:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;All! All!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Thereupon the curtain rose again; the artistes reappeared hand in hand. In the
middle of the line Nana and Rose Mignon stood side by side, bowing and
curtsying. The audience applauded; the clappers shouted acclamations. Then
little by little the house emptied.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I must go and pay my respects to the Countess Muffat,&rdquo; said La
Faloise. &ldquo;Exactly so; you&rsquo;ll present me,&rdquo; replied Fauchery;
&ldquo;we&rsquo;ll go down afterward.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But it was not easy to get to the first-tier boxes. In the passage at the top
of the stairs there was a crush. In order to get forward at all among the
various groups you had to make yourself small and to slide along, using your
elbows in so doing. Leaning under a copper lamp, where a jet of gas was
burning, the bulky critic was sitting in judgment on the piece in presence of
an attentive circle. People in passing mentioned his name to each other in
muttered tones. He had laughed the whole act through&mdash;that was the rumor
going the round of the passages&mdash;nevertheless, he was now very severe and
spoke of taste and morals. Farther off the thin-lipped critic was brimming over
with a benevolence which had an unpleasant aftertaste, as of milk turned sour.
</p>

<p>
Fauchery glanced along, scrutinizing the boxes through the round openings in
each door. But the Count de Vandeuvres stopped him with a question, and when he
was informed that the two cousins were going to pay their respects to the
Muffats, he pointed out to them box seven, from which he had just emerged. Then
bending down and whispering in the journalist&rsquo;s ear:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Tell me, my dear fellow,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;this Nana&mdash;surely
she&rsquo;s the girl we saw one evening at the corner of the Rue de
Provence?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By Jove, you&rsquo;re right!&rdquo; cried Fauchery. &ldquo;I was saying
that I had come across her!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
La Faloise presented his cousin to Count Muffat de Beuville, who appeared very
frigid. But on hearing the name Fauchery the countess raised her head and with
a certain reserve complimented the paragraphist on his articles in the Figaro.
Leaning on the velvet-covered support in front of her, she turned half round
with a pretty movement of the shoulders. They talked for a short time, and the
Universal Exhibition was mentioned.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It will be very fine,&rdquo; said the count, whose square-cut,
regular-featured face retained a certain gravity.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I visited the Champ de Mars today and returned thence truly
astonished.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;They say that things won&rsquo;t be ready in time,&rdquo; La Faloise
ventured to remark. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s infinite confusion there&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But the count interrupted him in his severe voice:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Things will be ready. The emperor desires it.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Fauchery gaily recounted how one day, when he had gone down thither in search
of a subject for an article, he had come near spending all his time in the
aquarium, which was then in course of construction. The countess smiled. Now
and again she glanced down at the body of the house, raising an arm which a
white glove covered to the elbow and fanning herself with languid hand. The
house dozed, almost deserted. Some gentlemen in the stalls had opened out
newspapers, and ladies received visits quite comfortably, as though they were
at their own homes. Only a well-bred whispering was audible under the great
chandelier, the light of which was softened in the fine cloud of dust raised by
the confused movements of the interval. At the different entrances men were
crowding in order to talk to ladies who remained seated. They stood there
motionless for a few seconds, craning forward somewhat and displaying the great
white bosoms of their shirt fronts.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;We count on you next Tuesday,&rdquo; said the countess to La Faloise,
and she invited Fauchery, who bowed.
</p>

<p>
Not a word was said of the play; Nana&rsquo;s name was not once mentioned. The
count was so glacially dignified that he might have been supposed to be taking
part at a sitting of the legislature. In order to explain their presence that
evening he remarked simply that his father-in-law was fond of the theater. The
door of the box must have remained open, for the Marquis de Chouard, who had
gone out in order to leave his seat to the visitors, was back again. He was
straightening up his tall, old figure. His face looked soft and white under a
broad-brimmed hat, and with his restless eyes he followed the movements of the
women who passed.
</p>

<p>
The moment the countess had given her invitation Fauchery took his leave,
feeling that to talk about the play would not be quite the thing. La Faloise
was the last to quit the box. He had just noticed the fair-haired Labordette,
comfortably installed in the Count de Vandeuvres&rsquo;s stage box and chatting
at very close quarters with Blanche de Sivry.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Gad,&rdquo; he said after rejoining his cousin, &ldquo;that Labordette
knows all the girls then! He&rsquo;s with Blanche now.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Doubtless he knows them all,&rdquo; replied Fauchery quietly.
&ldquo;What d&rsquo;you want to be taken for, my friend?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The passage was somewhat cleared of people, and Fauchery was just about to go
downstairs when Lucy Stewart called him. She was quite at the other end of the
corridor, at the door of her stage box. They were getting cooked in there, she
said, and she took up the whole corridor in company with Caroline Hequet and
her mother, all three nibbling burnt almonds. A box opener was chatting
maternally with them. Lucy fell out with the journalist. He was a pretty
fellow; to be sure! He went up to see other women and didn&rsquo;t even come
and ask if they were thirsty! Then, changing the subject:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You know, dear boy, I think Nana very nice.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She wanted him to stay in the stage box for the last act, but he made his
escape, promising to catch them at the door afterward. Downstairs in front of
the theater Fauchery and La Faloise lit cigarettes. A great gathering blocked
the sidewalk, a stream of men who had come down from the theater steps and were
inhaling the fresh night air in the boulevards, where the roar and battle had
diminished.
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile Mignon had drawn Steiner away to the Café des Variétés. Seeing
Nana&rsquo;s success, he had set to work to talk enthusiastically about her,
all the while observing the banker out of the corners of his eyes. He knew him
well; twice he had helped him to deceive Rose and then, the caprice being over,
had brought him back to her, faithful and repentant. In the cafe the too
numerous crowd of customers were squeezing themselves round the marble-topped
tables. Several were standing up, drinking in a great hurry. The tall mirrors
reflected this thronging world of heads to infinity and magnified the narrow
room beyond measure with its three chandeliers, its moleskin-covered seats and
its winding staircase draped with red. Steiner went and seated himself at a
table in the first saloon, which opened full on the boulevard, its doors having
been removed rather early for the time of year. As Fauchery and La Faloise were
passing the banker stopped them.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come and take a bock with us, eh?&rdquo; they said.
</p>

<p>
But he was too preoccupied by an idea; he wanted to have a bouquet thrown to
Nana. At last he called a waiter belonging to the cafe, whom he familiarly
addressed as Auguste. Mignon, who was listening, looked at him so sharply that
he lost countenance and stammered out:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Two bouquets, Auguste, and deliver them to the attendant. A bouquet for
each of these ladies! Happy thought, eh?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At the other end of the saloon, her shoulders resting against the frame of a
mirror, a girl, some eighteen years of age at the outside, was leaning
motionless in front of her empty glass as though she had been benumbed by long
and fruitless waiting. Under the natural curls of her beautiful gray-gold hair
a virginal face looked out at you with velvety eyes, which were at once soft
and candid.
</p>

<p>
She wore a dress of faded green silk and a round hat which blows had dinted.
The cool air of the night made her look very pale.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Egad, there&rsquo;s Satin,&rdquo; murmured Fauchery when his eye lit
upon her.
</p>

<p>
La Faloise questioned him. Oh dear, yes, she was a streetwalker&mdash;she
didn&rsquo;t count. But she was such a scandalous sort that people amused
themselves by making her talk. And the journalist, raising his voice:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What are you doing there, Satin?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;m bogging,&rdquo; replied Satin quietly without changing
position.
</p>

<p>
The four men were charmed and fell a-laughing. Mignon assured them that there
was no need to hurry; it would take twenty minutes to set up the scenery for
the third act. But the two cousins, having drunk their beer, wanted to go up
into the theater again; the cold was making itself felt. Then Mignon remained
alone with Steiner, put his elbows on the table and spoke to him at close
quarters.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s an understood thing, eh? We are to go to her house, and
I&rsquo;m to introduce you. You know the thing&rsquo;s quite between
ourselves&mdash;my wife needn&rsquo;t know.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Once more in their places, Fauchery and La Faloise noticed a pretty, quietly
dressed woman in the second tier of boxes. She was with a serious-looking
gentleman, a chief clerk at the office of the Ministry of the Interior, whom La
Faloise knew, having met him at the Muffats&rsquo;. As to Fauchery, he was
under the impression that her name was Madame Robert, a lady of honorable
repute who had a lover, only one, and that always a person of respectability.
</p>

<p>
But they had to turn round, for Daguenet was smiling at them. Now that Nana had
had a success he no longer hid himself: indeed, he had just been scoring
triumphs in the passages. By his side was the young truant schoolboy, who had
not quitted his seat, so stupefying was the state of admiration into which Nana
had plunged him. That was it, he thought; that was the woman! And he blushed as
he thought so and dragged his gloves on and off mechanically. Then since his
neighbor had spoken of Nana, he ventured to question him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Will you pardon me for asking you, sir, but that lady who is
acting&mdash;do you know her?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, I do a little,&rdquo; murmured Daguenet with some surprise and
hesitation.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Then you know her address?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The question, addressed as it was to him, came so abruptly that he felt
inclined to respond with a box on the ear.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said in a dry tone of voice.
</p>

<p>
And with that he turned his back. The fair lad knew that he had just been
guilty of some breach of good manners. He blushed more hotly than ever and
looked scared.
</p>

<p>
The traditional three knocks were given, and among the returning throng,
attendants, laden with pelisses and overcoats, bustled about at a great rate in
order to put away people&rsquo;s things. The clappers applauded the scenery,
which represented a grotto on Mount Etna, hollowed out in a silver mine and
with sides glittering like new money. In the background Vulcan&rsquo;s forge
glowed like a setting star. Diana, since the second act, had come to a good
understanding with the god, who was to pretend that he was on a journey, so as
to leave the way clear for Venus and Mars. Then scarcely was Diana alone than
Venus made her appearance. A shiver of delight ran round the house. Nana was
nude. With quiet audacity she appeared in her nakedness, certain of the
sovereign power of her flesh. Some gauze enveloped her, but her rounded
shoulders, her Amazonian bosom, her wide hips, which swayed to and fro
voluptuously, her whole body, in fact, could be divined, nay discerned, in all
its foamlike whiteness of tint beneath the slight fabric she wore. It was Venus
rising from the waves with no veil save her tresses. And when Nana lifted her
arms the golden hairs in her armpits were observable in the glare of the
footlights. There was no applause. Nobody laughed any more. The men strained
forward with serious faces, sharp features, mouths irritated and parched. A
wind seemed to have passed, a soft, soft wind, laden with a secret menace.
Suddenly in the bouncing child the woman stood discovered, a woman full of
restless suggestion, who brought with her the delirium of sex and opened the
gates of the unknown world of desire. Nana was smiling still, but her smile was
now bitter, as of a devourer of men.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By God,&rdquo; said Fauchery quite simply to La Faloise.
</p>

<p>
Mars in the meantime, with his plume of feathers, came hurrying to the trysting
place and found himself between the two goddesses. Then ensued a passage which
Prullière played with great delicacy. Petted by Diana, who wanted to make a
final attack upon his feelings before delivering him up to Vulcan, wheedled by
Venus, whom the presence of her rival excited, he gave himself up to these
tender delights with the beatified expression of a man in clover. Finally a
grand trio brought the scene to a close, and it was then that an attendant
appeared in Lucy Stewart&rsquo;s box and threw on the stage two immense
bouquets of white lilacs. There was applause; Nana and Rose Mignon bowed, while
Prullière picked up the bouquets. Many of the occupants of the stalls turned
smilingly toward the ground-floor occupied by Steiner and Mignon. The banker,
his face blood-red, was suffering from little convulsive twitchings of the
chin, as though he had a stoppage in his throat.
</p>

<p>
What followed took the house by storm completely. Diana had gone off in a rage,
and directly afterward, Venus, sitting on a moss-clad seat, called Mars to her.
Never yet had a more glowing scene of seduction been ventured on. Nana, her
arms round Prullière&rsquo;s neck, was drawing him toward her when Fontan, with
comically furious mimicry and an exaggerated imitation of the face of an
outraged husband who surprises his wife in FLAGRANTE DELICTO, appeared at the
back of the grotto. He was holding the famous net with iron meshes. For an
instant he poised and swung it, as a fisherman does when he is going to make a
cast, and by an ingenious twist Venus and Mars were caught in the snare; the
net wrapped itself round them and held them motionless in the attitude of happy
lovers.
</p>

<p>
A murmur of applause swelled and swelled like a growing sigh. There was some
hand clapping, and every opera glass was fixed on Venus. Little by little Nana
had taken possession of the public, and now every man was her slave.
</p>

<p>
A wave of lust had flowed from her as from an excited animal, and its influence
had spread and spread and spread till the whole house was possessed by it. At
that moment her slightest movement blew the flame of desire: with her little
finger she ruled men&rsquo;s flesh. Backs were arched and quivered as though
unseen violin bows had been drawn across their muscles; upon men&rsquo;s
shoulders appeared fugitive hairs, which flew in air, blown by warm and
wandering breaths, breathed one knew not from what feminine mouth. In front of
him Fauchery saw the truant schoolboy half lifted from his seat by passion.
Curiosity led him to look at the Count de Vandeuvres&mdash;he was extremely
pale, and his lips looked pinched&mdash;at fat Steiner, whose face was purple
to the verge of apoplexy; at Labordette, ogling away with the highly astonished
air of a horse dealer admiring a perfectly shaped mare; at Daguenet, whose ears
were blood-red and twitching with enjoyment. Then a sudden idea made him glance
behind, and he marveled at what he saw in the Muffats&rsquo; box. Behind the
countess, who was white and serious as usual, the count was sitting straight
upright, with mouth agape and face mottled with red, while close by him, in the
shadow, the restless eyes of the Marquis de Chouard had become catlike
phosphorescent, full of golden sparkles. The house was suffocating;
people&rsquo;s very hair grew heavy on their perspiring heads. For three hours
back the breath of the multitude had filled and heated the atmosphere with a
scent of crowded humanity. Under the swaying glare of the gas the dust clouds
in mid-air had grown constantly denser as they hung motionless beneath the
chandelier. The whole house seemed to be oscillating, to be lapsing toward
dizziness in its fatigue and excitement, full, as it was, of those drowsy
midnight desires which flutter in the recesses of the bed of passion. And Nana,
in front of this languorous public, these fifteen hundred human beings thronged
and smothered in the exhaustion and nervous exasperation which belong to the
close of a spectacle, Nana still triumphed by right of her marble flesh and
that sexual nature of hers, which was strong enough to destroy the whole crowd
of her adorers and yet sustain no injury.
</p>

<p>
The piece drew to a close. In answer to Vulcan&rsquo;s triumphant summons all
the Olympians defiled before the lovers with ohs and ahs of stupefaction and
gaiety. Jupiter said, &ldquo;I think it is light conduct on your part, my son,
to summon us to see such a sight as this.&rdquo; Then a reaction took place in
favor of Venus. The chorus of cuckolds was again ushered in by Iris and
besought the master of the gods not to give effect to its petition, for since
women had lived at home, domestic life was becoming impossible for the men: the
latter preferred being deceived and happy. That was the moral of the play. Then
Venus was set at liberty, and Vulcan obtained a partial divorce from her. Mars
was reconciled with Diana, and Jove, for the sake of domestic peace, packed his
little laundress off into a constellation. And finally they extricated Love
from his black hole, where instead of conjugating the verb AMO he had been busy
in the manufacture of &ldquo;dollies.&rdquo; The curtain fell on an apotheosis,
wherein the cuckolds&rsquo; chorus knelt and sang a hymn of gratitude to Venus,
who stood there with smiling lips, her stature enhanced by her sovereign
nudity.
</p>

<p>
The audience, already on their feet, were making for the exits. The authors
were mentioned, and amid a thunder of applause there were two calls before the
curtain. The shout of &ldquo;Nana! Nana!&rdquo; rang wildly forth. Then no
sooner was the house empty than it grew dark: the footlights went out; the
chandelier was turned down; long strips of gray canvas slipped from the stage
boxes and swathed the gilt ornamentation of the galleries, and the house,
lately so full of heat and noise, lapsed suddenly into a heavy sleep, while a
musty, dusty odor began to pervade it. In the front of her box stood the
Countess Muffat. Very erect and closely wrapped up in her furs, she stared at
the gathering shadows and waited for the crowd to pass away.
</p>

<p>
In the passages the people were jostling the attendants, who hardly knew what
to do among the tumbled heaps of outdoor raiment. Fauchery and La Faloise had
hurried in order to see the crowd pass out. All along the entrance hall men
formed a living hedge, while down the double staircase came slowly and in
regular, complete formation two interminable throngs of human beings. Steiner,
in tow of Mignon, had left the house among the foremost. The Count de
Vandeuvres took his departure with Blanche de Sivry on his arm. For a moment or
two Gaga and her daughter seemed doubtful how to proceed, but Labordette made
haste to go and fetch them a conveyance, the door whereof he gallantly shut
after them. Nobody saw Daguenet go by. As the truant schoolboy, registering a
mental vow to wait at the stage door, was running with burning cheeks toward
the Passage des Panoramas, of which he found the gate closed, Satin, standing
on the edge of the pavement, moved forward and brushed him with her skirts, but
he in his despair gave her a savage refusal and vanished amid the crowd, tears
of impotent desire in his eyes. Members of the audience were lighting their
cigars and walking off, humming:
</p>

<p class="poem">
When Venus roams at eventide.
</p>

<p class="noindent">
Satin had gone back in front of the Café des Variétés, where Auguste let her
eat the sugar that remained over from the customers&rsquo; orders. A stout man,
who came out in a very heated condition, finally carried her off in the shadow
of the boulevard, which was now gradually going to sleep.
</p>

<p>
Still people kept coming downstairs. La Faloise was waiting for Clarisse;
Fauchery had promised to catch up Lucy Stewart with Caroline Hequet and her
mother. They came; they took up a whole corner of the entrance hall and were
laughing very loudly when the Muffats passed by them with an icy expression.
Bordenave had just then opened a little door and, peeping out, had obtained
from Fauchery the formal promise of an article. He was dripping with
perspiration, his face blazed, as though he were drunk with success.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You&rsquo;re good for two hundred nights,&rdquo; La Faloise said to him
with civility. &ldquo;The whole of Paris will visit your theater.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But Bordenave grew annoyed and, indicating with a jerk of his chin the public
who filled the entrance hall&mdash;a herd of men with parched lips and ardent
eyes, still burning with the enjoyment of Nana&mdash;he cried out violently:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Say &lsquo;my brothel,&rsquo; you obstinate devil!&rdquo;
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"></a> CHAPTER II</h2>

<p>
At ten o&rsquo;clock the next morning Nana was still asleep. She occupied the
second floor of a large new house in the Boulevard Haussmann, the landlord of
which let flats to single ladies in order by their means to dry the paint. A
rich merchant from Moscow, who had come to pass a winter in Paris, had
installed her there after paying six months&rsquo; rent in advance. The rooms
were too big for her and had never been completely furnished. The vulgar
sumptuosity of gilded consoles and gilded chairs formed a crude contrast
therein to the bric-a-brac of a secondhand furniture shop&mdash;to mahogany
round tables, that is to say, and zinc candelabras, which sought to imitate
Florentine bronze. All of which smacked of the courtesan too early deserted by
her first serious protector and fallen back on shabby lovers, of a precarious
first appearance of a bad start, handicapped by refusals of credit and threats
of eviction.
</p>

<p>
Nana was sleeping on her face, hugging in her bare arms a pillow in which she
was burying cheeks grown pale in sleep. The bedroom and the dressing room were
the only two apartments which had been properly furnished by a neighboring
upholsterer. A ray of light, gliding in under a curtain, rendered visible
rosewood furniture and hangings and chairbacks of figured damask with a pattern
of big blue flowers on a gray ground. But in the soft atmosphere of that
slumbering chamber Nana suddenly awoke with a start, as though surprised to
find an empty place at her side. She looked at the other pillow lying next to
hers; there was the dint of a human head among its flounces: it was still warm.
And groping with one hand, she pressed the knob of an electric bell by her
bed&rsquo;s head.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;He&rsquo;s gone then?&rdquo; she asked the maid who presented herself.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, madame, Monsieur Paul went away not ten minutes back. As Madame was
tired, he did not wish to wake her. But he ordered me to tell Madame that he
would come tomorrow.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
As she spoke Zoé, the lady&rsquo;s maid, opened the outer shutter. A flood of
daylight entered. Zoé, a dark brunette with hair in little plaits, had a long
canine face, at once livid and full of seams, a snub nose, thick lips and two
black eyes in continual movement.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Tomorrow, tomorrow,&rdquo; repeated Nana, who was not yet wide awake,
&ldquo;is tomorrow the day?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, madame, Monsieur Paul has always come on the Wednesday.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, now I remember,&rdquo; said the young woman, sitting up.
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s all changed. I wanted to tell him so this morning. He would
run against the nigger! We should have a nice to-do!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Madame did not warn me; I couldn&rsquo;t be aware of it,&rdquo; murmured
Zoé. &ldquo;When Madame changes her days she will do well to tell me so that I
may know. Then the old miser is no longer due on the Tuesday?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Between themselves they were wont thus gravely to nickname as &ldquo;old
miser&rdquo; and &ldquo;nigger&rdquo; their two paying visitors, one of whom
was a tradesman of economical tendencies from the Faubourg Saint-Denis, while
the other was a Walachian, a mock count, whose money, paid always at the most
irregular intervals, never looked as though it had been honestly come by.
Daguenet had made Nana give him the days subsequent to the old miser&rsquo;s
visits, and as the trader had to be at home by eight o&rsquo;clock in the
morning, the young man would watch for his departure from Zoés kitchen and
would take his place, which was still quite warm, till ten o&rsquo;clock. Then
he, too, would go about his business. Nana and he were wont to think it a very
comfortable arrangement.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;So much the worse,&rdquo; said Nana; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll write to him this
afternoon. And if he doesn&rsquo;t receive my letter, then tomorrow you will
stop him coming in.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
In the meantime Zoé was walking softly about the room. She spoke of
yesterday&rsquo;s great hit. Madame had shown such talent; she sang so well!
Ah! Madame need not fret at all now!
</p>

<p>
Nana, her elbow dug into her pillow, only tossed her head in reply. Her
nightdress had slipped down on her shoulders, and her hair, unfastened and
entangled, flowed over them in masses.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Without doubt,&rdquo; she murmured, becoming thoughtful; &ldquo;but
what&rsquo;s to be done to gain time? I&rsquo;m going to have all sorts of
bothers today. Now let&rsquo;s see, has the porter come upstairs yet this
morning?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then both the women talked together seriously. Nana owed three quarters&rsquo;
rent; the landlord was talking of seizing the furniture. Then, too, there was a
perfect downpour of creditors; there was a livery-stable man, a needlewoman, a
ladies&rsquo; tailor, a charcoal dealer and others besides, who came every day
and settled themselves on a bench in the little hall. The charcoal dealer
especially was a dreadful fellow&mdash;he shouted on the staircase. But
Nana&rsquo;s greatest cause of distress was her little Louis, a child she had
given birth to when she was sixteen and now left in charge of a nurse in a
village in the neighborhood of Rambouillet. This woman was clamoring for the
sum of three hundred francs before she would consent to give the little Louis
back to her. Nana, since her last visit to the child, had been seized with a
fit of maternal love and was desperate at the thought that she could not
realize a project, which had now become a hobby with her. This was to pay off
the nurse and to place the little man with his aunt, Mme Lerat, at the
Batignolles, whither she could go and see him as often as she liked.
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile the lady&rsquo;s maid kept hinting that her mistress ought to have
confided her necessities to the old miser.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;To be sure, I told him everything,&rdquo; cried Nana, &ldquo;and he told
me in answer that he had too many big liabilities. He won&rsquo;t go beyond his
thousand francs a month. The nigger&rsquo;s beggared just at present; I expect
he&rsquo;s lost at play. As to that poor Mimi, he stands in great need of a
loan himself; a fall in stocks has cleaned him out&mdash;he can&rsquo;t even
bring me flowers now.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She was speaking of Daguenet. In the self-abandonment of her awakening she had
no secrets from Zoé, and the latter, inured to such confidences, received them
with respectful sympathy. Since Madame condescended to speak to her of her
affairs she would permit herself to say what she thought. Besides, she was very
fond of Madame; she had left Mme Blanche for the express purpose of taking
service with her, and heaven knew Mme Blanche was straining every nerve to have
her again! Situations weren&rsquo;t lacking; she was pretty well known, but she
would have stayed with Madame even in narrow circumstances, because she
believed in Madame&rsquo;s future. And she concluded by stating her advice with
precision. When one was young one often did silly things. But this time it was
one&rsquo;s duty to look alive, for the men only thought of having their fun.
Oh dear, yes! Things would right themselves. Madame had only to say one word in
order to quiet her creditors and find the money she stood in need of.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;All that doesn&rsquo;t help me to three hundred francs,&rdquo; Nana kept
repeating as she plunged her fingers into the vagrant convolutions of her back
hair. &ldquo;I must have three hundred francs today, at once! It&rsquo;s stupid
not to know anyone who&rsquo;ll give you three hundred francs.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She racked her brains. She would have sent Mme Lerat, whom she was expecting
that very morning, to Rambouillet. The counteraction of her sudden fancy
spoiled for her the triumph of last night. Among all those men who had cheered
her, to think that there wasn&rsquo;t one to bring her fifteen louis! And then
one couldn&rsquo;t accept money in that way! Dear heaven, how unfortunate she
was! And she kept harking back again to the subject of her baby&mdash;he had
blue eyes like a cherub&rsquo;s; he could lisp &ldquo;Mamma&rdquo; in such a
funny voice that you were ready to die of laughing!
</p>

<p>
But at this moment the electric bell at the outer door was heard to ring with
its quick and tremulous vibration. Zoé returned, murmuring with a confidential
air:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a woman.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She had seen this woman a score of times, only she made believe never to
recognize her and to be quite ignorant of the nature of her relations with
ladies in difficulties.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;She has told me her name&mdash;Madame Tricon.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The Tricon,&rdquo; cried Nana. &ldquo;Dear me! That&rsquo;s true.
I&rsquo;d forgotten her. Show her in.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Zoé ushered in a tall old lady who wore ringlets and looked like a countess who
haunts lawyers&rsquo; offices. Then she effaced herself, disappearing
noiselessly with the lithe, serpentine movement wherewith she was wont to
withdraw from a room on the arrival of a gentleman. However, she might have
stayed. The Tricon did not even sit down. Only a brief exchange of words took
place.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I have someone for you today. Do you care about it?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes. How much?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Twenty louis.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;At what o&rsquo;clock?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;At three. It&rsquo;s settled then?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s settled.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Straightway the Tricon talked of the state of the weather. It was dry weather,
pleasant for walking. She had still four or five persons to see. And she took
her departure after consulting a small memorandum book. When she was once more
alone Nana appeared comforted. A slight shiver agitated her shoulders, and she
wrapped herself softly up again in her warm bedclothes with the lazy movements
of a cat who is susceptible to cold. Little by little her eyes closed, and she
lay smiling at the thought of dressing Louiset prettily on the following day,
while in the slumber into which she once more sank last night&rsquo;s long,
feverish dream of endlessly rolling applause returned like a sustained
accompaniment to music and gently soothed her lassitude.
</p>

<p>
At eleven o&rsquo;clock, when Zoé showed Mme Lerat into the room, Nana was
still asleep. But she woke at the noise and cried out at once:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s you. You&rsquo;ll go to Rambouillet today?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what I&rsquo;ve come for,&rdquo; said the aunt.
&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a train at twenty past twelve. I&rsquo;ve got time to
catch it.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, I shall only have the money by and by,&rdquo; replied the young
woman, stretching herself and throwing out her bosom. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll have
lunch, and then we&rsquo;ll see.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Zoé brought a dressing jacket.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The hairdresser&rsquo;s here, madame,&rdquo; she murmured.
</p>

<p>
But Nana did not wish to go into the dressing room. And she herself cried out:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come in, Francis.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
A well-dressed man pushed open the door and bowed. Just at that moment Nana was
getting out of bed, her bare legs in full view. But she did not hurry and
stretched her hands out so as to let Zoé draw on the sleeves of the dressing
jacket. Francis, on his part, was quite at his ease and without turning away
waited with a sober expression on his face.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Perhaps Madame has not seen the papers. There&rsquo;s a very nice
article in the Figaro.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He had brought the journal. Mme Lerat put on her spectacles and read the
article aloud, standing in front of the window as she did so. She had the build
of a policeman, and she drew herself up to her full height, while her nostrils
seemed to compress themselves whenever she uttered a gallant epithet. It was a
notice by Fauchery, written just after the performance, and it consisted of a
couple of very glowing columns, full of witty sarcasm about the artist and of
broad admiration for the woman.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Excellent!&rdquo; Francis kept repeating.
</p>

<p>
Nana laughed good-humoredly at his chaffing her about her voice! He was a nice
fellow, was that Fauchery, and she would repay him for his charming style of
writing. Mme Lerat, after having reread the notice, roundly declared that the
men all had the devil in their shanks, and she refused to explain her self
further, being fully satisfied with a brisk allusion of which she alone knew
the meaning. Francis finished turning up and fastening Nana&rsquo;s hair. He
bowed and said:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll keep my eye on the evening papers. At half-past five as
usual, eh?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Bring me a pot of pomade and a pound of burnt almonds from
Boissier&rsquo;s,&rdquo; Nana cried to him across the drawing room just as he
was shutting the door after him.
</p>

<p>
Then the two women, once more alone, recollected that they had not embraced,
and they planted big kisses on each other&rsquo;s cheeks. The notice warmed
their hearts. Nana, who up till now had been half asleep, was again seized with
the fever of her triumph. Dear, dear, &rsquo;twas Rose Mignon that would be
spending a pleasant morning! Her aunt having been unwilling to go to the
theater because, as she averred, sudden emotions ruined her stomach, Nana set
herself to describe the events of the evening and grew intoxicated at her own
recital, as though all Paris had been shaken to the ground by the applause.
Then suddenly interrupting herself, she asked with a laugh if one would ever
have imagined it all when she used to go traipsing about the Rue de la
Goutte-d&rsquo;Or. Mme Lerat shook her head. No, no, one never could have
foreseen it! And she began talking in her turn, assuming a serious air as she
did so and calling Nana &ldquo;daughter.&rdquo; Wasn&rsquo;t she a second
mother to her since the first had gone to rejoin Papa and Grandmamma? Nana was
greatly softened and on the verge of tears. But Mme Lerat declared that the
past was the past&mdash;oh yes, to be sure, a dirty past with things in it
which it was as well not to stir up every day. She had left off seeing her
niece for a long time because among the family she was accused of ruining
herself along with the little thing. Good God, as though that were possible!
She didn&rsquo;t ask for confidences; she believed that Nana had always lived
decently, and now it was enough for her to have found her again in a fine
position and to observe her kind feelings toward her son. Virtue and hard work
were still the only things worth anything in this world.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Who is the baby&rsquo;s father?&rdquo; she said, interrupting herself,
her eyes lit up with an expression of acute curiosity.
</p>

<p>
Nana was taken by surprise and hesitated a moment.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;A gentleman,&rdquo; she replied.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;There now!&rdquo; rejoined the aunt. &ldquo;They declared that you had
him by a stonemason who was in the habit of beating you. Indeed, you shall tell
me all about it someday; you know I&rsquo;m discreet! Tut, tut, I&rsquo;ll look
after him as though he were a prince&rsquo;s son.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She had retired from business as a florist and was living on her savings, which
she had got together sou by sou, till now they brought her in an income of six
hundred francs a year. Nana promised to rent some pretty little lodgings for
her and to give her a hundred francs a month besides. At the mention of this
sum the aunt forgot herself and shrieked to her niece, bidding her squeeze
their throats, since she had them in her grasp. She was meaning the men, of
course. Then they both embraced again, but in the midst of her rejoicing
Nana&rsquo;s face, as she led the talk back to the subject of Louiset, seemed
to be overshadowed by a sudden recollection.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t it a bore I&rsquo;ve got to go out at three
o&rsquo;clock?&rdquo; she muttered. &ldquo;It IS a nuisance!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Just then Zoé came in to say that lunch was on the table. They went into the
dining room, where an old lady was already seated at table. She had not taken
her hat off, and she wore a dark dress of an indecisive color midway between
puce and goose dripping. Nana did not seem surprised at sight of her. She
simply asked her why she hadn&rsquo;t come into the bedroom.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I heard voices,&rdquo; replied the old lady. &ldquo;I thought you had
company.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Mme Maloir, a respectable-looking and mannerly woman, was Nana&rsquo;s old
friend, chaperon and companion. Mme Lerat&rsquo;s presence seemed to fidget her
at first. Afterward, when she became aware that it was Nana&rsquo;s aunt, she
looked at her with a sweet expression and a die-away smile. In the meantime
Nana, who averred that she was as hungry as a wolf, threw herself on the
radishes and gobbled them up without bread. Mme Lerat had become ceremonious;
she refused the radishes as provocative of phlegm. By and by when Zoé had
brought in the cutlets Nana just chipped the meat and contented herself with
sucking the bones. Now and again she scrutinized her old friend&rsquo;s hat out
of the corners of her eyes.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the new hat I gave you?&rdquo; she ended by saying.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, I made it up,&rdquo; murmured Mme Maloir, her mouth full of meat.
</p>

<p>
The hat was smart to distraction. In front it was greatly exaggerated, and it
was adorned with a lofty feather. Mme Maloir had a mania for doing up all her
hats afresh; she alone knew what really became her, and with a few stitches she
could manufacture a toque out of the most elegant headgear. Nana, who had
bought her this very hat in order not to be ashamed of her when in her company
out of doors, was very near being vexed.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Push it up, at any rate,&rdquo; she cried.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, thank you,&rdquo; replied the old lady with dignity. &ldquo;It
doesn&rsquo;t get in my way; I can eat very comfortably as it is.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
After the cutlets came cauliflowers and the remains of a cold chicken. But at
the arrival of each successive dish Nana made a little face, hesitated, sniffed
and left her plateful untouched. She finished her lunch with the help of
preserve.
</p>

<p>
Dessert took a long time. Zoé did not remove the cloth before serving the
coffee. Indeed, the ladies simply pushed back their plates before taking it.
They talked continually of yesterday&rsquo;s charming evening. Nana kept
rolling cigarettes, which she smoked, swinging up and down on her
backward-tilted chair. And as Zoé had remained behind and was lounging idly
against the sideboard, it came about that the company were favored with her
history. She said she was the daughter of a midwife at Bercy who had failed in
business. First of all she had taken service with a dentist and after that with
an insurance agent, but neither place suited her, and she thereupon enumerated,
not without a certain amount of pride, the names of the ladies with whom she
had served as lady&rsquo;s maid. Zoé spoke of these ladies as one who had had
the making of their fortunes. It was very certain that without her more than
one would have had some queer tales to tell. Thus one day, when Mme Blanche was
with M. Octave, in came the old gentleman. What did Zoé do? She made believe to
tumble as she crossed the drawing room; the old boy rushed up to her
assistance, flew to the kitchen to fetch her a glass of water, and M. Octave
slipped away.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, she&rsquo;s a good girl, you bet!&rdquo; said Nana, who was
listening to her with tender interest and a sort of submissive admiration.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now I&rsquo;ve had my troubles,&rdquo; began Mme Lerat. And edging up to
Mme Maloir, she imparted to her certain confidential confessions. Both ladies
took lumps of sugar dipped in cognac and sucked them. But Mme Maloir was wont
to listen to other people&rsquo;s secrets without even confessing anything
concerning herself. People said that she lived on a mysterious allowance in a
room whither no one ever penetrated.
</p>

<p>
All of a sudden Nana grew excited.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t play with the knives, Aunt. You know it gives me a
turn!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Without thinking about it Mme Lerat had crossed two knives on the table in
front of her. Notwithstanding this, the young woman defended herself from the
charge of superstition. Thus, if the salt were upset, it meant nothing, even on
a Friday; but when it came to knives, that was too much of a good thing; that
had never proved fallacious. There could be no doubt that something unpleasant
was going to happen to her. She yawned, and then with an air, of profound
boredom:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Two o&rsquo;clock already. I must go out. What a nuisance!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The two old ladies looked at one another. The three women shook their heads
without speaking. To be sure, life was not always amusing. Nana had tilted her
chair back anew and lit a cigarette, while the others sat pursing up their lips
discreetly, thinking deeply philosophic thoughts.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;While waiting for you to return we&rsquo;ll play a game of
bezique,&rdquo; said Mme Maloir after a short silence. &ldquo;Does Madame play
bezique?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Certainly Mme Lerat played it, and that to perfection. It was no good troubling
Zoé, who had vanished&mdash;a corner of the table would do quite well. And they
pushed back the tablecloth over the dirty plates. But as Mme Maloir was herself
going to take the cards out of a drawer in the sideboard, Nana remarked that
before she sat down to her game it would be very nice of her if she would write
her a letter. It bored Nana to write letters; besides, she was not sure of her
spelling, while her old friend could turn out the most feeling epistles. She
ran to fetch some good note paper in her bedroom. An inkstand consisting of a
bottle of ink worth about three sous stood untidily on one of the pieces of
furniture, with a pen deep in rust beside it. The letter was for Daguenet. Mme
Maloir herself wrote in her bold English hand, &ldquo;My darling little
man,&rdquo; and then she told him not to come tomorrow because &ldquo;that
could not be&rdquo; but hastened to add that &ldquo;she was with him in thought
at every moment of the day, whether she were near or far away.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And I end with &lsquo;a thousand kisses,&rsquo;&rdquo; she murmured.
</p>

<p>
Mme Lerat had shown her approval of each phrase with an emphatic nod. Her eyes
were sparkling; she loved to find herself in the midst of love affairs. Nay,
she was seized with a desire to add some words of her own and, assuming a
tender look and cooing like a dove, she suggested:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;A thousand kisses on thy beautiful eyes.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the thing: &lsquo;a thousand kisses on thy beautiful
eyes&rsquo;!&rdquo; Nana repeated, while the two old ladies assumed a beatified
expression.
</p>

<p>
Zoé was rung for and told to take the letter down to a commissionaire. She had
just been talking with the theater messenger, who had brought her mistress the
day&rsquo;s playbill and rehearsal arrangements, which he had forgotten in the
morning. Nana had this individual ushered in and got him to take the latter to
Daguenet on his return. Then she put questions to him. Oh yes! M. Bordenave was
very pleased; people had already taken seats for a week to come; Madame had no
idea of the number of people who had been asking her address since morning.
When the man had taken his departure Nana announced that at most she would only
be out half an hour. If there were any visitors Zoé would make them wait. As
she spoke the electric bell sounded. It was a creditor in the shape of the man
of whom she jobbed her carriages. He had settled himself on the bench in the
anteroom, and the fellow was free to twiddle his thumbs till night&mdash;there
wasn&rsquo;t the least hurry now.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come, buck up!&rdquo; said Nana, still torpid with laziness and yawning
and stretching afresh. &ldquo;I ought to be there now!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Yet she did not budge but kept watching the play of her aunt, who had just
announced four aces. Chin on hand, she grew quite engrossed in it but gave a
violent start on hearing three o&rsquo;clock strike.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Good God!&rdquo; she cried roughly.
</p>

<p>
Then Mme Maloir, who was counting the tricks she had won with her tens and
aces, said cheeringly to her in her soft voice:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It would be better, dearie, to give up your expedition at once.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, be quick about it,&rdquo; said Mme Lerat, shuffling the cards.
&ldquo;I shall take the half-past four o&rsquo;clock train if you&rsquo;re back
here with the money before four o&rsquo;clock.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, there&rsquo;ll be no time lost,&rdquo; she murmured.
</p>

<p>
Ten minutes after Zoé helped her on with a dress and a hat. It didn&rsquo;t
matter much if she were badly turned out. Just as she was about to go
downstairs there was a new ring at the bell. This time it was the charcoal
dealer. Very well, he might keep the livery-stable keeper company&mdash;it
would amuse the fellows. Only, as she dreaded a scene, she crossed the kitchen
and made her escape by the back stairs. She often went that way and in return
had only to lift up her flounces.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;When one is a good mother anything&rsquo;s excusable,&rdquo; said Mme
Maloir sententiously when left alone with Mme Lerat.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Four kings,&rdquo; replied this lady, whom the play greatly excited.
</p>

<p>
And they both plunged into an interminable game.
</p>

<p>
The table had not been cleared. The smell of lunch and the cigarette smoke
filled the room with an ambient, steamy vapor. The two ladies had again set to
work dipping lumps of sugar in brandy and sucking the same. For twenty minutes
at least they played and sucked simultaneously when, the electric bell having
rung a third time, Zoé bustled into the room and roughly disturbed them, just
as if they had been her own friends.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Look here, that&rsquo;s another ring. You can&rsquo;t stay where you
are. If many folks call I must have the whole flat. Now off you go, off you
go!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Mme Maloir was for finishing the game, but Zoé looked as if she was going to
pounce down on the cards, and so she decided to carry them off without in any
way altering their positions, while Mme Lerat undertook the removal of the
brandy bottle, the glasses and the sugar. Then they both scudded to the
kitchen, where they installed themselves at the table in an empty space between
the dishcloths, which were spread out to dry, and the bowl still full of
dishwater.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;We said it was three hundred and forty. It&rsquo;s your turn.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I play hearts.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
When Zoé returned she found them once again absorbed. After a silence, as Mme
Lerat was shuffling, Mme Maloir asked who it was.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, nobody to speak of,&rdquo; replied the servant carelessly; &ldquo;a
slip of a lad! I wanted to send him away again, but he&rsquo;s such a pretty
boy with never a hair on his chin and blue eyes and a girl&rsquo;s face! So I
told him to wait after all. He&rsquo;s got an enormous bouquet in his hand,
which he never once consented to put down. One would like to catch him
one&mdash;a brat like that who ought to be at school still!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Mme Lerat went to fetch a water bottle to mix herself some brandy and water,
the lumps of sugar having rendered her thirsty. Zoé muttered something to the
effect that she really didn&rsquo;t mind if she drank something too. Her mouth,
she averred, was as bitter as gall.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;So you put him&mdash;?&rdquo; continued Mme Maloir.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh yes, I put him in the closet at the end of the room, the little
unfurnished one. There&rsquo;s only one of my lady&rsquo;s trunks there and a
table. It&rsquo;s there I stow the lubbers.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she was putting plenty of sugar in her grog when the electric bell made her
jump. Oh, drat it all! Wouldn&rsquo;t they let her have a drink in peace? If
they were to have a peal of bells things promised well. Nevertheless, she ran
off to open the door. Returning presently, she saw Mme Maloir questioning her
with a glance.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s nothing,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;only a bouquet.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
All three refreshed themselves, nodding to each other in token of salutation.
Then while Zoé was at length busy clearing the table, bringing the plates out
one by one and putting them in the sink, two other rings followed close upon
one another. But they weren&rsquo;t serious, for while keeping the kitchen
informed of what was going on she twice repeated her disdainful expression:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Nothing, only a bouquet.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Notwithstanding which, the old ladies laughed between two of their tricks when
they heard her describe the looks of the creditors in the anteroom after the
flowers had arrived. Madame would find her bouquets on her toilet table. What a
pity it was they cost such a lot and that you could only get ten sous for them!
Oh dear, yes, plenty of money was wasted!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;For my part,&rdquo; said Mme Maloir, &ldquo;I should be quite content if
every day of my life I got what the men in Paris had spent on flowers for the
women.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now, you know, you&rsquo;re not hard to please,&rdquo; murmured Mme
Lerat. &ldquo;Why, one would have only just enough to buy thread with. Four
queens, my dear.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
It was ten minutes to four. Zoé was astonished, could not understand why her
mistress was out so long. Ordinarily when Madame found herself obliged to go
out in the afternoons she got it over in double-quick time. But Mme Maloir
declared that one didn&rsquo;t always manage things as one wished. Truly, life
was beset with obstacles, averred Mme Lerat. The best course was to wait. If
her niece was long in coming it was because her occupations detained her;
wasn&rsquo;t it so? Besides, they weren&rsquo;t overworked&mdash;it was
comfortable in the kitchen. And as hearts were out, Mme Lerat threw down
diamonds.
</p>

<p>
The bell began again, and when Zoé reappeared she was burning with excitement.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My children, it&rsquo;s fat Steiner!&rdquo; she said in the doorway,
lowering her voice as she spoke. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve put HIM in the little
sitting room.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Thereupon Mme Maloir spoke about the banker to Mme Lerat, who knew no such
gentleman. Was he getting ready to give Rose Mignon the go-by? Zoé shook her
head; she knew a thing or two. But once more she had to go and open the door.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s bothers!&rdquo; she murmured when she came back.
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the nigger! &rsquo;Twasn&rsquo;t any good telling him that my
lady&rsquo;s gone out, and so he&rsquo;s settled himself in the bedroom. We
only expected him this evening.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At a quarter past four Nana was not in yet. What could she be after? It was
silly of her! Two other bouquets were brought round, and Zoé, growing bored
looked to see if there were any coffee left. Yes, the ladies would willingly
finish off the coffee; it would waken them up. Sitting hunched up on their
chairs, they were beginning to fall asleep through dint of constantly taking
their cards between their fingers with the accustomed movement. The half-hour
sounded. Something must decidedly have happened to Madame. And they began
whispering to each other.
</p>

<p>
Suddenly Mme Maloir forgot herself and in a ringing voice announced:
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve the five hundred! Trumps, Major Quint!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, do be quiet!&rdquo; said Zoé angrily. &ldquo;What will all those
gentlemen think?&rdquo; And in the silence which ensued and amid the whispered
muttering of the two old women at strife over their game, the sound of rapid
footsteps ascended from the back stairs. It was Nana at last. Before she had
opened the door her breathlessness became audible. She bounced abruptly in,
looking very red in the face. Her skirt, the string of which must have been
broken, was trailing over the stairs, and her flounces had just been dipped in
a puddle of something unpleasant which had oozed out on the landing of the
first floor, where the servant girl was a regular slut.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Here you are! It&rsquo;s lucky!&rdquo; said Mme Lerat, pursing up her
lips, for she was still vexed at Mme Maloir&rsquo;s &ldquo;five hundred.&rdquo;
&ldquo;You may flatter yourself at the way you keep folks waiting.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Madame isn&rsquo;t reasonable; indeed, she isn&rsquo;t!&rdquo; added
Zoé.
</p>

<p>
Nana was already harassed, and these reproaches exasperated her. Was that the
way people received her after the worry she had gone through?
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Will you blooming well leave me alone, eh?&rdquo; she cried.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Hush, ma&rsquo;am, there are people in there,&rdquo; said the maid.
</p>

<p>
Then in lower tones the young Woman stuttered breathlessly:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;D&rsquo;you suppose I&rsquo;ve been having a good time? Why, there was
no end to it. I should have liked to see you there! I was boiling with rage! I
felt inclined to smack somebody. And never a cab to come home in! Luckily
it&rsquo;s only a step from here, but never mind that; I did just run
home.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You have the money?&rdquo; asked the aunt.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dear, dear! That question!&rdquo; rejoined Nana.
</p>

<p>
She had sat herself down on a chair close up against the stove, for her legs
had failed her after so much running, and without stopping to take breath she
drew from behind her stays an envelope in which there were four hundred-franc
notes. They were visible through a large rent she had torn with savage fingers
in order to be sure of the contents. The three women round about her stared
fixedly at the envelope, a big, crumpled, dirty receptacle, as it lay clasped
in her small gloved hands.
</p>

<p>
It was too late now&mdash;Mme Lerat would not go to Rambouillet till tomorrow,
and Nana entered into long explanations.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;There&rsquo;s company waiting for you,&rdquo; the lady&rsquo;s maid
repeated.
</p>

<p>
But Nana grew excited again. The company might wait: she&rsquo;d go to them all
in good time when she&rsquo;d finished. And as her aunt began putting her hand
out for the money:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah no! Not all of it,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Three hundred francs for
the nurse, fifty for your journey and expenses, that&rsquo;s three hundred and
fifty. Fifty francs I keep.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The big difficulty was how to find change. There were not ten francs in the
house. But they did not even address themselves to Mme Maloir who, never having
more than a six-sou omnibus fair upon her, was listening in quite a
disinterested manner. At length Zoé went out of the room, remarking that she
would go and look in her box, and she brought back a hundred francs in
hundred-sou pieces. They were counted out on a corner of the table, and Mme
Lerat took her departure at once after having promised to bring Louiset back
with her the following day.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You say there&rsquo;s company there?&rdquo; continued Nana, still
sitting on the chair and resting herself.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, madame, three people.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And Zoé mentioned the banker first. Nana made a face. Did that man Steiner
think she was going to let herself be bored because he had thrown her a bouquet
yesterday evening?
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Besides, I&rsquo;ve had enough of it,&rdquo; she declared. &ldquo;I
shan&rsquo;t receive today. Go and say you don&rsquo;t expect me now.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Madame will think the matter over; Madame will receive Monsieur
Steiner,&rdquo; murmured Zoé gravely, without budging from her place. She was
annoyed to see her mistress on the verge of committing another foolish mistake.
</p>

<p>
Then she mentioned the Walachian, who ought by now to find time hanging heavy
on his hands in the bedroom. Whereupon Nana grew furious and more obstinate
than ever. No, she would see nobody, nobody! Who&rsquo;d sent her such a
blooming leech of a man?
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Chuck &rsquo;em all out! I&mdash;I&rsquo;m going to play a game of
bezique with Madame Maloir. I prefer doing that.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The bell interrupted her remarks. That was the last straw. Another of the
beggars yet! She forbade Zoé to go and open the door, but the latter had left
the kitchen without listening to her, and when she reappeared she brought back
a couple of cards and said authoritatively:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I told them that Madame was receiving visitors. The gentlemen are in the
drawing room.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana had sprung up, raging, but the names of the Marquis de Chouard and of
Count Muffat de Beuville, which were inscribed on the cards, calmed her down.
For a moment or two she remained silent.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Who are they?&rdquo; she asked at last. &ldquo;You know them?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I know the old fellow,&rdquo; replied Zoé, discreetly pursing up her
lips.
</p>

<p>
And her mistress continuing to question her with her eyes, she added simply:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve seen him somewhere.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
This remark seemed to decide the young woman. Regretfully she left the kitchen,
that asylum of steaming warmth, where you could talk and take your ease amid
the pleasant fumes of the coffeepot which was being kept warm over a handful of
glowing embers. She left Mme Maloir behind her. That lady was now busy reading
her fortune by the cards; she had never yet taken her hat off, but now in order
to be more at her ease she undid the strings and threw them back over her
shoulders.
</p>

<p>
In the dressing room, where Zoé rapidly helped her on with a tea gown, Nana
revenged herself for the way in which they were all boring her by muttering
quiet curses upon the male sex. These big words caused the lady&rsquo;s maid
not a little distress, for she saw with pain that her mistress was not rising
superior to her origin as quickly as she could have desired. She even made bold
to beg Madame to calm herself.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You bet,&rdquo; was Nana&rsquo;s crude answer; &ldquo;they&rsquo;re
swine; they glory in that sort of thing.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless, she assumed her princesslike manner, as she was wont to call it.
But just when she was turning to go into the drawing room Zoé held her back and
herself introduced the Marquis de Chouard and the Count Muffat into the
dressing room. It was much better so.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I regret having kept you waiting, gentlemen,&rdquo; said the young woman
with studied politeness.
</p>

<p>
The two men bowed and seated themselves. A blind of embroidered tulle kept the
little room in twilight. It was the most elegant chamber in the flat, for it
was hung with some light-colored fabric and contained a cheval glass framed in
inlaid wood, a lounge chair and some others with arms and blue satin
upholsteries. On the toilet table the bouquets&mdash;roses, lilacs and
hyacinths&mdash;appeared like a very ruin of flowers. Their perfume was strong
and penetrating, while through the dampish air of the place, which was full of
the spoiled exhalations of the washstand, came occasional whiffs of a more
pungent scent, the scent of some grains or dry patchouli ground to fine powder
at the bottom of a cup. And as she gathered herself together and drew up her
dressing jacket, which had been ill fastened, Nana had all the appearance of
having been surprised at her toilet: her skin was still damp; she smiled and
looked quite startled amid her frills and laces.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Madame, you will pardon our insistence,&rdquo; said the Count Muffat
gravely. &ldquo;We come on a quest. Monsieur and I are members of the
Benevolent Organization of the district.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The Marquis de Chouard hastened gallantly to add:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;When we learned that a great artiste lived in this house we promised
ourselves that we would put the claims of our poor people before her in a very
special manner. Talent is never without a heart.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana pretended to be modest. She answered them with little assenting movements
of her head, making rapid reflections at the same time. It must be the old man
that had brought the other one: he had such wicked eyes. And yet the other was
not to be trusted either: the veins near his temples were so queerly puffed up.
He might quite well have come by himself. Ah, now that she thought of it, it
was this way: the porter had given them her name, and they had egged one
another on, each with his own ends in view.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Most certainly, gentlemen, you were quite right to come up,&rdquo; she
said with a very good grace.
</p>

<p>
But the electric bell made her tremble again. Another call, and that Zoé always
opening the door! She went on:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;One is only too happy to be able to give.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At bottom she was flattered.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, madame,&rdquo; rejoined the marquis, &ldquo;if only you knew about
it! there&rsquo;s such misery! Our district has more than three thousand poor
people in it, and yet it&rsquo;s one of the richest. You cannot picture to
yourself anything like the present distress&mdash;children with no bread, women
ill, utterly without assistance, perishing of the cold!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The poor souls!&rdquo; cried Nana, very much moved.
</p>

<p>
Such was her feeling of compassion that tears flooded her fine eyes. No longer
studying deportment, she leaned forward with a quick movement, and under her
open dressing jacket her neck became visible, while the bent position of her
knees served to outline the rounded contour of the thigh under the thin fabric
of her skirt. A little flush of blood appeared in the marquis&rsquo;s
cadaverous cheeks. Count Muffat, who was on the point of speaking, lowered his
eyes. The air of that little room was too hot: it had the close, heavy warmth
of a greenhouse. The roses were withering, and intoxicating odors floated up
from the patchouli in the cup.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;One would like to be very rich on occasions like this,&rdquo; added
Nana. &ldquo;Well, well, we each do what we can. Believe me, gentlemen, if I
had known&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She was on the point of being guilty of a silly speech, so melted was she at
heart. But she did not end her sentence and for a moment was worried at not
being able to remember where she had put her fifty francs on changing her
dress. But she recollected at last: they must be on the corner of her toilet
table under an inverted pomatum pot. As she was in the act of rising the bell
sounded for quite a long time. Capital! Another of them still! It would never
end. The count and the marquis had both risen, too, and the ears of the latter
seemed to be pricked up and, as it were, pointing toward the door; doubtless he
knew that kind of ring. Muffat looked at him; then they averted their gaze
mutually. They felt awkward and once more assumed their frigid bearing, the one
looking square-set and solid with his thick head of hair, the other drawing
back his lean shoulders, over which fell his fringe of thin white locks.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My faith,&rdquo; said Nana, bringing the ten big silver pieces and quite
determined to laugh about it, &ldquo;I am going to entrust you with this,
gentlemen. It is for the poor.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And the adorable little dimple in her chin became apparent. She assumed her
favorite pose, her amiable baby expression, as she held the pile of five-franc
pieces on her open palm and offered it to the men, as though she were saying to
them, &ldquo;Now then, who wants some?&rdquo; The count was the sharper of the
two. He took fifty francs but left one piece behind and, in order to gain
possession of it, had to pick it off the young woman&rsquo;s very skin, a
moist, supple skin, the touch of which sent a thrill through him. She was
thoroughly merry and did not cease laughing.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come, gentlemen,&rdquo; she continued. &ldquo;Another time I hope to
give more.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The gentlemen no longer had any pretext for staying, and they bowed and went
toward the door. But just as they were about to go out the bell rang anew. The
marquis could not conceal a faint smile, while a frown made the count look more
grave than before. Nana detained them some seconds so as to give Zoé time to
find yet another corner for the newcomers. She did not relish meetings at her
house. Only this time the whole place must be packed! She was therefore much
relieved when she saw the drawing room empty and asked herself whether Zoé had
really stuffed them into the cupboards.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Au revoir, gentlemen,&rdquo; she said, pausing on the threshold of the
drawing room.
</p>

<p>
It was as though she lapped them in her laughing smile and clear, unclouded
glance. The Count Muffat bowed slightly. Despite his great social experience he
felt that he had lost his equilibrium. He needed air; he was overcome with the
dizzy feeling engendered in that dressing room with a scent of flowers, with a
feminine essence which choked him. And behind his back, the Marquis de Chouard,
who was sure that he could not be seen, made so bold as to wink at Nana, his
whole face suddenly altering its expression as he did so, and his tongue nigh
lolling from his mouth.
</p>

<p>
When the young woman re-entered the little room, where Zoé was awaiting her
with letters and visiting cards, she cried out, laughing more heartily than
ever:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;There are a pair of beggars for you! Why, they&rsquo;ve got away with my
fifty francs!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She wasn&rsquo;t vexed. It struck her as a joke that MEN should have got money
out of her. All the same, they were swine, for she hadn&rsquo;t a sou left. But
at sight of the cards and the letters her bad temper returned. As to the
letters, why, she said &ldquo;pass&rdquo; to them. They were from fellows who,
after applauding her last night, were now making their declarations. And as to
the callers, they might go about their business!
</p>

<p>
Zoé had stowed them all over the place, and she called attention to the great
capabilities of the flat, every room in which opened on the corridor. That
wasn&rsquo;t the case at Mme Blanche&rsquo;s, where people had all to go
through the drawing room. Oh yes, Mme Blanche had had plenty of bothers over
it!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You will send them all away,&rdquo; continued Nana in pursuance of her
idea. &ldquo;Begin with the nigger.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, as to him, madame, I gave him his marching orders a while
ago,&rdquo; said Zoé with a grin. &ldquo;He only wanted to tell Madame that he
couldn&rsquo;t come to-night.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
There was vast joy at this announcement, and Nana clapped her hands. He
wasn&rsquo;t coming, what good luck! She would be free then! And she emitted
sighs of relief, as though she had been let off the most abominable of
tortures. Her first thought was for Daguenet. Poor duck, why, she had just
written to tell him to wait till Thursday! Quick, quick, Mme Maloir should
write a second letter! But Zoé announced that Mme Maloir had slipped away
unnoticed, according to her wont. Whereupon Nana, after talking of sending
someone to him, began to hesitate. She was very tired. A long night&rsquo;s
sleep&mdash;oh, it would be so jolly! The thought of such a treat overcame her
at last. For once in a way she could allow herself that!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I shall go to bed when I come back from the theater,&rdquo; she murmured
greedily, &ldquo;and you won&rsquo;t wake me before noon.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then raising her voice:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now then, gee up! Shove the others downstairs!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Zoé did not move. She would never have dreamed of giving her mistress overt
advice, only now she made shift to give Madame the benefit of her experience
when Madame seemed to be running her hot head against a wall.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Monsieur Steiner as well?&rdquo; she queried curtly.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why, certainly!&rdquo; replied Nana. &ldquo;Before all the rest.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The maid still waited, in order to give her mistress time for reflection. Would
not Madame be proud to get such a rich gentleman away from her rival Rose
Mignon&mdash;a man, moreover, who was known in all the theaters?
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now make haste, my dear,&rdquo; rejoined Nana, who perfectly understood
the situation, &ldquo;and tell him he pesters me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But suddenly there was a reversion of feeling. Tomorrow she might want him.
Whereupon she laughed, winked once or twice and with a naughty little gesture
cried out:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;After all&rsquo;s said and done, if I want him the best way even now is
to kick him out of doors.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Zoé seemed much impressed. Struck with a sudden admiration, she gazed at her
mistress and then went and chucked Steiner out of doors without further
deliberation.
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile Nana waited patiently for a second or two in order to give her time
to sweep the place out, as she phrased it. No one would ever have expected such
a siege! She craned her head into the drawing room and found it empty. The
dining room was empty too. But as she continued her visitation in a calmer
frame of mind, feeling certain that nobody remained behind, she opened the door
of a closet and came suddenly upon a very young man. He was sitting on the top
of a trunk, holding a huge bouquet on his knees and looking exceedingly quiet
and extremely well behaved.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Goodness gracious me!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s one of
&rsquo;em in there even now!&rdquo; The very young man had jumped down at sight
of her and was blushing as red as a poppy. He did not know what to do with his
bouquet, which he kept shifting from one hand to the other, while his looks
betrayed the extreme of emotion. His youth, his embarrassment and the funny
figure he cut in his struggles with his flowers melted Nana&rsquo;s heart, and
she burst into a pretty peal of laughter. Well, now, the very children were
coming, were they? Men were arriving in long clothes. So she gave up all airs
and graces, became familiar and maternal, tapped her leg and asked for fun:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You want me to wipe your nose; do you, baby?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied the lad in a low, supplicating tone.
</p>

<p>
This answer made her merrier than ever. He was seventeen years old, he said.
His name was Georges Hugon. He was at the Variétés last night and now he had
come to see her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;These flowers are for me?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Then give &rsquo;em to me, booby!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But as she took the bouquet from him he sprang upon her hands and kissed them
with all the gluttonous eagerness peculiar to his charming time of life. She
had to beat him to make him let go. There was a dreadful little dribbling
customer for you! But as she scolded him she flushed rosy-red and began
smiling. And with that she sent him about his business, telling him that he
might call again. He staggered away; he could not find the doors.
</p>

<p>
Nana went back into her dressing room, where Francis made his appearance almost
simultaneously in order to dress her hair for the evening. Seated in front of
her mirror and bending her head beneath the hairdresser&rsquo;s nimble hands,
she stayed silently meditative. Presently, however, Zoé entered, remarking:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;There&rsquo;s one of them, madame, who refuses to go.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Very well, he must be left alone,&rdquo; she answered quietly.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;If that comes to that they still keep arriving.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Bah! Tell &rsquo;em to wait. When they begin to feel too hungry
they&rsquo;ll be off.&rdquo; Her humor had changed, and she was now delighted
to make people wait about for nothing. A happy thought struck her as very
amusing; she escaped from beneath Francis&rsquo; hands and ran and bolted the
doors. They might now crowd in there as much as they liked; they would probably
refrain from making a hole through the wall. Zoé could come in and out through
the little doorway leading to the kitchen. However, the electric bell rang more
lustily than ever. Every five minutes a clear, lively little ting-ting recurred
as regularly as if it had been produced by some well-adjusted piece of
mechanism. And Nana counted these rings to while the time away withal. But
suddenly she remembered something.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I say, where are my burnt almonds?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Francis, too, was forgetting about the burnt almonds. But now he drew a paper
bag from one of the pockets of his frock coat and presented it to her with the
discreet gesture of a man who is offering a lady a present. Nevertheless,
whenever his accounts came to be settled, he always put the burnt almonds down
on his bill. Nana put the bag between her knees and set to work munching her
sweetmeats, turning her head from time to time under the hairdresser&rsquo;s
gently compelling touch.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The deuce,&rdquo; she murmured after a silence, &ldquo;there&rsquo;s a
troop for you!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Thrice, in quick succession, the bell had sounded. Its summonses became fast
and furious. There were modest tintinnabulations which seemed to stutter and
tremble like a first avowal; there were bold rings which vibrated under some
rough touch and hasty rings which sounded through the house with shivering
rapidity. It was a regular peal, as Zoé said, a peal loud enough to upset the
neighborhood, seeing that a whole mob of men were jabbing at the ivory button,
one after the other. That old joker Bordenave had really been far too lavish
with her address. Why, the whole of yesterday&rsquo;s house was coming!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By the by, Francis, have you five louis?&rdquo; said Nana.
</p>

<p>
He drew back, looked carefully at her headdress and then quietly remarked:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Five louis, that&rsquo;s according!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, you know if you want securities . . .&rdquo; she continued.
</p>

<p>
And without finishing her sentence, she indicated the adjoining rooms with a
sweeping gesture. Francis lent the five louis. Zoé, during each momentary
respite, kept coming in to get Madame&rsquo;s things ready. Soon she came to
dress her while the hairdresser lingered with the intention of giving some
finishing touches to the headdress. But the bell kept continually disturbing
the lady&rsquo;s maid, who left Madame with her stays half laced and only one
shoe on. Despite her long experience, the maid was losing her head. After
bringing every nook and corner into requisition and putting men pretty well
everywhere, she had been driven to stow them away in threes and fours, which
was a course of procedure entirely opposed to her principles. So much the worse
for them if they ate each other up! It would afford more room! And Nana,
sheltering behind her carefully bolted door, began laughing at them, declaring
that she could hear them pant. They ought to be looking lovely in there with
their tongues hanging out like a lot of bowwows sitting round on their behinds.
Yesterday&rsquo;s success was not yet over, and this pack of men had followed
up her scent.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Provided they don&rsquo;t break anything,&rdquo; she murmured.
</p>

<p>
She began to feel some anxiety, for she fancied she felt their hot breath
coming through chinks in the door. But Zoé ushered Labordette in, and the young
woman gave a little shout of relief. He was anxious to tell her about an
account he had settled for her at the justice of peace&rsquo;s court. But she
did not attend and said:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll take you along with me. We&rsquo;ll have dinner together, and
afterward you shall escort me to the Variétés. I don&rsquo;t go on before
half-past nine.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Good old Labordette, how lucky it was he had come! He was a fellow who never
asked for any favors. He was only the friend of the women, whose little bits of
business he arranged for them. Thus on his way in he had dismissed the
creditors in the anteroom. Indeed, those good folks really didn&rsquo;t want to
be paid. On the contrary, if they HAD been pressing for payment it was only for
the sake of complimenting Madame and of personally renewing their offers of
service after her grand success of yesterday.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s be off, let&rsquo;s be off,&rdquo; said Nana, who was
dressed by now.
</p>

<p>
But at that moment Zoé came in again, shouting:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I refuse to open the door any more. They&rsquo;re waiting in a crowd all
down the stairs.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
A crowd all down the stairs! Francis himself, despite the English stolidity of
manner which he was wont to affect, began laughing as he put up his combs.
Nana, who had already taken Labordette&rsquo;s arm, pushed him into the kitchen
and effected her escape. At last she was delivered from the men and felt
happily conscious that she might now enjoy his society anywhere without fear of
stupid interruptions.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You shall see me back to my door,&rdquo; she said as they went down the
kitchen stairs. &ldquo;I shall feel safe, in that case. Just fancy, I want to
sleep a whole night quite by myself&mdash;yes, a whole night! It&rsquo;s sort
of infatuation, dear boy!&rdquo;
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"></a> CHAPTER III</h2>

<p>
The Countess Sabine, as it had become customary to call Mme Muffat de Beuville
in order to distinguish her from the count&rsquo;s mother, who had died the
year before, was wont to receive every Tuesday in her house in the Rue
Miromesnil at the corner of the Rue de Pentièvre. It was a great square
building, and the Muffats had lived in it for a hundred years or more. On the
side of the street its frontage seemed to slumber, so lofty was it and dark, so
sad and convent-like, with its great outer shutters, which were nearly always
closed. And at the back in a little dark garden some trees had grown up and
were straining toward the sunlight with such long slender branches that their
tips were visible above the roof.
</p>

<p>
This particular Tuesday, toward ten o&rsquo;clock in the evening, there were
scarcely a dozen people in the drawing room. When she was only expecting
intimate friends the countess opened neither the little drawing room nor the
dining room. One felt more at home on such occasions and chatted round the
fire. The drawing room was very large and very lofty; its four windows looked
out upon the garden, from which, on this rainy evening of the close of April,
issued a sensation of damp despite the great logs burning on the hearth. The
sun never shone down into the room; in the daytime it was dimly lit up by a
faint greenish light, but at night, when the lamps and the chandelier were
burning, it looked merely a serious old chamber with its massive mahogany First
Empire furniture, its hangings and chair coverings of yellow velvet, stamped
with a large design. Entering it, one was in an atmosphere of cold dignity, of
ancient manners, of a vanished age, the air of which seemed devotional.
</p>

<p>
Opposite the armchair, however, in which the count&rsquo;s mother had
died&mdash;a square armchair of formal design and inhospitable padding, which
stood by the hearthside&mdash;the Countess Sabine was seated in a deep and cozy
lounge, the red silk upholsteries of which were soft as eider down. It was the
only piece of modern furniture there, a fanciful item introduced amid the
prevailing severity and clashing with it.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;So we shall have the shah of Persia,&rdquo; the young woman was saying.
</p>

<p>
They were talking of the crowned heads who were coming to Paris for the
exhibition. Several ladies had formed a circle round the hearth, and Mme du
Joncquoy, whose brother, a diplomat, had just fulfilled a mission in the East,
was giving some details about the court of Nazr-ed-Din.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Are you out of sorts, my dear?&rdquo; asked Mme Chantereau, the wife of
an ironmaster, seeing the countess shivering slightly and growing pale as she
did so.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh no, not at all,&rdquo; replied the latter, smiling. &ldquo;I felt a
little cold. This drawing room takes so long to warm.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with that she raised her melancholy eyes and scanned the walls from floor
to ceiling. Her daughter Estelle, a slight, insignificant-looking girl of
sixteen, the thankless period of life, quitted the large footstool on which she
was sitting and silently came and propped up one of the logs which had rolled
from its place. But Mme de Chezelles, a convent friend of Sabine&rsquo;s and
her junior by five years, exclaimed:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dear me, I would gladly be possessed of a drawing room such as yours! At
any rate, you are able to receive visitors. They only build boxes nowadays. Oh,
if I were in your place!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She ran giddily on and with lively gestures explained how she would alter the
hangings, the seats&mdash;everything, in fact. Then she would give balls to
which all Paris should run. Behind her seat her husband, a magistrate, stood
listening with serious air. It was rumored that she deceived him quite openly,
but people pardoned her offense and received her just the same, because, they
said, &ldquo;she&rsquo;s not answerable for her actions.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh that Leonide!&rdquo; the Countess Sabine contented herself by
murmuring, smiling her faint smile the while.
</p>

<p>
With a languid movement she eked out the thought that was in her. After having
lived there seventeen years she certainly would not alter her drawing room now.
It would henceforth remain just such as her mother-in-law had wished to
preserve it during her lifetime. Then returning to the subject of conversation:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I have been assured,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;that we shall also have the
king of Prussia and the emperor of Russia.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, some very fine fêtes are promised,&rdquo; said Mme du Joncquoy.
</p>

<p>
The banker Steiner, not long since introduced into this circle by Leonide de
Chezelles, who was acquainted with the whole of Parisian society, was sitting
chatting on a sofa between two of the windows. He was questioning a deputy,
from whom he was endeavoring with much adroitness to elicit news about a
movement on the stock exchange of which he had his suspicions, while the Count
Muffat, standing in front of them, was silently listening to their talk,
looking, as he did so, even grayer than was his wont.
</p>

<p>
Four or five young men formed another group near the door round the Count
Xavier de Vandeuvres, who in a low tone was telling them an anecdote. It was
doubtless a very risky one, for they were choking with laughter. Companionless
in the center of the room, a stout man, a chief clerk at the Ministry of the
Interior, sat heavily in an armchair, dozing with his eyes open. But when one
of the young men appeared to doubt the truth of the anecdote Vandeuvres raised
his voice.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You are too much of a skeptic, Foucarmont; you&rsquo;ll spoil all your
pleasures that way.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And he returned to the ladies with a laugh. Last scion of a great family, of
feminine manners and witty tongue, he was at that time running through a
fortune with a rage of life and appetite which nothing could appease. His
racing stable, which was one of the best known in Paris, cost him a fabulous
amount of money; his betting losses at the Imperial Club amounted monthly to an
alarming number of pounds, while taking one year with another, his mistresses
would be always devouring now a farm, now some acres of arable land or forest,
which amounted, in fact, to quite a respectable slice of his vast estates in
Picardy.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I advise you to call other people skeptics! Why, you don&rsquo;t believe
a thing yourself,&rdquo; said Leonide, making shift to find him a little space
in which to sit down at her side.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s you who spoil your own pleasures.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Exactly,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;I wish to make others benefit by my
experience.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But the company imposed silence on him: he was scandalizing M. Venot. And, the
ladies having changed their positions, a little old man of sixty, with bad
teeth and a subtle smile, became visible in the depths of an easy chair. There
he sat as comfortably as in his own house, listening to everybody&rsquo;s
remarks and making none himself. With a slight gesture he announced himself by
no means scandalized. Vandeuvres once more assumed his dignified bearing and
added gravely:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Monsieur Venot is fully aware that I believe what it is one&rsquo;s duty
to believe.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
It was an act of faith, and even Leonide appeared satisfied. The young men at
the end of the room no longer laughed; the company were old fogies, and
amusement was not to be found there. A cold breath of wind had passed over
them, and amid the ensuing silence Steiner&rsquo;s nasal voice became audible.
The deputy&rsquo;s discreet answers were at last driving him to desperation.
For a second or two the Countess Sabine looked at the fire; then she resumed
the conversation.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I saw the king of Prussia at Baden-Baden last year. He&rsquo;s still
full of vigor for his age.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Count Bismarck is to accompany him,&rdquo; said Mme du Joncquoy.
&ldquo;Do you know the count? I lunched with him at my brother&rsquo;s ages
ago, when he was representative of Prussia in Paris. There&rsquo;s a man now
whose latest successes I cannot in the least understand.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;But why?&rdquo; asked Mme Chantereau.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Good gracious, how am I to explain? He doesn&rsquo;t please me. His
appearance is boorish and underbred. Besides, so far as I am concerned, I find
him stupid.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
With that the whole room spoke of Count Bismarck, and opinions differed
considerably. Vandeuvres knew him and assured the company that he was great in
his cups and at play. But when the discussion was at its height the door was
opened, and Hector de la Falois made his appearance. Fauchery, who followed in
his wake, approached the countess and, bowing:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Madame,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I have not forgotten your extremely kind
invitation.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She smiled and made a pretty little speech. The journalist, after bowing to the
count, stood for some moments in the middle of the drawing room. He only
recognized Steiner and accordingly looked rather out of his element. But
Vandeuvres turned and came and shook hands with him. And forthwith, in his
delight at the meeting and with a sudden desire to be confidential, Fauchery
buttonholed him and said in a low voice:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s tomorrow. Are you going?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Egad, yes.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;At midnight, at her house.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I know, I know. I&rsquo;m going with Blanche.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He wanted to escape and return to the ladies in order to urge yet another
reason in M. de Bismarck&rsquo;s favor. But Fauchery detained him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You never will guess whom she has charged me to invite.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with a slight nod he indicated Count Muffat, who was just then discussing a
knotty point in the budget with Steiner and the deputy.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s impossible,&rdquo; said Vandeuvres, stupefaction and
merriment in his tones. &ldquo;My word on it! I had to swear that I would bring
him to her. Indeed, that&rsquo;s one of my reasons for coming here.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Both laughed silently, and Vandeuvres, hurriedly rejoining the circle of
ladies, cried out:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I declare that on the contrary Monsieur de Bismarck is exceedingly
witty. For instance, one evening he said a charmingly epigrammatic thing in my
presence.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
La Faloise meanwhile had heard the few rapid sentences thus whisperingly
interchanged, and he gazed at Fauchery in hopes of an explanation which was not
vouchsafed him. Of whom were they talking, and what were they going to do at
midnight tomorrow? He did not leave his cousin&rsquo;s side again. The latter
had gone and seated himself. He was especially interested by the Countess
Sabine. Her name had often been mentioned in his presence, and he knew that,
having been married at the age of seventeen, she must now be thirty-four and
that since her marriage she had passed a cloistered existence with her husband
and her mother-in-law. In society some spoke of her as a woman of religious
chastity, while others pitied her and recalled to memory her charming bursts of
laughter and the burning glances of her great eyes in the days prior to her
imprisonment in this old town house. Fauchery scrutinized her and yet
hesitated. One of his friends, a captain who had recently died in Mexico, had,
on the very eve of his departure, made him one of those gross postprandial
confessions, of which even the most prudent among men are occasionally guilty.
But of this he only retained a vague recollection; they had dined not wisely
but too well that evening, and when he saw the countess, in her black dress and
with her quiet smile, seated in that Old World drawing room, he certainly had
his doubts. A lamp which had been placed behind her threw into clear relief her
dark, delicate, plump side face, wherein a certain heaviness in the contours of
the mouth alone indicated a species of imperious sensuality.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What do they want with their Bismarck?&rdquo; muttered La Faloise, whose
constant pretense it was to be bored in good society. &ldquo;One&rsquo;s ready
to kick the bucket here. A pretty idea of yours it was to want to come!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Fauchery questioned him abruptly.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now tell me, does the countess admit someone to her embraces?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh dear, no, no! My dear fellow!&rdquo; he stammered, manifestly taken
aback and quite forgetting his pose. &ldquo;Where d&rsquo;you think we
are?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
After which he was conscious of a want of up-to-dateness in this outburst of
indignation and, throwing himself back on a great sofa, he added:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Gad! I say no! But I don&rsquo;t know much about it. There&rsquo;s a
little chap out there, Foucarmont they call him, who&rsquo;s to be met with
everywhere and at every turn. One&rsquo;s seen faster men than that, though,
you bet. However, it doesn&rsquo;t concern me, and indeed, all I know is that
if the countess indulges in high jinks she&rsquo;s still pretty sly about it,
for the thing never gets about&mdash;nobody talks.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then although Fauchery did not take the trouble to question him, he told him
all he knew about the Muffats. Amid the conversation of the ladies, which still
continued in front of the hearth, they both spoke in subdued tones, and, seeing
them there with their white cravats and gloves, one might have supposed them to
be discussing in chosen phraseology some really serious topic. Old Mme Muffat
then, whom La Faloise had been well acquainted with, was an insufferable old
lady, always hand in glove with the priests. She had the grand manner, besides,
and an authoritative way of comporting herself, which bent everybody to her
will. As to Muffat, he was an old man&rsquo;s child; his father, a general, had
been created count by Napoleon I, and naturally he had found himself in favor
after the second of December. He hadn&rsquo;t much gaiety of manner either, but
he passed for a very honest man of straightforward intentions and
understanding. Add to these a code of old aristocratic ideas and such a lofty
conception of his duties at court, of his dignities and of his virtues, that he
behaved like a god on wheels. It was the Mamma Muffat who had given him this
precious education with its daily visits to the confessional, its complete
absence of escapades and of all that is meant by youth. He was a practicing
Christian and had attacks of faith of such fiery violence that they might be
likened to accesses of burning fever. Finally, in order to add a last touch to
the picture, La Faloise whispered something in his cousin&rsquo;s ear.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t say so!&rdquo; said the latter.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;On my word of honor, they swore it was true! He was still like that when
he married.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Fauchery chuckled as he looked at the count, whose face, with its fringe of
whiskers and absence of mustaches, seemed to have grown squarer and harder now
that he was busy quoting figures to the writhing, struggling Steiner.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My word, he&rsquo;s got a phiz for it!&rdquo; murmured Fauchery.
&ldquo;A pretty present he made his wife! Poor little thing, how he must have
bored her! She knows nothing about anything, I&rsquo;ll wager!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Just then the Countess Sabine was saying something to him. But he did not hear
her, so amusing and extraordinary did he esteem the Muffats&rsquo; case. She
repeated the question.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Monsieur Fauchery, have you not published a sketch of Monsieur de
Bismarck? You spoke with him once?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He got up briskly and approached the circle of ladies, endeavoring to collect
himself and soon with perfect ease of manner finding an answer:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dear me, madame, I assure you I wrote that &lsquo;portrait&rsquo; with
the help of biographies which had been published in Germany. I have never seen
Monsieur de Bismarck.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He remained beside the countess and, while talking with her, continued his
meditations. She did not look her age; one would have set her down as being
twenty-eight at most, for her eyes, above all, which were filled with the dark
blue shadow of her long eyelashes, retained the glowing light of youth. Bred in
a divided family, so that she used to spend one month with the Marquis de
Chouard, another with the marquise, she had been married very young, urged on,
doubtless, by her father, whom she embarrassed after her mother&rsquo;s death.
A terrible man was the marquis, a man about whom strange tales were beginning
to be told, and that despite his lofty piety! Fauchery asked if he should have
the honor of meeting him. Certainly her father was coming, but only very late;
he had so much work on hand! The journalist thought he knew where the old
gentleman passed his evenings and looked grave. But a mole, which he noticed
close to her mouth on the countess&rsquo;s left cheek, surprised him. Nana had
precisely the same mole. It was curious. Tiny hairs curled up on it, only they
were golden in Nana&rsquo;s case, black as jet in this. Ah well, never mind!
This woman enjoyed nobody&rsquo;s embraces.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I have always felt a wish to know Queen Augusta,&rdquo; she said.
&ldquo;They say she is so good, so devout. Do you think she will accompany the
king?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It is not thought that she will, madame,&rdquo; he replied.
</p>

<p>
She had no lovers: the thing was only too apparent. One had only to look at her
there by the side of that daughter of hers, sitting so insignificant and
constrained on her footstool. That sepulchral drawing room of hers, which
exhaled odors suggestive of being in a church, spoke as plainly as words could
of the iron hand, the austere mode of existence, that weighed her down. There
was nothing suggestive of her own personality in that ancient abode, black with
the damps of years. It was Muffat who made himself felt there, who dominated
his surroundings with his devotional training, his penances and his fasts. But
the sight of the little old gentleman with the black teeth and subtle smile
whom he suddenly discovered in his armchair behind the group of ladies afforded
him a yet more decisive argument. He knew the personage. It was Theophile
Venot, a retired lawyer who had made a specialty of church cases. He had left
off practice with a handsome fortune and was now leading a sufficiently
mysterious existence, for he was received everywhere, treated with great
deference and even somewhat feared, as though he had been the representative of
a mighty force, an occult power, which was felt to be at his back.
Nevertheless, his behavior was very humble. He was churchwarden at the
Madeleine Church and had simply accepted the post of deputy mayor at the town
house of the Ninth Arrondissement in order, as he said, to have something to do
in his leisure time. Deuce take it, the countess was well guarded; there was
nothing to be done in that quarter.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You&rsquo;re right, it&rsquo;s enough to make one kick the bucket
here,&rdquo; said Fauchery to his cousin when he had made good his escape from
the circle of ladies. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll hook it!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But Steiner, deserted at last by the Count Muffat and the deputy, came up in a
fury. Drops of perspiration stood on his forehead, and he grumbled huskily:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Gad! Let &rsquo;em tell me nothing, if nothing they want to tell me. I
shall find people who will talk.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then he pushed the journalist into a corner and, altering his tone, said in
accents of victory:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s tomorrow, eh? I&rsquo;m of the party, my bully!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Indeed!&rdquo; muttered Fauchery with some astonishment.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You didn&rsquo;t know about it. Oh, I had lots of bother to find her at
home. Besides, Mignon never would leave me alone.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;But they&rsquo;re to be there, are the Mignons.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, she told me so. In fact, she did receive my visit, and she invited
me. Midnight punctually, after the play.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The banker was beaming. He winked and added with a peculiar emphasis on the
words:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve worked it, eh?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Eh, what?&rdquo; said Fauchery, pretending not to understand him.
&ldquo;She wanted to thank me for my article, so she came and called on
me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, yes. You fellows are fortunate. You get rewarded. By the by, who
pays the piper tomorrow?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The journalist made a slight outward movement with his arms, as though he would
intimate that no one had ever been able to find out. But Vandeuvres called to
Steiner, who knew M. de Bismarck. Mme du Joncquoy had almost convinced herself
of the truth of her suppositions; she concluded with these words:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;He gave me an unpleasant impression. I think his face is evil. But I am
quite willing to believe that he has a deal of wit. It would account for his
successes.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Without doubt,&rdquo; said the banker with a faint smile. He was a Jew
from Frankfort.
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile La Faloise at last made bold to question his cousin. He followed him
up and got inside his guard:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;There&rsquo;s supper at a woman&rsquo;s tomorrow evening? With which of
them, eh? With which of them?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Fauchery motioned to him that they were overheard and must respect the
conventions here. The door had just been opened anew, and an old lady had come
in, followed by a young man in whom the journalist recognized the truant
schoolboy, perpetrator of the famous and as yet unforgotten &ldquo;trés
chic&rdquo; of the Blonde Venus first night. This lady&rsquo;s arrival caused a
stir among the company. The Countess Sabine had risen briskly from her seat in
order to go and greet her, and she had taken both her hands in hers and
addressed her as her &ldquo;dear Madame Hugon.&rdquo; Seeing that his cousin
viewed this little episode with some curiosity, La Faloise sought to arouse his
interest and in a few brief phrases explained the position. Mme Hugon, widow of
a notary, lived in retirement at Les Fondettes, an old estate of her
family&rsquo;s in the neighborhood of Orleans, but she also kept up a small
establishment in Paris in a house belonging to her in the Rue de Richelieu and
was now passing some weeks there in order to settle her youngest son, who was
reading the law and in his &ldquo;first year.&rdquo; In old times she had been
a dear friend of the Marquise de Chouard and had assisted at the birth of the
countess, who, prior to her marriage, used to stay at her house for months at a
time and even now was quite familiarly treated by her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I have brought Georges to see you,&rdquo; said Mme Hugon to Sabine.
&ldquo;He&rsquo;s grown, I trust.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The young man with his clear eyes and the fair curls which suggested a girl
dressed up as a boy bowed easily to the countess and reminded her of a bout of
battledore and shuttlecock they had had together two years ago at Les
Fondettes.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Philippe is not in Paris?&rdquo; asked Count Muffat.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dear me, no!&rdquo; replied the old lady. &ldquo;He is always in
garrison at Bourges.&rdquo; She had seated herself and began talking with
considerable pride of her eldest son, a great big fellow who, after enlisting
in a fit of waywardness, had of late very rapidly attained the rank of
lieutenant. All the ladies behaved to her with respectful sympathy, and
conversation was resumed in a tone at once more amiable and more refined.
Fauchery, at sight of that respectable Mme Hugon, that motherly face lit up
with such a kindly smile beneath its broad tresses of white hair, thought how
foolish he had been to suspect the Countess Sabine even for an instant.
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless, the big chair with the red silk upholsteries in which the
countess sat had attracted his attention. Its style struck him as crude, not to
say fantastically suggestive, in that dim old drawing room. Certainly it was
not the count who had inveigled thither that nest of voluptuous idleness. One
might have described it as an experiment, marking the birth of an appetite and
of an enjoyment. Then he forgot where he was, fell into brown study and in
thought even harked back to that vague confidential announcement imparted to
him one evening in the dining room of a restaurant. Impelled by a sort of
sensuous curiosity, he had always wanted an introduction into the
Muffats&rsquo; circle, and now that his friend was in Mexico through all
eternity, who could tell what might happen? &ldquo;We shall see,&rdquo; he
thought. It was a folly, doubtless, but the idea kept tormenting him; he felt
himself drawn on and his animal nature aroused. The big chair had a rumpled
look&mdash;its nether cushions had been tumbled, a fact which now amused him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, shall we be off?&rdquo; asked La Faloise, mentally vowing that
once outside he would find out the name of the woman with whom people were
going to sup.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;All in good time,&rdquo; replied Fauchery.
</p>

<p>
But he was no longer in any hurry and excused himself on the score of the
invitation he had been commissioned to give and had as yet not found a
convenient opportunity to mention. The ladies were chatting about an assumption
of the veil, a very touching ceremony by which the whole of Parisian society
had for the last three days been greatly moved. It was the eldest daughter of
the Baronne de Fougeray, who, under stress of an irresistible vocation, had
just entered the Carmelite Convent. Mme Chantereau, a distant cousin of the
Fougerays, told how the baroness had been obliged to take to her bed the day
after the ceremony, so overdone was she with weeping.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I had a very good place,&rdquo; declared Leonide. &ldquo;I found it
interesting.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless, Mme Hugon pitied the poor mother. How sad to lose a daughter in
such a way!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I am accused of being overreligious,&rdquo; she said in her quiet, frank
manner, &ldquo;but that does not prevent me thinking the children very cruel
who obstinately commit such suicide.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, it&rsquo;s a terrible thing,&rdquo; murmured the countess,
shivering a little, as became a chilly person, and huddling herself anew in the
depths of her big chair in front of the fire.
</p>

<p>
Then the ladies fell into a discussion. But their voices were discreetly
attuned, while light trills of laughter now and again interrupted the gravity
of their talk. The two lamps on the chimney piece, which had shades of
rose-colored lace, cast a feeble light over them while on scattered pieces of
furniture there burned but three other lamps, so that the great drawing room
remained in soft shadow.
</p>

<p>
Steiner was getting bored. He was describing to Fauchery an escapade of that
little Mme de Chezelles, whom he simply referred to as Leonide. &ldquo;A
blackguard woman,&rdquo; he said, lowering his voice behind the ladies&rsquo;
armchairs. Fauchery looked at her as she sat quaintly perched, in her
voluminous ball dress of pale blue satin, on the corner of her armchair. She
looked as slight and impudent as a boy, and he ended by feeling astonished at
seeing her there. People comported themselves better at Caroline
Hequet&rsquo;s, whose mother had arranged her house on serious principles. Here
was a perfect subject for an article. What a strange world was this world of
Paris! The most rigid circles found themselves invaded. Evidently that silent
Theophile Venot, who contented himself by smiling and showing his ugly teeth,
must have been a legacy from the late countess. So, too, must have been such
ladies of mature age as Mme Chantereau and Mme du Joncquoy, besides four or
five old gentlemen who sat motionless in corners. The Count Muffat attracted to
the house a series of functionaries, distinguished by the immaculate personal
appearance which was at that time required of the men at the Tuileries. Among
others there was the chief clerk, who still sat solitary in the middle of the
room with his closely shorn cheeks, his vacant glance and his coat so tight of
fit that he could scarce venture to move. Almost all the young men and certain
individuals with distinguished, aristocratic manners were the Marquis de
Chouard&rsquo;s contribution to the circle, he having kept touch with the
Legitimist party after making his peace with the empire on his entrance into
the Council of State. There remained Leonide de Chezelles and Steiner, an ugly
little knot against which Mme Hugon&rsquo;s elderly and amiable serenity stood
out in strange contrast. And Fauchery, having sketched out his article, named
this last group &ldquo;Countess Sabine&rsquo;s little clique.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;On another occasion,&rdquo; continued Steiner in still lower tones,
&ldquo;Leonide got her tenor down to Montauban. She was living in the Château
de Beaurecueil, two leagues farther off, and she used to come in daily in a
carriage and pair in order to visit him at the Lion d&rsquo;Or, where he had
put up. The carriage used to wait at the door, and Leonide would stay for hours
in the house, while a crowd gathered round and looked at the horses.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
There was a pause in the talk, and some solemn moments passed silently by in
the lofty room. Two young men were whispering, but they ceased in their turn,
and the hushed step of Count Muffat was alone audible as he crossed the floor.
The lamps seemed to have paled; the fire was going out; a stern shadow fell
athwart the old friends of the house where they sat in the chairs they had
occupied there for forty years back. It was as though in a momentary pause of
conversation the invited guests had become suddenly aware that the
count&rsquo;s mother, in all her glacial stateliness, had returned among them.
</p>

<p>
But the Countess Sabine had once more resumed:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, at last the news of it got about. The young man was likely to die,
and that would explain the poor child&rsquo;s adoption of the religious life.
Besides, they say that Monsieur de Fougeray would never have given his consent
to the marriage.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;They say heaps of other things too,&rdquo; cried Leonide giddily.
</p>

<p>
She fell a-laughing; she refused to talk. Sabine was won over by this gaiety
and put her handkerchief up to her lips. And in the vast and solemn room their
laughter sounded a note which struck Fauchery strangely, the note of delicate
glass breaking. Assuredly here was the first beginning of the &ldquo;little
rift.&rdquo; Everyone began talking again. Mme du Joncquoy demurred; Mme
Chantereau knew for certain that a marriage had been projected but that matters
had gone no further; the men even ventured to give their opinions. For some
minutes the conversation was a babel of opinions, in which the divers elements
of the circle, whether Bonapartist or Legitimist or merely worldly and
skeptical, appeared to jostle one another simultaneously. Estelle had rung to
order wood to be put on the fire; the footman turned up the lamps; the room
seemed to wake from sleep. Fauchery began smiling, as though once more at his
ease.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Egad, they become the brides of God when they couldn&rsquo;t be their
cousin&rsquo;s,&rdquo; said Vandeuvres between his teeth.
</p>

<p>
The subject bored him, and he had rejoined Fauchery.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My dear fellow, have you ever seen a woman who was really loved become a
nun?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He did not wait for an answer, for he had had enough of the topic, and in a
hushed voice:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Tell me,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;how many of us will there be tomorrow?
There&rsquo;ll be the Mignons, Steiner, yourself, Blanche and I; who
else?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Caroline, I believe, and Simonne and Gaga without doubt. One never knows
exactly, does one? On such occasions one expects the party will number twenty,
and you&rsquo;re really thirty.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Vandeuvres, who was looking at the ladies, passed abruptly to another subject:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;She must have been very nice-looking, that Du Joncquoy woman, some
fifteen years ago. Poor Estelle has grown lankier than ever. What a nice lath
to put into a bed!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But interrupting himself, he returned to the subject of tomorrow&rsquo;s
supper.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What&rsquo;s so tiresome of those shows is that it&rsquo;s always the
same set of women. One wants a novelty. Do try and invent a new girl. By Jove,
happy thought! I&rsquo;ll go and beseech that stout man to bring the woman he
was trotting about the other evening at the Variétés.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He referred to the chief clerk, sound asleep in the middle of the drawing room.
Fauchery, afar off, amused himself by following this delicate negotiation.
Vandeuvres had sat himself down by the stout man, who still looked very sedate.
For some moments they both appeared to be discussing with much propriety the
question before the house, which was, &ldquo;How can one discover the exact
state of feeling that urges a young girl to enter into the religious
life?&rdquo; Then the count returned with the remark:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s impossible. He swears she&rsquo;s straight. She&rsquo;d
refuse, and yet I would have wagered that I once saw her at
Laure&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Eh, what? You go to Laure&rsquo;s?&rdquo; murmured Fauchery with a
chuckle. &ldquo;You venture your reputation in places like that? I was under
the impression that it was only we poor devils of outsiders who&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, dear boy, one ought to see every side of life.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then they sneered and with sparkling eyes they compared notes about the table
d&rsquo;hôte in the Rue des Martyrs, where big Laure Piedefer ran a dinner at
three francs a head for little women in difficulties. A nice hole, where all
the little women used to kiss Laure on the lips! And as the Countess Sabine,
who had overheard a stray word or two, turned toward them, they started back,
rubbing shoulders in excited merriment. They had not noticed that Georges Hugon
was close by and that he was listening to them, blushing so hotly the while
that a rosy flush had spread from his ears to his girlish throat. The infant
was full of shame and of ecstasy. From the moment his mother had turned him
loose in the room he had been hovering in the wake of Mme de Chezelles, the
only woman present who struck him as being the thing. But after all is said and
done, Nana licked her to fits!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yesterday evening,&rdquo; Mme Hugon was saying, &ldquo;Georges took me
to the play. Yes, we went to the Variétés, where I certainly had not set foot
for the last ten years. That child adores music. As to me, I wasn&rsquo;t in
the least amused, but he was so happy! They put extraordinary pieces on the
stage nowadays. Besides, music delights me very little, I confess.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What! You don&rsquo;t love music, madame?&rdquo; cried Mme du Joncquoy,
lifting her eyes to heaven. &ldquo;Is it possible there should be people who
don&rsquo;t love music?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The exclamation of surprise was general. No one had dropped a single word
concerning the performance at the Variétés, at which the good Mme Hugon had not
understood any of the allusions. The ladies knew the piece but said nothing
about it, and with that they plunged into the realm of sentiment and began
discussing the masters in a tone of refined and ecstatical admiration. Mme du
Joncquoy was not fond of any of them save Weber, while Mme Chantereau stood up
for the Italians. The ladies&rsquo; voices had turned soft and languishing, and
in front of the hearth one might have fancied one&rsquo;s self listening in
meditative, religious retirement to the faint, discreet music of a little
chapel.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now let&rsquo;s see,&rdquo; murmured Vandeuvres, bringing Fauchery back
into the middle of the drawing room, &ldquo;notwithstanding it all, we must
invent a woman for tomorrow. Shall we ask Steiner about it?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, when Steiner&rsquo;s got hold of a woman,&rdquo; said the
journalist, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s because Paris has done with her.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Vandeuvres, however, was searching about on every side.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Wait a bit,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;the other day I met Foucarmont
with a charming blonde. I&rsquo;ll go and tell him to bring her.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And he called to Foucarmont. They exchanged a few words rapidly. There must
have been some sort of complication, for both of them, moving carefully forward
and stepping over the dresses of the ladies, went off in quest of another young
man with whom they continued the discussion in the embrasure of a window.
Fauchery was left to himself and had just decided to proceed to the hearth,
where Mme du Joncquoy was announcing that she never heard Weber played without
at the same time seeing lakes, forests and sunrises over landscapes steeped in
dew, when a hand touched his shoulder and a voice behind him remarked:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s not civil of you.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What d&rsquo;you mean?&rdquo; he asked, turning round and recognizing La
Faloise.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why, about that supper tomorrow. You might easily have got me
invited.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Fauchery was at length about to state his reasons when Vandeuvres came back to
tell him:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It appears it isn&rsquo;t a girl of Foucarmont&rsquo;s. It&rsquo;s that
man&rsquo;s flame out there. She won&rsquo;t be able to come. What a piece of
bad luck! But all the same I&rsquo;ve pressed Foucarmont into the service, and
he&rsquo;s going to try to get Louise from the Palais-Royal.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Is it not true, Monsieur de Vandeuvres,&rdquo; asked Mme Chantereau,
raising her voice, &ldquo;that Wagner&rsquo;s music was hissed last
Sunday?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, frightfully, madame,&rdquo; he made answer, coming forward with his
usual exquisite politeness.
</p>

<p>
Then, as they did not detain him, he moved off and continued whispering in the
journalist&rsquo;s ear:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;m going to press some more of them. These young fellows must
know some little ladies.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
With that he was observed to accost men and to engage them in conversation in
his usual amiable and smiling way in every corner of the drawing room. He mixed
with the various groups, said something confidently to everyone and walked away
again with a sly wink and a secret signal or two. It looked as though he were
giving out a watchword in that easy way of his. The news went round; the place
of meeting was announced, while the ladies&rsquo; sentimental dissertations on
music served to conceal the small, feverish rumor of these recruiting
operations.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, do not speak of your Germans,&rdquo; Mme Chantereau was saying.
&ldquo;Song is gaiety; song is light. Have you heard Patti in the Barber of
Seville?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;She was delicious!&rdquo; murmured Leonide, who strummed none but
operatic airs on her piano.
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile the Countess Sabine had rung. When on Tuesdays the number of visitors
was small, tea was handed round the drawing room itself. While directing a
footman to clear a round table the countess followed the Count de Vandeuvres
with her eyes. She still smiled that vague smile which slightly disclosed her
white teeth, and as the count passed she questioned him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What ARE you plotting, Monsieur de Vandeuvres?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What am I plotting, madame?&rdquo; he answered quietly. &ldquo;Nothing
at all.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Really! I saw you so busy. Pray, wait, you shall make yourself
useful!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She placed an album in his hands and asked him to put it on the piano. But he
found means to inform Fauchery in a low whisper that they would have Tatan
Nene, the most finely developed girl that winter, and Maria Blond, the same who
had just made her first appearance at the Folies-Dramatiques. Meanwhile La
Faloise stopped him at every step in hopes of receiving an invitation. He ended
by offering himself, and Vandeuvres engaged him in the plot at once; only he
made him promise to bring Clarisse with him, and when La Faloise pretended to
scruple about certain points he quieted him by the remark:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Since I invite you that&rsquo;s enough!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless, La Faloise would have much liked to know the name of the hostess.
But the countess had recalled Vandeuvres and was questioning him as to the
manner in which the English made tea. He often betook himself to England, where
his horses ran. Then as though he had been inwardly following up quite a
laborious train of thought during his remarks, he broke in with the question:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And the marquis, by the by? Are we not to see him?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, certainly you will! My father made me a formal promise that he would
come,&rdquo; replied the countess. &ldquo;But I&rsquo;m beginning to be
anxious. His duties will have kept him.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Vandeuvres smiled a discreet smile. He, too, seemed to have his doubts as to
the exact nature of the Marquis de Chouard&rsquo;s duties. Indeed, he had been
thinking of a pretty woman whom the marquis occasionally took into the country
with him. Perhaps they could get her too.
</p>

<p>
In the meantime Fauchery decided that the moment had come in which to risk
giving Count Muff his invitation. The evening, in fact, was drawing to a close.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Are you serious?&rdquo; asked Vandeuvres, who thought a joke was
intended.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Extremely serious. If I don&rsquo;t execute my commission she&rsquo;ll
tear my eyes out. It&rsquo;s a case of landing her fish, you know.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well then, I&rsquo;ll help you, dear boy.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Eleven o&rsquo;clock struck. Assisted by her daughter, the countess was pouring
out the tea, and as hardly any guests save intimate friends had come, the cups
and the platefuls of little cakes were being circulated without ceremony. Even
the ladies did not leave their armchairs in front of the fire and sat sipping
their tea and nibbling cakes which they held between their finger tips. From
music the talk had declined to purveyors. Boissier was the only person for
sweetmeats and Catherine for ices. Mme Chantereau, however, was all for
Latinville. Speech grew more and more indolent, and a sense of lassitude was
lulling the room to sleep. Steiner had once more set himself secretly to
undermine the deputy, whom he held in a state of blockade in the corner of a
settee. M. Venot, whose teeth must have been ruined by sweet things, was eating
little dry cakes, one after the other, with a small nibbling sound suggestive
of a mouse, while the chief clerk, his nose in a teacup, seemed never to be
going to finish its contents. As to the countess, she went in a leisurely way
from one guest to another, never pressing them, indeed, only pausing a second
or two before the gentlemen whom she viewed with an air of dumb interrogation
before she smiled and passed on. The great fire had flushed all her face, and
she looked as if she were the sister of her daughter, who appeared so withered
and ungainly at her side. When she drew near Fauchery, who was chatting with
her husband and Vandeuvres, she noticed that they grew suddenly silent;
accordingly she did not stop but handed the cup of tea she was offering to
Georges Hugon beyond them.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a lady who desires your company at supper,&rdquo; the
journalist gaily continued, addressing Count Muffat.
</p>

<p>
The last-named, whose face had worn its gray look all the evening, seemed very
much surprised. What lady was it?
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, Nana!&rdquo; said Vandeuvres, by way of forcing the invitation.
</p>

<p>
The count became more grave than before. His eyelids trembled just perceptibly,
while a look of discomfort, such as headache produces, hovered for a moment
athwart his forehead.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;But I&rsquo;m not acquainted with that lady,&rdquo; he murmured.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come, come, you went to her house,&rdquo; remarked Vandeuvres.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What d&rsquo;you say? I went to her house? Oh yes, the other day, in
behalf of the Benevolent Organization. I had forgotten about it. But, no
matter, I am not acquainted with her, and I cannot accept.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He had adopted an icy expression in order to make them understand that this
jest did not appear to him to be in good taste. A man of his position did not
sit down at tables of such women as that. Vandeuvres protested: it was to be a
supper party of dramatic and artistic people, and talent excused everything.
But without listening further to the arguments urged by Fauchery, who spoke of
a dinner where the Prince of Scots, the son of a queen, had sat down beside an
ex-music-hall singer, the count only emphasized his refusal. In so doing, he
allowed himself, despite his great politeness, to be guilty of an irritated
gesture.
</p>

<p>
Georges and La Faloise, standing in front of each other drinking their tea, had
overheard the two or three phrases exchanged in their immediate neighborhood.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Jove, it&rsquo;s at Nana&rsquo;s then,&rdquo; murmured La Faloise.
&ldquo;I might have expected as much!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Georges said nothing, but he was all aflame. His fair hair was in disorder; his
blue eyes shone like tapers, so fiercely had the vice, which for some days past
had surrounded him, inflamed and stirred his blood. At last he was going to
plunge into all that he had dreamed of!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know the address,&rdquo; La Faloise resumed.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;She lives on a third floor in the Boulevard Haussmann, between the Rue
de l&rsquo;Arcade and the Rue Pesquier,&rdquo; said Georges all in a breath.
</p>

<p>
And when the other looked at him in much astonishment, he added, turning very
red and fit to sink into the ground with embarrassment and conceit:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;m of the party. She invited me this morning.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But there was a great stir in the drawing room, and Vandeuvres and Fauchery
could not continue pressing the count. The Marquis de Chouard had just come in,
and everyone was anxious to greet him. He had moved painfully forward, his legs
failing under him, and he now stood in the middle of the room with pallid face
and eyes blinking, as though he had just come out of some dark alley and were
blinded by the brightness of the lamps.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I scarcely hoped to see you tonight, Father,&rdquo; said the countess.
&ldquo;I should have been anxious till the morning.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He looked at her without answering, as a man might who fails to understand. His
nose, which loomed immense on his shorn face, looked like a swollen pimple,
while his lower lip hung down. Seeing him such a wreck, Mme Hugon, full of kind
compassion, said pitying things to him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You work too hard. You ought to rest yourself. At our age we ought to
leave work to the young people.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Work! Ah yes, to be sure, work!&rdquo; he stammered at last.
&ldquo;Always plenty of work.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He began to pull himself together, straightening up his bent figure and passing
his hand, as was his wont, over his scant gray hair, of which a few locks
strayed behind his ears.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;At what are you working as late as this?&rdquo; asked Mme du Joncquoy.
&ldquo;I thought you were at the financial minister&rsquo;s reception?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But the countess intervened with:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My father had to study the question of a projected law.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, a projected law,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;exactly so, a projected
law. I shut myself up for that reason. It refers to work in factories, and I
was anxious for a proper observance of the Lord&rsquo;s day of rest. It is
really shameful that the government is unwilling to act with vigor in the
matter. Churches are growing empty; we are running headlong to ruin.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Vandeuvres had exchanged glances with Fauchery. They both happened to be behind
the marquis, and they were scanning him suspiciously. When Vandeuvres found an
opportunity to take him aside and to speak to him about the good-looking
creature he was in the habit of taking down into the country, the old man
affected extreme surprise. Perhaps someone had seen him with the Baroness
Decker, at whose house at Viroflay he sometimes spent a day or so.
Vandeuvres&rsquo;s sole vengeance was an abrupt question:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Tell me, where have you been straying to? Your elbow is covered with
cobwebs and plaster.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My elbow,&rdquo; he muttered, slightly disturbed. &ldquo;Yes indeed,
it&rsquo;s true. A speck or two, I must have come in for them on my way down
from my office.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Several people were taking their departure. It was close on midnight. Two
footmen were noiselessly removing the empty cups and the plates with cakes. In
front of the hearth the ladies had re-formed and, at the same time, narrowed
their circle and were chatting more carelessly than before in the languid
atmosphere peculiar to the close of a party. The very room was going to sleep,
and slowly creeping shadows were cast by its walls. It was then Fauchery spoke
of departure. Yet he once more forgot his intention at sight of the Countess
Sabine. She was resting from her cares as hostess, and as she sat in her wonted
seat, silent, her eyes fixed on a log which was turning into embers, her face
appeared so white and so impassable that doubt again possessed him. In the glow
of the fire the small black hairs on the mole at the corner of her lip became
white. It was Nana&rsquo;s very mole, down to the color of the hair. He could
not refrain from whispering something about it in Vandeuvres&rsquo;s ear. Gad,
it was true; the other had never noticed it before. And both men continued this
comparison of Nana and the countess. They discovered a vague resemblance about
the chin and the mouth, but the eyes were not at all alike. Then, too, Nana had
a good-natured expression, while with the countess it was hard to
decide&mdash;she might have been a cat, sleeping with claws withdrawn and paws
stirred by a scarce-perceptible nervous quiver.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;All the same, one could have her,&rdquo; declared Fauchery.
</p>

<p>
Vandeuvres stripped her at a glance.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, one could, all the same,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;But I think nothing
of the thighs, you know. Will you bet she has no thighs?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He stopped, for Fauchery touched him briskly on the arm and showed him Estelle,
sitting close to them on her footstool. They had raised their voices without
noticing her, and she must have overheard them. Nevertheless, she continued
sitting there stiff and motionless, not a hair having lifted on her thin neck,
which was that of a girl who has shot up all too quickly. Thereupon they
retired three or four paces, and Vandeuvres vowed that the countess was a very
honest woman. Just then voices were raised in front of the hearth. Mme du
Joncquoy was saying:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I was willing to grant you that Monsieur de Bismarck was perhaps a witty
man. Only, if you go as far as to talk of genius&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The ladies had come round again to their earliest topic of conversation.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What the deuce! Still Monsieur de Bismarck!&rdquo; muttered Fauchery.
&ldquo;This time I make my escape for good and all.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Wait a bit,&rdquo; said Vandeuvres, &ldquo;we must have a definite no
from the count.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The Count Muffat was talking to his father-in-law and a certain serious-looking
gentleman. Vandeuvres drew him away and renewed the invitation, backing it up
with the information that he was to be at the supper himself. A man might go
anywhere; no one could think of suspecting evil where at most there could only
be curiosity. The count listened to these arguments with downcast eyes and
expressionless face. Vandeuvres felt him to be hesitating when the Marquis de
Chouard approached with a look of interrogation. And when the latter was
informed of the question in hand and Fauchery had invited him in his turn, he
looked at his son-in-law furtively. There ensued an embarrassed silence, but
both men encouraged one another and would doubtless have ended by accepting had
not Count Muffat perceived M. Venot&rsquo;s gaze fixed upon him. The little old
man was no longer smiling; his face was cadaverous, his eyes bright and keen as
steel.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied the count directly, in so decisive a tone that
further insistence became impossible.
</p>

<p>
Then the marquis refused with even greater severity of expression. He talked
morality. The aristocratic classes ought to set a good example. Fauchery smiled
and shook hands with Vandeuvres. He did not wait for him and took his departure
immediately, for he was due at his newspaper office.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;At Nana&rsquo;s at midnight, eh?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
La Faloise retired too. Steiner had made his bow to the countess. Other men
followed them, and the same phrase went round&mdash;&ldquo;At midnight, at
Nana&rsquo;s&rdquo;&mdash;as they went to get their overcoats in the anteroom.
Georges, who could not leave without his mother, had stationed himself at the
door, where he gave the exact address. &ldquo;Third floor, door on your
left.&rdquo; Yet before going out Fauchery gave a final glance. Vandeuvres had
again resumed his position among the ladies and was laughing with Leonide de
Chezelles. Count Muffat and the Marquis de Chouard were joining in the
conversation, while the good Mme Hugon was falling asleep open-eyed. Lost among
the petticoats, M. Venot was his own small self again and smiled as of old.
Twelve struck slowly in the great solemn room.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What&mdash;what do you mean?&rdquo; Mme du Joncquoy resumed. &ldquo;You
imagine that Monsieur de Bismarck will make war on us and beat us! Oh,
that&rsquo;s unbearable!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Indeed, they were laughing round Mme Chantereau, who had just repeated an
assertion she had heard made in Alsace, where her husband owned a foundry.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;We have the emperor, fortunately,&rdquo; said Count Muffat in his grave,
official way.
</p>

<p>
It was the last phrase Fauchery was able to catch. He closed the door after
casting one more glance in the direction of the Countess Sabine. She was
talking sedately with the chief clerk and seemed to be interested in that stout
individual&rsquo;s conversation. Assuredly he must have been deceiving himself.
There was no &ldquo;little rift&rdquo; there at all. It was a pity.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You&rsquo;re not coming down then?&rdquo; La Faloise shouted up to him
from the entrance hall.
</p>

<p>
And out on the pavement, as they separated, they once more repeated:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Tomorrow, at Nana&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"></a> CHAPTER IV</h2>

<p>
Since morning Zoé had delivered up the flat to a managing man who had come from
Brebant&rsquo;s with a staff of helpers and waiters. Brebant was to supply
everything, from the supper, the plates and dishes, the glass, the linen, the
flowers, down to the seats and footstools. Nana could not have mustered a dozen
napkins out of all her cupboards, and not having had time to get a proper
outfit after her new start in life and scorning to go to the restaurant, she
had decided to make the restaurant come to her. It struck her as being more the
thing. She wanted to celebrate her great success as an actress with a supper
which should set people talking. As her dining room was too small, the manager
had arranged the table in the drawing room, a table with twenty-five covers,
placed somewhat close together.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Is everything ready?&rdquo; asked Nana when she returned at midnight.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh! I don&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; replied Zoé roughly, looking beside
herself with worry. &ldquo;The Lord be thanked, I don&rsquo;t bother about
anything. They&rsquo;re making a fearful mess in the kitchen and all over the
flat! I&rsquo;ve had to fight my battles too. The other two came again. My eye!
I did just chuck &rsquo;em out!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She referred, of course, to her employer&rsquo;s old admirers, the tradesman
and the Walachian, to whom Nana, sure of her future and longing to shed her
skin, as she phrased it, had decided to give the go-by.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;There are a couple of leeches for you!&rdquo; she muttered.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;If they come back threaten to go to the police.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then she called Daguenet and Georges, who had remained behind in the anteroom,
where they were hanging up their overcoats. They had both met at the stage door
in the Passage des Panoramas, and she had brought them home with her in a cab.
As there was nobody there yet, she shouted to them to come into the dressing
room while Zoé was touching up her toilet. Hurriedly and without changing her
dress she had her hair done up and stuck white roses in her chignon and at her
bosom. The little room was littered with the drawing-room furniture, which the
workmen had been compelled to roll in there, and it was full of a motley
assemblage of round tables, sofas and armchairs, with their legs in air for the
most part. Nana was quite ready when her dress caught on a castor and tore
upward. At this she swore furiously; such things only happened to her! Ragingly
she took off her dress, a very simple affair of white foulard, of so thin and
supple a texture that it clung about her like a long shift. But she put it on
again directly, for she could not find another to her taste, and with tears in
her eyes declared that she was dressed like a ragpicker. Daguenet and Georges
had to patch up the rent with pins, while Zoé once more arranged her hair. All
three hurried round her, especially the boy, who knelt on the floor with his
hands among her skirts. And at last she calmed down again when Daguenet assured
her it could not be later than a quarter past twelve, seeing that by dint of
scamping her words and skipping her lines she had effectually shortened the
third act of the Blonde Venus.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The play&rsquo;s still far too good for that crowd of idiots,&rdquo; she
said. &ldquo;Did you see? There were thousands there tonight. Zoé, my girl, you
will wait in here. Don&rsquo;t go to bed, I shall want you. By gum, it is time
they came. Here&rsquo;s company!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She ran off while Georges stayed where he was with the skirts of his coat
brushing the floor. He blushed, seeing Daguenet looking at him. Notwithstanding
which, they had conceived a tender regard the one for the other. They
rearranged the bows of their cravats in front of the big dressing glass and
gave each other a mutual dose of the clothesbrush, for they were all white from
their close contact with Nana.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;One would think it was sugar,&rdquo; murmured Georges, giggling like a
greedy little child.
</p>

<p>
A footman hired for the evening was ushering the guests into the small drawing
room, a narrow slip of a place in which only four armchairs had been left in
order the better to pack in the company. From the large drawing room beyond
came a sound as of the moving of plates and silver, while a clear and brilliant
ray of light shone from under the door. At her entrance Nana found Clarisse
Besnus, whom La Faloise had brought, already installed in one of the armchairs.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dear me, you&rsquo;re the first of &rsquo;em!&rdquo; said Nana, who, now
that she was successful, treated her familiarly.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s his doing,&rdquo; replied Clarisse. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s
always afraid of not getting anywhere in time. If I&rsquo;d taken him at his
word I shouldn&rsquo;t have waited to take off my paint and my wig.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The young man, who now saw Nana for the first time, bowed, paid her a
compliment and spoke of his cousin, hiding his agitation behind an exaggeration
of politeness. But Nana, neither listening to him nor recognizing his face,
shook hands with him and then went briskly toward Rose Mignon, with whom she at
once assumed a most distinguished manner.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, how nice of you, my dear madame! I was so anxious to have you
here!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s I who am charmed, I assure you,&rdquo; said Rose with equal
amiability.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Pray, sit down. Do you require anything?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Thank you, no! Ah yes, I&rsquo;ve left my fan in my pelisse, Steiner;
just look in the right-hand pocket.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Steiner and Mignon had come in behind Rose. The banker turned back and
reappeared with the fan while Mignon embraced Nana fraternally and forced Rose
to do so also. Did they not all belong to the same family in the theatrical
world? Then he winked as though to encourage Steiner, but the latter was
disconcerted by Rose&rsquo;s clear gaze and contented himself by kissing
Nana&rsquo;s hand.
</p>

<p>
Just then the Count de Vandeuvres made his appearance with Blanche de Sivry.
There was an interchange of profound bows, and Nana with the utmost ceremony
conducted Blanche to an armchair. Meanwhile Vandeuvres told them laughingly
that Fauchery was engaged in a dispute at the foot of the stairs because the
porter had refused to allow Lucy Stewart&rsquo;s carriage to come in at the
gate. They could hear Lucy telling the porter he was a dirty blackguard in the
anteroom. But when the footman had opened the door she came forward with her
laughing grace of manner, announced her name herself, took both Nana&rsquo;s
hands in hers and told her that she had liked her from the very first and
considered her talent splendid. Nana, puffed up by her novel role of hostess,
thanked her and was veritably confused. Nevertheless, from the moment of
Fauchery&rsquo;s arrival she appeared preoccupied, and directly she could get
near him she asked him in a low voice:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Will he come?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, he did not want to,&rdquo; was the journalist&rsquo;s abrupt reply,
for he was taken by surprise, though he had got ready some sort of tale to
explain Count Muffat&rsquo;s refusal.
</p>

<p>
Seeing the young woman&rsquo;s sudden pallor, he became conscious of his folly
and tried to retract his words.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;He was unable to; he is taking the countess to the ball at the Ministry
of the Interior tonight.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;All right,&rdquo; murmured Nana, who suspected him of ill will,
&ldquo;you&rsquo;ll pay me out for that, my pippin.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She turned on her heel, and so did he; they were angry. Just then Mignon was
pushing Steiner up against Nana, and when Fauchery had left her he said to her
in a low voice and with the good-natured cynicism of a comrade in arms who
wishes his friends to be happy:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;He&rsquo;s dying of it, you know, only he&rsquo;s afraid of my wife.
Won&rsquo;t you protect him?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana did not appear to understand. She smiled and looked at Rose, the husband
and the banker and finally said to the latter:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Monsieur Steiner, you will sit next to me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
With that there came from the anteroom a sound of laughter and whispering and a
burst of merry, chattering voices, which sounded as if a runaway convent were
on the premises. And Labordette appeared, towing five women in his rear, his
boarding school, as Lucy Stewart cruelly phrased it. There was Gaga, majestic
in a blue velvet dress which was too tight for her, and Caroline Hequet, clad
as usual in ribbed black silk, trimmed with Chantilly lace. Léa de Horn came
next, terribly dressed up, as her wont was, and after her the big Tatan Nene, a
good-humored fair girl with the bosom of a wet nurse, at which people laughed,
and finally little Maria Blond, a young damsel of fifteen, as thin and vicious
as a street child, yet on the high road to success, owing to her recent first
appearance at the Folies. Labordette had brought the whole collection in a
single fly, and they were still laughing at the way they had been squeezed with
Maria Blond on her knees. But on entering the room they pursed up their lips,
and all grew very conventional as they shook hands and exchanged salutations.
Gaga even affected the infantile and lisped through excess of genteel
deportment. Tatan Nene alone transgressed. They had been telling her as they
came along that six absolutely naked Negroes would serve up Nana&rsquo;s
supper, and she now grew anxious about them and asked to see them. Labordette
called her a goose and besought her to be silent.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And Bordenave?&rdquo; asked Fauchery.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, you may imagine how miserable I am,&rdquo; cried Nana; &ldquo;he
won&rsquo;t be able to join us.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Rose Mignon, &ldquo;his foot caught in a trap door, and
he&rsquo;s got a fearful sprain. If only you could hear him swearing, with his
leg tied up and laid out on a chair!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Thereupon everybody mourned over Bordenave&rsquo;s absence. No one ever gave a
good supper without Bordenave. Ah well, they would try and do without him, and
they were already talking about other matters when a burly voice was heard:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What, eh, what? Is that the way they&rsquo;re going to write my obituary
notice?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
There was a shout, and all heads were turned round, for it was indeed
Bordenave. Huge and fiery-faced, he was standing with his stiff leg in the
doorway, leaning for support on Simonne Cabiroche&rsquo;s shoulder. Simonne was
for the time being his mistress. This little creature had had a certain amount
of education and could play the piano and talk English. She was a blonde on a
tiny, pretty scale and so delicately formed that she seemed to bend under
Bordenave&rsquo;s rude weight. Yet she was smilingly submissive withal. He
postured there for some moments, for he felt that together they formed a
tableau.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;One can&rsquo;t help liking ye, eh?&rdquo; he continued. &ldquo;Zounds,
I was afraid I should get bored, and I said to myself, &lsquo;Here
goes.&rsquo;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But he interrupted himself with an oath.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, damn!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Simonne had taken a step too quickly forward, and his foot had just felt his
full weight. He gave her a rough push, but she, still smiling away and ducking
her pretty head as some animal might that is afraid of a beating, held him up
with all the strength a little plump blonde can command. Amid all these
exclamations there was a rush to his assistance. Nana and Rose Mignon rolled up
an armchair, into which Bordenave let himself sink, while the other women slid
a second one under his leg. And with that all the actresses present kissed him
as a matter of course. He kept grumbling and gasping.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, damn! Oh, damn! Ah well, the stomach&rsquo;s unhurt, you&rsquo;ll
see.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Other guests had arrived by this time, and motion became impossible in the
room. The noise of clinking plates and silver had ceased, and now a dispute was
heard going on in the big drawing room, where the voice of the manager grumbled
angrily. Nana was growing impatient, for she expected no more invited guests
and wondered why they did not bring in supper. She had just sent Georges to
find out what was going on when, to her great surprise, she noticed the arrival
of more guests, both male and female. She did not know them in the least.
Whereupon with some embarrassment she questioned Bordenave, Mignon and
Labordette about them. They did not know them any more than she did, but when
she turned to the Count de Vandeuvres he seemed suddenly to recollect himself.
They were the young men he had pressed into her service at Count
Muffat&rsquo;s. Nana thanked him. That was capital, capital! Only they would
all be terribly crowded, and she begged Labordette to go and have seven more
covers set. Scarcely had he left the room than the footman ushered in three
newcomers. Nay, this time the thing was becoming ridiculous; one certainly
could never take them all in. Nana was beginning to grow angry and in her
haughtiest manner announced that such conduct was scarcely in good taste. But
seeing two more arrive, she began laughing; it was really too funny. So much
the worse. People would have to fit in anyhow! The company were all on their
feet save Gaga and Rose and Bordenave, who alone took up two armchairs. There
was a buzz of voices, people talking in low tones and stifling slight yawns the
while.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now what d&rsquo;you say, my lass,&rdquo; asked Bordenave, &ldquo;to our
sitting down at table as if nothing had happened? We are all here, don&rsquo;t
you think?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh yes, we&rsquo;re all here, I promise you!&rdquo; she answered
laughingly.
</p>

<p>
She looked round her but grew suddenly serious, as though she were surprised at
not finding someone. Doubtless there was a guest missing whom she did not
mention. It was a case of waiting. But a minute or two later the company
noticed in their midst a tall gentleman with a fine face and a beautiful white
beard. The most astonishing thing about it was that nobody had seen him come
in; indeed, he must have slipped into the little drawing room through the
bedroom door, which had remained ajar. Silence reigned, broken only by a sound
of whispering. The Count de Vandeuvres certainly knew who the gentleman was,
for they both exchanged a discreet handgrip, but to the questions which the
women asked him he replied by a smile only. Thereupon Caroline Hequet wagered
in a low voice that it was an English lord who was on the eve of returning to
London to be married. She knew him quite well&mdash;she had had him. And this
account of the matter went the round of the ladies present, Maria Blond alone
asserting that, for her part, she recognized a German ambassador. She could
prove it, because he often passed the night with one of her friends. Among the
men his measure was taken in a few rapid phrases. A real swell, to judge by his
looks! Perhaps he would pay for the supper! Most likely. It looked like it.
Bah! Provided only the supper was a good one! In the end the company remained
undecided. Nay, they were already beginning to forget the old white-bearded
gentleman when the manager opened the door of the large drawing room.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Supper is on the table, madame.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana had already accepted Steiner&rsquo;s proffered arm without noticing a
movement on the part of the old gentleman, who started to walk behind her in
solitary state. Thus the march past could not be organized, and men and women
entered anyhow, joking with homely good humor over this absence of ceremony. A
long table stretched from one end to the other of the great room, which had
been entirely cleared of furniture, and this same table was not long enough,
for the plates thereon were touching one another. Four candelabra, with ten
candles apiece, lit up the supper, and of these one was gorgeous in silver
plate with sheaves of flowers to right and left of it. Everything was luxurious
after the restaurant fashion; the china was ornamented with a gold line and
lacked the customary monogram; the silver had become worn and tarnished through
dint of continual washings; the glass was of the kind that you can complete an
odd set of in any cheap emporium.
</p>

<p>
The scene suggested a premature housewarming in an establishment newly smiled
on by fortune and as yet lacking the necessary conveniences. There was no
central luster, and the candelabra, whose tall tapers had scarcely burned up
properly, cast a pale yellow light among the dishes and stands on which fruit,
cakes and preserves alternated symmetrically.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You sit where you like, you know,&rdquo; said Nana. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s
more amusing that way.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She remained standing midway down the side of the table. The old gentleman whom
nobody knew had placed himself on her right, while she kept Steiner on her left
hand. Some guests were already sitting down when the sound of oaths came from
the little drawing room. It was Bordenave. The company had forgotten him, and
he was having all the trouble in the world to raise himself out of his two
armchairs, for he was howling amain and calling for that cat of a Simonne, who
had slipped off with the rest. The women ran in to him, full of pity for his
woes, and Bordenave appeared, supported, nay, almost carried, by Caroline,
Clarisse, Tatan Nene and Maria Blond. And there was much to-do over his
installation at the table.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;In the middle, facing Nana!&rdquo; was the cry. &ldquo;Bordenave in the
middle! He&rsquo;ll be our president!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Thereupon the ladies seated him in the middle. But he needed a second chair for
his leg, and two girls lifted it up and stretched it carefully out. It
wouldn&rsquo;t matter; he would eat sideways.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;God blast it all!&rdquo; he grumbled. &ldquo;We&rsquo;re squashed all
the same! Ah, my kittens, Papa recommends himself to your tender care!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He had Rose Mignon on his right and Lucy Stewart on his left hand, and they
promised to take good care of him. Everybody was now getting settled. Count de
Vandeuvres placed himself between Lucy and Clarisse; Fauchery between Rose
Mignon and Caroline Hequet. On the other side of the table Hector de la Faloise
had rushed to get next Gaga, and that despite the calls of Clarisse opposite,
while Mignon, who never deserted Steiner, was only separated from him by
Blanche and had Tatan Nene on his left. Then came Labordette and, finally, at
the two ends of the table were irregular crowding groups of young men and of
women, such as Simonne, Léa de Horn and Maria Blond. It was in this region that
Daguenet and Georges forgathered more warmly than ever while smilingly gazing
at Nana.
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless, two people remained standing, and there was much joking about it.
The men offered seats on their knees. Clarisse, who could not move her elbows,
told Vandeuvres that she counted on him to feed her. And then that Bordenave
did just take up space with his chairs! There was a final effort, and at last
everybody was seated, but, as Mignon loudly remarked, they were confoundedly
like herrings in a barrel.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Thick asparagus soup à la comtesse, clear soup à la Deslignac,&rdquo;
murmured the waiters, carrying about platefuls in rear of the guests.
</p>

<p>
Bordenave was loudly recommending the thick soup when a shout arose, followed
by protests and indignant exclamations. The door had just opened, and three
late arrivals, a woman and two men, had just come in. Oh dear, no! There was no
space for them! Nana, however, without leaving her chair, began screwing up her
eyes in the effort to find out whether she knew them. The woman was Louise
Violaine, but she had never seen the men before.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;This gentleman, my dear,&rdquo; said Vandeuvres, &ldquo;is a friend of
mine, a naval officer, Monsieur de Foucarmont by name. I invited him.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Foucarmont bowed and seemed very much at ease, for he added:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And I took leave to bring one of my friends with me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s quite right, quite right!&rdquo; said Nana. &ldquo;Sit
down, pray. Let&rsquo;s see, you&mdash;Clarisse&mdash;push up a little.
You&rsquo;re a good deal spread out down there. That&rsquo;s it&mdash;where
there&rsquo;s a will&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They crowded more tightly than ever, and Foucarmont and Louise were given a
little stretch of table, but the friend had to sit at some distance from his
plate and ate his supper through dint of making a long arm between his
neighbors&rsquo; shoulders. The waiters took away the soup plates and
circulated rissoles of young rabbit with truffles and &ldquo;niokys&rdquo; and
powdered cheese. Bordenave agitated the whole table with the announcement that
at one moment he had had the idea of bringing with him Prullière, Fontan and
old Bosc. At this Nana looked sedate and remarked dryly that she would have
given them a pretty reception. Had she wanted colleagues, she would certainly
have undertaken to ask them herself. No, no, she wouldn&rsquo;t have third-rate
play actors. Old Bosc was always drunk; Prullière was fond of spitting too
much, and as to Fontan, he made himself unbearable in society with his loud
voice and his stupid doings. Then, you know, third-rate play actors were always
out of place when they found themselves in the society of gentlemen such as
those around her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, yes, it&rsquo;s true,&rdquo; Mignon declared.
</p>

<p>
All round the table the gentlemen in question looked unimpeachable in the
extreme, what with their evening dress and their pale features, the natural
distinction of which was still further refined by fatigue. The old gentleman
was as deliberate in his movements and wore as subtle a smile as though he were
presiding over a diplomatic congress, and Vandeuvres, with his exquisite
politeness toward the ladies next to him, seemed to be at one of the Countess
Muffat&rsquo;s receptions. That very morning Nana had been remarking to her
aunt that in the matter of men one could not have done better&mdash;they were
all either wellborn or wealthy, in fact, quite the thing. And as to the ladies,
they were behaving admirably. Some of them, such as Blanche, Léa and Louise,
had come in low dresses, but Gaga&rsquo;s only was perhaps a little too low,
the more so because at her age she would have done well not to show her neck at
all. Now that the company were finally settled the laughter and the light jests
began to fail. Georges was under the impression that he had assisted at merrier
dinner parties among the good folks of Orleans. There was scarcely any
conversation. The men, not being mutually acquainted, stared at one another,
while the women sat quite quiet, and it was this which especially surprised
Georges. He thought them all smugs&mdash;he had been under the impression that
everybody would begin kissing at once.
</p>

<p>
The third course, consisting of a Rhine carp à la Chambord and a saddle of
venison à l&rsquo;anglaise, was being served when Blanche remarked aloud:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Lucy, my dear, I met your Ollivier on Sunday. How he&rsquo;s
grown!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dear me, yes! He&rsquo;s eighteen,&rdquo; replied Lucy. &ldquo;It
doesn&rsquo;t make me feel any younger. He went back to his school
yesterday.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Her son Ollivier, whom she was wont to speak of with pride, was a pupil at the
École de Marine. Then ensued a conversation about the young people, during
which all the ladies waxed very tender. Nana described her own great happiness.
Her baby, the little Louis, she said, was now at the house of her aunt, who
brought him round to her every morning at eleven o&rsquo;clock, when she would
take him into her bed, where he played with her griffon dog Lulu. It was enough
to make one die of laughing to see them both burying themselves under the
clothes at the bottom of the bed. The company had no idea how cunning Louiset
had already become.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, yesterday I did just pass a day!&rdquo; said Rose Mignon in her
turn. &ldquo;Just imagine, I went to fetch Charles and Henry at their boarding
school, and I had positively to take them to the theater at night. They jumped;
they clapped their little hands: &lsquo;We shall see Mamma act! We shall see
Mamma act!&rsquo; Oh, it was a to-do!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Mignon smiled complaisantly, his eyes moist with paternal tenderness.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And at the play itself,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;they were so funny!
They behaved as seriously as grown men, devoured Rose with their eyes and asked
me why Mamma had her legs bare like that.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The whole table began laughing, and Mignon looked radiant, for his pride as a
father was flattered. He adored his children and had but one object in life,
which was to increase their fortunes by administering the money gained by Rose
at the theater and elsewhere with the businesslike severity of a faithful
steward. When as first fiddle in the music hall where she used to sing he had
married her, they had been passionately fond of one another. Now they were good
friends. There was an understanding between them: she labored hard to the full
extent of her talent and of her beauty; he had given up his violin in order the
better to watch over her successes as an actress and as a woman. One could not
have found a more homely and united household anywhere!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What age is your eldest?&rdquo; asked Vandeuvres.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Henry&rsquo;s nine,&rdquo; replied Mignon, &ldquo;but such a big chap
for his years!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then he chaffed Steiner, who was not fond of children, and with quiet audacity
informed him that were he a father, he would make a less stupid hash of his
fortune. While talking he watched the banker over Blanche&rsquo;s shoulders to
see if it was coming off with Nana. But for some minutes Rose and Fauchery, who
were talking very near him, had been getting on his nerves. Was Rose going to
waste time over such a folly as that? In that sort of case, by Jove, he blocked
the way. And diamond on finger and with his fine hands in great evidence, he
finished discussing a fillet of venison.
</p>

<p>
Elsewhere the conversation about children continued. La Faloise, rendered very
restless by the immediate proximity of Gaga, asked news of her daughter, whom
he had had the pleasure of noticing in her company at the Variétés. Lili was
quite well, but she was still such a tomboy! He was astonished to learn that
Lili was entering on her nineteenth year. Gaga became even more imposing in his
eyes, and when he endeavored to find out why she had not brought Lili with her:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh no, no, never!&rdquo; she said stiffly. &ldquo;Not three months ago
she positively insisted on leaving her boarding school. I was thinking of
marrying her off at once, but she loves me so that I had to take her
home&mdash;oh, so much against my will!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Her blue eyelids with their blackened lashes blinked and wavered while she
spoke of the business of settling her young lady. If at her time of life she
hadn&rsquo;t laid by a sou but was still always working to minister to
men&rsquo;s pleasures, especially those very young men, whose grandmother she
might well be, it was truly because she considered a good match of far greater
importance than mere savings. And with that she leaned over La Faloise, who
reddened under the huge, naked, plastered shoulder with which she well-nigh
crushed him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You know,&rdquo; she murmured, &ldquo;if she fails it won&rsquo;t be my
fault. But they&rsquo;re so strange when they&rsquo;re young!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
There was a considerable bustle round the table, and the waiters became very
active. After the third course the entrees had made their appearance; they
consisted of pullets à la marechale, fillets of sole with shallot sauce and
escalopes of Strasbourg paté. The manager, who till then had been having
Meursault served, now offered Chambertin and Leoville. Amid the slight hubbub
which the change of plates involved Georges, who was growing momentarily more
astonished, asked Daguenet if all the ladies present were similarly provided
with children, and the other, who was amused by this question, gave him some
further details. Lucy Stewart was the daughter of a man of English origin who
greased the wheels of the trains at the Gare du Nord; she was thirty-nine years
old and had the face of a horse but was adorable withal and, though
consumptive, never died. In fact, she was the smartest woman there and
represented three princes and a duke. Caroline Hequet, born at Bordeaux,
daughter of a little clerk long since dead of shame, was lucky enough to be
possessed of a mother with a head on her shoulders, who, after having cursed
her, had made it up again at the end of a year of reflection, being minded, at
any rate, to save a fortune for her daughter. The latter was twenty-five years
old and very passionless and was held to be one of the finest women it is
possible to enjoy. Her price never varied. The mother, a model of orderliness,
kept the accounts and noted down receipts and expenditures with severe
precision. She managed the whole household from some small lodging two stories
above her daughter&rsquo;s, where, moreover, she had established a workroom for
dressmaking and plain sewing. As to Blanche de Sivry, whose real name was
Jacqueline Bandu, she hailed from a village near Amiens. Magnificent in person,
stupid and untruthful in character, she gave herself out as the granddaughter
of a general and never owned to her thirty-two summers. The Russians had a
great taste for her, owing to her embonpoint. Then Daguenet added a rapid word
or two about the rest. There was Clarisse Besnus, whom a lady had brought up
from Saint-Aubin-sur-Mer in the capacity of maid while the lady&rsquo;s husband
had started her in quite another line. There was Simonne Cabiroche, the
daughter of a furniture dealer in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, who had been
educated in a large boarding school with a view to becoming a governess.
Finally there were Maria Blond and Louise Violaine and Léa de Horn, who had all
shot up to woman&rsquo;s estate on the pavements of Paris, not to mention Tatan
Nene, who had herded cows in Champagne till she was twenty.
</p>

<p>
Georges listened and looked at these ladies, feeling dizzy and excited by the
coarse recital thus crudely whispered in his ear, while behind his chair the
waiters kept repeating in respectful tones:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Pullets à la marechale; fillets of sole with ravigote sauce.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My dear fellow,&rdquo; said Daguenet, giving him the benefit of his
experience, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t take any fish; it&rsquo;ll do you no good at
this time of night. And be content with Leoville: it&rsquo;s less
treacherous.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
A heavy warmth floated upward from the candelabras, from the dishes which were
being handed round, from the whole table where thirty-eight human beings were
suffocating. And the waiters forgot themselves and ran when crossing the
carpet, so that it was spotted with grease. Nevertheless, the supper grew
scarce any merrier. The ladies trifled with their meat, left half of it
uneaten. Tatan Nene alone partook gluttonously of every dish. At that advanced
hour of the night hunger was of the nervous order only, a mere whimsical
craving born of an exasperated stomach.
</p>

<p>
At Nana&rsquo;s side the old gentleman refused every dish offered him; he had
only taken a spoonful of soup, and he now sat in front of his empty plate,
gazing silently about. There was some subdued yawning, and occasionally eyelids
closed and faces became haggard and white. It was unutterably slow, as it
always was, according to Vandeuvres&rsquo;s dictum. This sort of supper should
be served anyhow if it was to be funny, he opined. Otherwise when elegantly and
conventionally done you might as well feed in good society, where you were not
more bored than here. Had it not been for Bordenave, who was still bawling
away, everybody would have fallen asleep. That rum old buffer Bordenave, with
his leg duly stretched on its chair, was letting his neighbors, Lucy and Rose,
wait on him as though he were a sultan. They were entirely taken up with him,
and they helped him and pampered him and watched over his glass and his plate,
and yet that did not prevent his complaining.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s going to cut up my meat for me? I can&rsquo;t; the
table&rsquo;s a league away.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Every few seconds Simonne rose and took up a position behind his back in order
to cut his meat and his bread. All the women took a great interest in the
things he ate. The waiters were recalled, and he was stuffed to suffocation.
Simonne having wiped his mouth for him while Rose and Lucy were changing his
plate, her act struck him as very pretty and, deigning at length to show
contentment:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;There, there, my daughter,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s as it
should be. Women are made for that!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
There was a slight reawakening, and conversation became general as they
finished discussing some orange sherbet. The hot roast was a fillet with
truffles, and the cold roast a galantine of guinea fowl in jelly. Nana, annoyed
by the want of go displayed by her guests, had begun talking with the greatest
distinctness.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You know the Prince of Scots has already had a stage box reserved so as
to see the Blonde Venus when he comes to visit the exhibition.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I very much hope that all the princes will come and see it,&rdquo;
declared Bordenave with his mouth full.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;They are expecting the shah of Persia next Sunday,&rdquo; said Lucy
Stewart. Whereupon Rose Mignon spoke of the shah&rsquo;s diamonds. He wore a
tunic entirely covered with gems; it was a marvel, a flaming star; it
represented millions. And the ladies, with pale faces and eyes glittering with
covetousness, craned forward and ran over the names of the other kings, the
other emperors, who were shortly expected. All of them were dreaming of some
royal caprice, some night to be paid for by a fortune.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now tell me, dear boy,&rdquo; Caroline Hequet asked Vandeuvres, leaning
forward as she did so, &ldquo;how old&rsquo;s the emperor of Russia?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, he&rsquo;s &lsquo;present time,&rsquo;&rdquo; replied the count,
laughing. &ldquo;Nothing to be done in that quarter, I warn you.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana made pretense of being hurt. The witticism appeared somewhat too stinging,
and there was a murmur of protest. But Blanche gave a description of the king
of Italy, whom she had once seen at Milan. He was scarcely good looking, and
yet that did not prevent him enjoying all the women. She was put out somewhat
when Fauchery assured her that Victor Emmanuel could not come to the
exhibition. Louise Violaine and Léa favored the emperor of Austria, and all of
a sudden little Maria Blond was heard saying:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What an old stick the king of Prussia is! I was at Baden last year, and
one was always meeting him about with Count Bismarck.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dear me, Bismarck!&rdquo; Simonne interrupted. &ldquo;I knew him once, I
did. A charming man.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what I was saying yesterday,&rdquo; cried Vandeuvres,
&ldquo;but nobody would believe me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And just as at Countess Sabine&rsquo;s, there ensued a long discussion about
Bismarck. Vandeuvres repeated the same phrases, and for a moment or two one was
again in the Muffats&rsquo; drawing room, the only difference being that the
ladies were changed. Then, just as last night, they passed on to a discussion
on music, after which, Foucarmont having let slip some mention of the
assumption of the veil of which Paris was still talking, Nana grew quite
interested and insisted on details about Mlle de Fougeray. Oh, the poor child,
fancy her burying herself alive like that! Ah well, when it was a question of
vocation! All round the table the women expressed themselves much touched, and
Georges, wearied at hearing these things a second time discussed, was beginning
to ask Daguenet about Nana&rsquo;s ways in private life, when the conversation
veered fatefully back to Count Bismarck. Tatan Nene bent toward Labordette to
ask him privily who this Bismarck might be, for she did not know him. Whereupon
Labordette, in cold blood, told her some portentous anecdotes. This Bismarck,
he said, was in the habit of eating raw meat and when he met a woman near his
den would carry her off thither on his back; at forty years of age he had
already had as many as thirty-two children that way.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Thirty-two children at forty!&rdquo; cried Tatan Nene, stupefied and yet
convinced. &ldquo;He must be jolly well worn out for his age.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
There was a burst of merriment, and it dawned on her that she was being made
game of.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You sillies! How am I to know if you&rsquo;re joking?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Gaga, meanwhile, had stopped at the exhibition. Like all these ladies, she was
delightedly preparing for the fray. A good season, provincials and foreigners
rushing into Paris! In the long run, perhaps, after the close of the exhibition
she would, if her business had flourished, be able to retire to a little house
at Jouvisy, which she had long had her eye on.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What&rsquo;s to be done?&rdquo; she said to La Faloise. &ldquo;One never
gets what one wants! Oh, if only one were still really loved!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Gaga behaved meltingly because she had felt the young man&rsquo;s knee gently
placed against her own. He was blushing hotly and lisping as elegantly as ever.
She weighed him at a glance. Not a very heavy little gentleman, to be sure, but
then she wasn&rsquo;t hard to please. La Faloise obtained her address.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Just look there,&rdquo; murmured Vandeuvres to Clarisse. &ldquo;I think
Gaga&rsquo;s doing you out of your Hector.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;A good riddance, so far as I&rsquo;m concerned,&rdquo; replied the
actress. &ldquo;That fellow&rsquo;s an idiot. I&rsquo;ve already chucked him
downstairs three times. You know, I&rsquo;m disgusted when dirty little boys
run after old women.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She broke off and with a little gesture indicated Blanche, who from the
commencement of dinner had remained in a most uncomfortable attitude, sitting
up very markedly, with the intention of displaying her shoulders to the old
distinguished-looking gentleman three seats beyond her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You&rsquo;re being left too,&rdquo; she resumed.
</p>

<p>
Vandeuvres smiled his thin smile and made a little movement to signify he did
not care. Assuredly &rsquo;twas not he who would ever have prevented poor, dear
Blanche scoring a success. He was more interested by the spectacle which
Steiner was presenting to the table at large. The banker was noted for his
sudden flames. That terrible German Jew who brewed money, whose hands forged
millions, was wont to turn imbecile whenever he became enamored of a woman. He
wanted them all too! Not one could make her appearance on the stage but he
bought her, however expensive she might be. Vast sums were quoted. Twice had
his furious appetite for courtesans ruined him. The courtesans, as Vandeuvres
used to say, avenged public morality by emptying his moneybags. A big operation
in the saltworks of the Landes had rendered him powerful on &rsquo;change, and
so for six weeks past the Mignons had been getting a pretty slice out of those
same saltworks. But people were beginning to lay wagers that the Mignons would
not finish their slice, for Nana was showing her white teeth. Once again
Steiner was in the toils, and so deeply this time that as he sat by
Nana&rsquo;s side he seemed stunned; he ate without appetite; his lip hung
down; his face was mottled. She had only to name a figure. Nevertheless, she
did not hurry but continued playing with him, breathing her merry laughter into
his hairy ear and enjoying the little convulsive movements which kept
traversing his heavy face. There would always be time enough to patch all that
up if that ninny of a Count Muffat were really to treat her as Joseph did
Potiphar&rsquo;s wife.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Leoville or Chambertin?&rdquo; murmured a waiter, who came craning
forward between Nana and Steiner just as the latter was addressing her in a low
voice.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Eh, what?&rdquo; he stammered, losing his head. &ldquo;Whatever you
like&mdash;I don&rsquo;t care.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Vandeuvres gently nudged Lucy Stewart, who had a very spiteful tongue and a
very fierce invention when once she was set going. That evening Mignon was
driving her to exasperation.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;He would gladly be bottleholder, you know,&rdquo; she remarked to the
count. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s in hopes of repeating what he did with little
Jonquier. You remember: Jonquier was Rose&rsquo;s man, but he was sweet on big
Laure. Now Mignon procured Laure for Jonquier and then came back arm in arm
with him to Rose, as if he were a husband who had been allowed a little
peccadillo. But this time the thing&rsquo;s going to fail. Nana doesn&rsquo;t
give up the men who are lent her.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What ails Mignon that he should be looking at his wife in that severe
way?&rdquo; asked Vandeuvres.
</p>

<p>
He leaned forward and saw Rose growing exceedingly amorous toward Fauchery.
This was the explanation of his neighbor&rsquo;s wrath. He resumed laughingly:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The devil, are you jealous?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Jealous!&rdquo; said Lucy in a fury. &ldquo;Good gracious, if Rose is
wanting Léon I give him up willingly&mdash;for what he&rsquo;s worth!
That&rsquo;s to say, for a bouquet a week and the rest to match! Look here, my
dear boy, these theatrical trollops are all made the same way. Why, Rose cried
with rage when she read Léon&rsquo;s article on Nana; I know she did. So now,
you understand, she must have an article, too, and she&rsquo;s gaining it. As
for me, I&rsquo;m going to chuck Léon downstairs&mdash;you&rsquo;ll see!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She paused to say &ldquo;Leoville&rdquo; to the waiter standing behind her with
his two bottles and then resumed in lowered tones:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to shout; it isn&rsquo;t my style. But she&rsquo;s a
cocky slut all the same. If I were in her husband&rsquo;s place I should lead
her a lovely dance. Oh, she won&rsquo;t be very happy over it. She
doesn&rsquo;t know my Fauchery: a dirty gent he is, too, palling up with women
like that so as to get on in the world. Oh, a nice lot they are!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Vandeuvres did his best to calm her down, but Bordenave, deserted by Rose and
by Lucy, grew angry and cried out that they were letting Papa perish of hunger
and thirst. This produced a fortunate diversion. Yet the supper was flagging;
no one was eating now, though platefuls of cepes a&rsquo; l&rsquo;italienne and
pineapple fritters à la Pompadour were being mangled. The champagne, however,
which had been drunk ever since the soup course, was beginning little by little
to warm the guests into a state of nervous exaltation. They ended by paying
less attention to decorum than before. The women began leaning on their elbows
amid the disordered table arrangements, while the men, in order to breathe more
easily, pushed their chairs back, and soon the black coats appeared buried
between the light-colored bodices, and bare shoulders, half turned toward the
table, began to gleam as soft as silk. It was too hot, and the glare of the
candles above the table grew ever yellower and duller. Now and again, when a
women bent forward, the back of her neck glowed golden under a rain of curls,
and the glitter of a diamond clasp lit up a lofty chignon. There was a touch of
fire in the passing jests, in the laughing eyes, in the sudden gleam of white
teeth, in the reflection of the candelabra on the surface of a glass of
champagne. The company joked at the tops of their voices, gesticulated, asked
questions which no one answered and called to one another across the whole
length of the room. But the loudest din was made by the waiters; they fancied
themselves at home in the corridors of their parent restaurant; they jostled
one another and served the ices and the dessert to an accompaniment of guttural
exclamations.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My children,&rdquo; shouted Bordenave, &ldquo;you know we&rsquo;re
playing tomorrow. Be careful! Not too much champagne!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;As far as I&rsquo;m concerned,&rdquo; said Foucarmont, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve
drunk every imaginable kind of wine in all the four quarters of the globe.
Extraordinary liquors some of &rsquo;em, containing alcohol enough to kill a
corpse! Well, and what d&rsquo;you think? Why, it never hurt me a bit. I
can&rsquo;t make myself drunk. I&rsquo;ve tried and I can&rsquo;t.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He was very pale, very calm and collected, and he lolled back in his chair,
drinking without cessation.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Never mind that,&rdquo; murmured Louise Violaine. &ldquo;Leave off;
you&rsquo;ve had enough. It would be a funny business if I had to look after
you the rest of the night.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Such was her state of exaltation that Lucy Stewart&rsquo;s cheeks were assuming
a red, consumptive flush, while Rose Mignon with moist eyelids was growing
excessively melting. Tatan Nene, greatly astonished at the thought that she had
overeaten herself, was laughing vaguely over her own stupidity. The others,
such as Blanche, Caroline, Simonne and Maria, were all talking at once and
telling each other about their private affairs&mdash;about a dispute with a
coachman, a projected picnic and innumerable complex stories of lovers stolen
or restored. Meanwhile a young man near Georges, having evinced a desire to
kiss Léa de Horn, received a sharp rap, accompanied by a &ldquo;Look here, you,
let me go!&rdquo; which was spoken in a tone of fine indignation; and Georges,
who was now very tipsy and greatly excited by the sight of Nana, hesitated
about carrying out a project which he had been gravely maturing. He had been
planning, indeed, to get under the table on all fours and to go and crouch at
Nana&rsquo;s feet like a little dog. Nobody would have seen him, and he would
have stayed there in the quietest way. But when at Léa&rsquo;s urgent request
Daguenet had told the young man to sit still, Georges all at once felt
grievously chagrined, as though the reproof had just been leveled at him. Oh,
it was all silly and slow, and there was nothing worth living for! Daguenet,
nevertheless, began chaffing and obliged him to swallow a big glassful of
water, asking him at the same time what he would do if he were to find himself
alone with a woman, seeing that three glasses of champagne were able to bowl
him over.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why, in Havana,&rdquo; resumed Foucarmont, &ldquo;they make a spirit
with a certain wild berry; you think you&rsquo;re swallowing fire! Well now,
one evening I drank more than a liter of it, and it didn&rsquo;t hurt me one
bit. Better than that, another time when we were on the coast of Coromandel
some savages gave us I don&rsquo;t know what sort of a mixture of pepper and
vitriol, and that didn&rsquo;t hurt me one bit. I can&rsquo;t make myself
drunk.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
For some moments past La Faloise&rsquo;s face opposite had excited his
displeasure. He began sneering and giving vent to disagreeable witticisms. La
Faloise, whose brain was in a whirl, was behaving very restlessly and squeezing
up against Gaga. But at length he became the victim of anxiety; somebody had
just taken his handkerchief, and with drunken obstinacy he demanded it back
again, asked his neighbors about it, stooped down in order to look under the
chairs and the guests&rsquo; feet. And when Gaga did her best to quiet him:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a nuisance,&rdquo; he murmured, &ldquo;my initials and my
coronet are worked in the corner. They may compromise me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I say, Monsieur Falamoise, Lamafoise, Mafaloise!&rdquo; shouted
Foucarmont, who thought it exceedingly witty thus to disfigure the young
man&rsquo;s name ad infinitum.
</p>

<p>
But La Faloise grew wroth and talked with a stutter about his ancestry. He
threatened to send a water bottle at Foucarmont&rsquo;s head, and Count de
Vandeuvres had to interfere in order to assure him that Foucarmont was a great
joker. Indeed, everybody was laughing. This did for the already flurried young
man, who was very glad to resume his seat and to begin eating with childlike
submissiveness when in a loud voice his cousin ordered him to feed. Gaga had
taken him back to her ample side; only from time to time he cast sly and
anxious glances at the guests, for he ceased not to search for his
handkerchief.
</p>

<p>
Then Foucarmont, being now in his witty vein, attacked Labordette right at the
other end of the table. Louise Violaine strove to make him hold his tongue,
for, she said, &ldquo;when he goes nagging at other people like that it always
ends in mischief for me.&rdquo; He had discovered a witticism which consisted
in addressing Labordette as &ldquo;Madame,&rdquo; and it must have amused him
greatly, for he kept on repeating it while Labordette tranquilly shrugged his
shoulders and as constantly replied:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Pray hold your tongue, my dear fellow; it&rsquo;s stupid.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But as Foucarmont failed to desist and even became insulting without his
neighbors knowing why, he left off answering him and appealed to Count
Vandeuvres.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Make your friend hold his tongue, monsieur. I don&rsquo;t wish to become
angry.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Foucarmont had twice fought duels, and he was in consequence most politely
treated and admitted into every circle. But there was now a general uprising
against him. The table grew merry at his sallies, for they thought him very
witty, but that was no reason why the evening should be spoiled. Vandeuvres,
whose subtle countenance was darkening visibly, insisted on his restoring
Labordette his sex. The other men&mdash;Mignon, Steiner and Bordenave&mdash;who
were by this time much exalted, also intervened with shouts which drowned his
voice. Only the old gentleman sitting forgotten next to Nana retained his
stately demeanor and, still smiling in his tired, silent way, watched with
lackluster eyes the untoward finish of the dessert.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What do you say to our taking coffee in here, duckie?&rdquo; said
Bordenave. &ldquo;We&rsquo;re very comfortable.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana did not give an immediate reply. Since the beginning of supper she had
seemed no longer in her own house. All this company had overwhelmed and
bewildered her with their shouts to the waiters, the loudness of their voices
and the way in which they put themselves at their ease, just as though they
were in a restaurant. Forgetting her role of hostess, she busied herself
exclusively with bulky Steiner, who was verging on apoplexy beside her. She was
listening to his proposals and continually refusing them with shakes of the
head and that temptress&rsquo;s laughter which is peculiar to a voluptuous
blonde. The champagne she had been drinking had flushed her a rosy-red; her
lips were moist; her eyes sparkled, and the banker&rsquo;s offers rose with
every kittenish movement of her shoulders, with every little voluptuous lift
and fall of her throat, which occurred when she turned her head. Close by her
ear he kept espying a sweet little satiny corner which drove him crazy.
Occasionally Nana was interrupted, and then, remembering her guests, she would
try and be as pleased as possible in order to show that she knew how to
receive. Toward the end of the supper she was very tipsy. It made her miserable
to think of it, but champagne had a way of intoxicating her almost directly!
Then an exasperating notion struck her. In behaving thus improperly at her
table, these ladies were showing themselves anxious to do her an ugly turn. Oh
yes, she could see it all distinctly. Lucy had given Foucarmont a wink in order
to egg him on against Labordette, while Rose, Caroline and the others were
doing all they could to stir up the men. Now there was such a din you
couldn&rsquo;t hear your neighbor speak, and so the story would get about that
you might allow yourself every kind of liberty when you supped at Nana&rsquo;s.
Very well then! They should see! She might be tipsy, if you like, but she was
still the smartest and most ladylike woman there.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do tell them to serve the coffee here, duckie,&rdquo; resumed Bordenave.
&ldquo;I prefer it here because of my leg.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But Nana had sprung savagely to her feet after whispering into the astonished
ears of Steiner and the old gentleman:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s quite right; it&rsquo;ll teach me to go and invite a dirty
lot like that.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then she pointed to the door of the dining room and added at the top of her
voice:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;If you want coffee it&rsquo;s there, you know.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The company left the table and crowded toward the dining room without noticing
Nana&rsquo;s indignant outburst. And soon no one was left in the drawing room
save Bordenave, who advanced cautiously, supporting himself against the wall
and cursing away at the confounded women who chucked Papa the moment they were
chock-full. The waiters behind him were already busy removing the plates and
dishes in obedience to the loudly voiced orders of the manager. They rushed to
and fro, jostled one another, caused the whole table to vanish, as a pantomime
property might at the sound of the chief scene-shifter&rsquo;s whistle. The
ladies and gentlemen were to return to the drawing room after drinking their
coffee.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By gum, it&rsquo;s less hot here,&rdquo; said Gaga with a slight shiver
as she entered the dining room.
</p>

<p>
The window here had remained open. Two lamps illuminated the table, where
coffee and liqueurs were set out. There were no chairs, and the guests drank
their coffee standing, while the hubbub the waiters were making in the next
room grew louder and louder. Nana had disappeared, but nobody fretted about her
absence. They did without her excellently well, and everybody helped himself
and rummaged in the drawers of the sideboard in search of teaspoons, which were
lacking. Several groups were formed; people separated during supper rejoined
each other, and there was an interchange of glances, of meaning laughter and of
phrases which summed up recent situations.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ought not Monsieur Fauchery to come and lunch with us one of these days,
Auguste?&rdquo; said Rose Mignon.
</p>

<p>
Mignon, who was toying with his watch chain, eyed the journalist for a second
or two with his severe glance. Rose was out of her senses. As became a good
manager, he would put a stop to such spendthrift courses. In return for a
notice, well and good, but afterward, decidedly not. Nevertheless, as he was
fully aware of his wife&rsquo;s wrongheadedness and as he made it a rule to
wink paternally at a folly now and again, when such was necessary, he answered
amiably enough:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Certainly, I shall be most happy. Pray come tomorrow, Monsieur
Fauchery.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Lucy Stewart heard this invitation given while she was talking with Steiner and
Blanche and, raising her voice, she remarked to the banker:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a mania they&rsquo;ve all of them got. One of them even went
so far as to steal my dog. Now, dear boy, am I to blame if you chuck
her?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Rose turned round. She was very pale and gazed fixedly at Steiner as she sipped
her coffee. And then all the concentrated anger she felt at his abandonment of
her flamed out in her eyes. She saw more clearly than Mignon; it was stupid in
him to have wished to begin the Jonquier ruse a second time&mdash;those dodgers
never succeeded twice running. Well, so much the worse for him! She would have
Fauchery! She had been getting enamored of him since the beginning of supper,
and if Mignon was not pleased it would teach him greater wisdom!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You are not going to fight?&rdquo; said Vandeuvres, coming over to Lucy
Stewart.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, don&rsquo;t be afraid of that! Only she must mind and keep quiet, or
I let the cat out of the bag!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then signing imperiously to Fauchery:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve got your slippers at home, my little man. I&rsquo;ll get them
taken to your porter&rsquo;s lodge for you tomorrow.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He wanted to joke about it, but she swept off, looking like a queen. Clarisse,
who had propped herself against a wall in order to drink a quiet glass of
kirsch, was seen to shrug her shoulders. A pleasant business for a man!
Wasn&rsquo;t it true that the moment two women were together in the presence of
their lovers their first idea was to do one another out of them? It was a law
of nature! As to herself, why, in heaven&rsquo;s name, if she had wanted to she
would have torn out Gaga&rsquo;s eyes on Hector&rsquo;s account! But la, she
despised him! Then as La Faloise passed by, she contented herself by remarking
to him:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Listen, my friend, you like &rsquo;em well advanced, you do! You
don&rsquo;t want &rsquo;em ripe; you want &rsquo;em mildewed!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
La Faloise seemed much annoyed and not a little anxious. Seeing Clarisse making
game of him, he grew suspicious of her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No humbug, I say,&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve taken my
handkerchief. Well then, give it back!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;He&rsquo;s dreeing us with that handkerchief of his!&rdquo; she cried.
&ldquo;Why, you ass, why should I have taken it from you?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why should you?&rdquo; he said suspiciously. &ldquo;Why, that you may
send it to my people and compromise me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
In the meantime Foucarmont was diligently attacking the liqueurs. He continued
to gaze sneeringly at Labordette, who was drinking his coffee in the midst of
the ladies. And occasionally he gave vent to fragmentary assertions, as thus:
&ldquo;He&rsquo;s the son of a horse dealer; some say the illegitimate child of
a countess. Never a penny of income, yet always got twenty-five louis in his
pocket! Footboy to the ladies of the town! A big lubber, who never goes with
any of &rsquo;em! Never, never, never!&rdquo; he repeated, growing furious.
&ldquo;No, by Jove! I must box his ears.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He drained a glass of chartreuse. The chartreuse had not the slightest effect
upon him; it didn&rsquo;t affect him &ldquo;even to that extent,&rdquo; and he
clicked his thumbnail against the edge of his teeth. But suddenly, just as he
was advancing upon Labordette, he grew ashy white and fell down in a heap in
front of the sideboard. He was dead drunk. Louise Violaine was beside herself.
She had been quite right to prophesy that matters would end badly, and now she
would have her work cut out for the remainder of the night. Gaga reassured her.
She examined the officer with the eye of a woman of experience and declared
that there was nothing much the matter and that the gentleman would sleep like
that for at least a dozen or fifteen hours without any serious consequences.
Foucarmont was carried off.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, where&rsquo;s Nana gone to?&rdquo; asked Vandeuvres.
</p>

<p>
Yes, she had certainly flown away somewhere on leaving the table. The company
suddenly recollected her, and everybody asked for her. Steiner, who for some
seconds had been uneasy on her account, asked Vandeuvres about the old
gentleman, for he, too, had disappeared. But the count reassured him&mdash;he
had just brought the old gentleman back. He was a stranger, whose name it was
useless to mention. Suffice it to say that he was a very rich man who was quite
pleased to pay for suppers! Then as Nana was once more being forgotten,
Vandeuvres saw Daguenet looking out of an open door and beckoning to him. And
in the bedroom he found the mistress of the house sitting up, white-lipped and
rigid, while Daguenet and Georges stood gazing at her with an alarmed
expression.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What IS the matter with you?&rdquo; he asked in some surprise.
</p>

<p>
She neither answered nor turned her head, and he repeated his question.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why, this is what&rsquo;s the matter with me,&rdquo; she cried out at
length; &ldquo;I won&rsquo;t let them make bloody sport of me!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Thereupon she gave vent to any expression that occurred to her. Yes, oh yes,
SHE wasn&rsquo;t a ninny&mdash;she could see clearly enough. They had been
making devilish light of her during supper and saying all sorts of frightful
things to show that they thought nothing of her! A pack of sluts who
weren&rsquo;t fit to black her boots! Catch her bothering herself again just to
be badgered for it after! She really didn&rsquo;t know what kept her from
chucking all that dirty lot out of the house! And with this, rage choked her
and her voice broke down in sobs.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come, come, my lass, you&rsquo;re drunk,&rdquo; said Vandeuvres, growing
familiar. &ldquo;You must be reasonable.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
No, she would give her refusal now; she would stay where she was.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I am drunk&mdash;it&rsquo;s quite likely! But I want people to respect
me!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
For a quarter of an hour past Daguenet and Georges had been vainly beseeching
her to return to the drawing room. She was obstinate, however; her guests might
do what they liked; she despised them too much to come back among them.
</p>

<p>
No, she never would, never. They might tear her in pieces before she would
leave her room!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I ought to have had my suspicions,&rdquo; she resumed.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s that cat of a Rose who&rsquo;s got the plot up! I&rsquo;m
certain Rose&rsquo;ll have stopped that respectable woman coming whom I was
expecting tonight.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She referred to Mme Robert. Vandeuvres gave her his word of honor that Mme
Robert had given a spontaneous refusal. He listened and he argued with much
gravity, for he was well accustomed to similar scenes and knew how women in
such a state ought to be treated. But the moment he tried to take hold of her
hands in order to lift her up from her chair and draw her away with him she
struggled free of his clasp, and her wrath redoubled. Now, just look at that!
They would never get her to believe that Fauchery had not put the Count Muffat
off coming! A regular snake was that Fauchery, an envious sort, a fellow
capable of growing mad against a woman and of destroying her whole happiness.
For she knew this&mdash;the count had become madly devoted to her! She could
have had him!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Him, my dear, never!&rdquo; cried Vandeuvres, forgetting himself and
laughing loud.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; she asked, looking serious and slightly sobered.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Because he&rsquo;s thoroughly in the hands of the priests, and if he
were only to touch you with the tips of his fingers he would go and confess it
the day after. Now listen to a bit of good advice. Don&rsquo;t let the other
man escape you!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She was silent and thoughtful for a moment or two. Then she got up and went and
bathed her eyes. Yet when they wanted to take her into the dining room she
still shouted &ldquo;No!&rdquo; furiously. Vandeuvres left the bedroom, smiling
and without further pressing her, and the moment he was gone she had an access
of melting tenderness, threw herself into Daguenet&rsquo;s arms and cried out:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, my sweetie, there&rsquo;s only you in the world. I love you! YES, I
love you from the bottom of my heart! Oh, it would be too nice if we could
always live together. My God! How unfortunate women are!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then her eye fell upon Georges, who, seeing them kiss, was growing very red,
and she kissed him too. Sweetie could not be jealous of a baby! She wanted Paul
and Georges always to agree, because it would be so nice for them all three to
stay like that, knowing all the time that they loved one another very much. But
an extraordinary noise disturbed them: someone was snoring in the room.
Whereupon after some searching they perceived Bordenave, who, since taking his
coffee, must have comfortably installed himself there. He was sleeping on two
chairs, his head propped on the edge of the bed and his leg stretched out in
front. Nana thought him so funny with his open mouth and his nose moving with
each successive snore that she was shaken with a mad fit of laughter. She left
the room, followed by Daguenet and Georges, crossed the dining room, entered
the drawing room, her merriment increasing at every step.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, my dear, you&rsquo;ve no idea!&rdquo; she cried, almost throwing
herself into Rose&rsquo;s arms. &ldquo;Come and see it.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
All the women had to follow her. She took their hands coaxingly and drew them
along with her willy-nilly, accompanying her action with so frank an outburst
of mirth that they all of them began laughing on trust. The band vanished and
returned after standing breathlessly for a second or two round
Bordenave&rsquo;s lordly, outstretched form. And then there was a burst of
laughter, and when one of them told the rest to be quiet Bordenave&rsquo;s
distant snorings became audible.
</p>

<p>
It was close on four o&rsquo;clock. In the dining room a card table had just
been set out, at which Vandeuvres, Steiner, Mignon and Labordette had taken
their seats. Behind them Lucy and Caroline stood making bets, while Blanche,
nodding with sleep and dissatisfied about her night, kept asking Vandeuvres at
intervals of five minutes if they weren&rsquo;t going soon. In the drawing room
there was an attempt at dancing. Daguenet was at the piano or &ldquo;chest of
drawers,&rdquo; as Nana called it. She did not want a &ldquo;thumper,&rdquo;
for Mimi would play as many waltzes and polkas as the company desired. But the
dance was languishing, and the ladies were chatting drowsily together in the
corners of sofas. Suddenly, however, there was an outburst of noise. A band of
eleven young men had arrived and were laughing loudly in the anteroom and
crowding to the drawing room. They had just come from the ball at the Ministry
of the Interior and were in evening dress and wore various unknown orders. Nana
was annoyed at this riotous entry, called to the waiters who still remained in
the kitchen and ordered them to throw these individuals out of doors. She vowed
that she had never seen any of them before. Fauchery, Labordette, Daguenet and
the rest of the men had all come forward in order to enforce respectful
behavior toward their hostess. Big words flew about; arms were outstretched,
and for some seconds a general exchange of fisticuffs was imminent.
Notwithstanding this, however, a little sickly looking light-haired man kept
insistently repeating:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come, come, Nana, you saw us the other evening at Peters&rsquo; in the
great red saloon! Pray remember, you invited us.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The other evening at Peters&rsquo;? She did not remember it all. To begin with,
what evening?
</p>

<p>
And when the little light-haired man had mentioned the day, which was
Wednesday, she distinctly remembered having supped at Peters&rsquo; on the
Wednesday, but she had given no invitation to anyone; she was almost sure of
that.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;However, suppose you HAVE invited them, my good girl,&rdquo; murmured
Labordette, who was beginning to have his doubts. &ldquo;Perhaps you were a
little elevated.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then Nana fell a-laughing. It was quite possible; she really didn&rsquo;t know.
So then, since these gentlemen were on the spot, they had her leave to come in.
Everything was quietly arranged; several of the newcomers found friends in the
drawing room, and the scene ended in handshakings. The little sickly looking
light-haired man bore one of the greatest names in France. Furthermore, the
eleven announced that others were to follow them, and, in fact, the door opened
every few moments, and men in white gloves and official garb presented
themselves. They were still coming from the ball at the Ministry. Fauchery
jestingly inquired whether the minister was not coming, too, but Nana answered
in a huff that the minister went to the houses of people she didn&rsquo;t care
a pin for. What she did not say was that she was possessed with a hope of
seeing Count Muffat enter her room among all that stream of people. He might
quite have reconsidered his decision, and so while talking to Rose she kept a
sharp eye on the door.
</p>

<p>
Five o&rsquo;clock struck. The dancing had ceased, and the cardplayers alone
persisted in their game. Labordette had vacated his seat, and the women had
returned into the drawing room. The air there was heavy with the somnolence
which accompanies a long vigil, and the lamps cast a wavering light while their
burned-out wicks glowed red within their globes. The ladies had reached that
vaguely melancholy hour when they felt it necessary to tell each other their
histories. Blanche de Sivry spoke of her grandfather, the general, while
Clarisse invented a romantic story about a duke seducing her at her
uncle&rsquo;s house, whither he used to come for the boar hunting. Both women,
looking different ways, kept shrugging their shoulders and asking themselves
how the deuce the other could tell such whoppers! As to Lucy Stewart, she
quietly confessed to her origin and of her own accord spoke of her childhood
and of the days when her father, the wheel greaser at the Northern Railway
Terminus, used to treat her to an apple puff on Sundays.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, I must tell you about it!&rdquo; cried the little Maria Blond
abruptly. &ldquo;Opposite to me there lives a gentleman, a Russian, an awfully
rich man! Well, just fancy, yesterday I received a basket of fruit&mdash;oh, it
just was a basket! Enormous peaches, grapes as big as that, simply wonderful
for the time of year! And in the middle of them six thousand-franc notes! It
was the Russian&rsquo;s doing. Of course I sent the whole thing back again, but
I must say my heart ached a little&mdash;when I thought of the fruit!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The ladies looked at one another and pursed up their lips. At her age little
Maria Blond had a pretty cheek! Besides, to think that such things should
happen to trollops like her! Infinite was their contempt for her among
themselves. It was Lucy of whom they were particularly jealous, for they were
beside themselves at the thought of her three princes. Since Lucy had begun
taking a daily morning ride in the Bois they all had become Amazons, as though
a mania possessed them.
</p>

<p>
Day was about to dawn, and Nana turned her eyes away from the door, for she was
relinquishing all hope. The company were bored to distraction. Rose Mignon had
refused to sing the &ldquo;Slipper&rdquo; and sat huddled up on a sofa,
chatting in a low voice with Fauchery and waiting for Mignon, who had by now
won some fifty louis from Vandeuvres. A fat gentleman with a decoration and a
serious cast of countenance had certainly given a recitation in Alsatian
accents of &ldquo;Abraham&rsquo;s Sacrifice,&rdquo; a piece in which the
Almighty says, &ldquo;By My blasted Name&rdquo; when He swears, and Isaac
always answers with a &ldquo;Yes, Papa!&rdquo; Nobody, however, understood what
it was all about, and the piece had been voted stupid. People were at their
wits&rsquo; end how to make merry and to finish the night with fitting
hilarity. For a moment or two Labordette conceived the idea of denouncing
different women in a whisper to La Faloise, who still went prowling round each
individual lady, looking to see if she were hiding his handkerchief in her
bosom. Soon, as there were still some bottles of champagne on the sideboard,
the young men again fell to drinking. They shouted to one another; they stirred
each other up, but a dreary species of intoxication, which was stupid enough to
drive one to despair, began to overcome the company beyond hope of recovery.
Then the little fair-haired fellow, the man who bore one of the greatest names
in France and had reached his wit&rsquo;s end and was desperate at the thought
that he could not hit upon something really funny, conceived a brilliant
notion: he snatched up his bottle of champagne and poured its contents into the
piano. His allies were convulsed with laughter.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;La now! Why&rsquo;s he putting champagne into the piano?&rdquo; asked
Tatan Nene in great astonishment as she caught sight of him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What, my lass, you don&rsquo;t know why he&rsquo;s doing that?&rdquo;
replied Labordette solemnly. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s nothing so good as champagne
for pianos. It gives &rsquo;em tone.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; murmured Tatan Nene with conviction.
</p>

<p>
And when the rest began laughing at her she grew angry. How should she know?
They were always confusing her.
</p>

<p>
Decidedly the evening was becoming a big failure. The night threatened to end
in the unloveliest way. In a corner by themselves Maria Blond and Léa de Horn
had begun squabbling at close quarters, the former accusing the latter of
consorting with people of insufficient wealth. They were getting vastly abusive
over it, their chief stumbling block being the good looks of the men in
question. Lucy, who was plain, got them to hold their tongues. Good looks were
nothing, according to her; good figures were what was wanted. Farther off, on a
sofa, an attache had slipped his arm round Simonne&rsquo;s waist and was trying
to kiss her neck, but Simonne, sullen and thoroughly out of sorts, pushed him
away at every fresh attempt with cries of &ldquo;You&rsquo;re pestering
me!&rdquo; and sound slaps of the fan across his face. For the matter of that,
not one of the ladies allowed herself to be touched. Did people take them for
light women? Gaga, in the meantime, had once more caught La Faloise and had
almost hoisted him upon her knees while Clarisse was disappearing from view
between two gentlemen, shaking with nervous laughter as women will when they
are tickled. Round about the piano they were still busy with their little game,
for they were suffering from a fit of stupid imbecility, which caused each man
to jostle his fellow in his frantic desire to empty his bottle into the
instrument. It was a simple process and a charming one.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now then, old boy, drink a glass! Devil take it, he&rsquo;s a thirsty
piano! Hi! &rsquo;Tenshun! Here&rsquo;s another bottle! You mustn&rsquo;t lose
a drop!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana&rsquo;s back was turned, and she did not see them. Emphatically she was
now falling back on the bulky Steiner, who was seated next to her. So much the
worse! It was all on account of that Muffat, who had refused what was offered
him. Sitting there in her white foulard dress, which was as light and full of
folds as a shift, sitting there with drooped eyelids and cheeks pale with the
touch of intoxication from which she was suffering, she offered herself to him
with that quiet expression which is peculiar to a good-natured courtesan. The
roses in her hair and at her throat had lost their leaves, and their stalks
alone remained. Presently Steiner withdrew his hand quickly from the folds of
her skirt, where he had come in contact with the pins that Georges had stuck
there. Some drops of blood appeared on his fingers, and one fell on
Nana&rsquo;s dress and stained it.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now the bargain&rsquo;s struck,&rdquo; said Nana gravely.
</p>

<p>
The day was breaking apace. An uncertain glimmer of light, fraught with a
poignant melancholy, came stealing through the windows. And with that the
guests began to take their departure. It was a most sour and uncomfortable
retreat. Caroline Hequet, annoyed at the loss of her night, announced that it
was high time to be off unless you were anxious to assist at some pretty
scenes. Rose pouted as if her womanly character had been compromised. It was
always so with these girls; they didn&rsquo;t know how to behave and were
guilty of disgusting conduct when they made their first appearance in society!
And Mignon having cleaned Vandeuvres out completely, the family took their
departure. They did not trouble about Steiner but renewed their invitation for
tomorrow to Fauchery. Lucy thereupon refused the journalist&rsquo;s escort home
and sent him back shrilly to his &ldquo;strolling actress.&rdquo; At this Rose
turned round immediately and hissed out a &ldquo;Dirty sow&rdquo; by way of
answer. But Mignon, who in feminine quarrels was always paternal, for his
experience was a long one and rendered him superior to them, had already pushed
her out of the house, telling her at the same time to have done. Lucy came
downstairs in solitary state behind them. After which Gaga had to carry off La
Faloise, ill, sobbing like a child, calling after Clarisse, who had long since
gone off with her two gentlemen. Simonne, too, had vanished. Indeed, none
remained save Tatan, Léa and Maria, whom Labordette complaisantly took under
his charge.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, but I don&rsquo;t the least bit want to go to bed!&rdquo; said Nana.
&ldquo;One ought to find something to do.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She looked at the sky through the windowpanes. It was a livid sky, and sooty
clouds were scudding across it. It was six o&rsquo;clock in the morning. Over
the way, on the opposite side of the Boulevard Haussmann, the glistening roofs
of the still-slumbering houses were sharply outlined against the twilight sky
while along the deserted roadway a gang of street sweepers passed with a
clatter of wooden shoes. As she viewed Paris thus grimly awakening, she was
overcome by tender, girlish feelings, by a yearning for the country, for
idyllic scenes, for things soft and white.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now guess what you&rsquo;re to do,&rdquo; she said, coming back to
Steiner. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re going to take me to the Bois de Boulogne, and
we&rsquo;ll drink milk there.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She clapped her hands in childish glee. Without waiting for the banker&rsquo;s
reply&mdash;he naturally consented, though he was really rather bored and
inclined to think of other things&mdash;she ran off to throw a pelisse over her
shoulders. In the drawing room there was now no one with Steiner save the band
of young men. These had by this time dropped the very dregs of their glasses
into the piano and were talking of going, when one of their number ran in
triumphantly. He held in his hands a last remaining bottle, which he had
brought back with him from the pantry.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Wait a minute, wait a minute!&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;Here&rsquo;s a
bottle of chartreuse; that&rsquo;ll pick him up! And now, my young friends,
let&rsquo;s hook it. We&rsquo;re blooming idiots.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
In the dressing room Nana was compelled to wake up Zoé, who had dozed off on a
chair. The gas was still alight, and Zoé shivered as she helped her mistress on
with her hat and pelisse.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, it&rsquo;s over; I&rsquo;ve done what you wanted me to,&rdquo;
said Nana, speaking familiarly to the maid in a sudden burst of expansive
confidence and much relieved at the thought that she had at last made her
election. &ldquo;You were quite right; the banker&rsquo;s as good as
another.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The maid was cross, for she was still heavy with sleep. She grumbled something
to the effect that Madame ought to have come to a decision the first evening.
Then following her into the bedroom, she asked what she was going to do with
&ldquo;those two,&rdquo; meaning Bordenave, who was snoring away as usual, and
Georges, who had slipped in slyly, buried his head in a pillow and, finally
falling asleep there, was now breathing as lightly and regularly as a cherub.
Nana in reply told her that she was to let them sleep on. But seeing Daguenet
come into the room, she again grew tender. He had been watching her from the
kitchen and was looking very wretched.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come, my sweetie, be reasonable,&rdquo; she said, taking him in her arms
and kissing him with all sorts of little wheedling caresses.
&ldquo;Nothing&rsquo;s changed; you know that it&rsquo;s sweetie whom I always
adore! Eh, dear? I had to do it. Why, I swear to you we shall have even nicer
times now. Come tomorrow, and we&rsquo;ll arrange about hours. Now be quick,
kiss and hug me as you love me. Oh, tighter, tighter than that!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she escaped and rejoined Steiner, feeling happy and once more possessed
with the idea of drinking milk. In the empty room the Count de Vandeuvres was
left alone with the &ldquo;decorated&rdquo; man who had recited
&ldquo;Abraham&rsquo;s Sacrifice.&rdquo; Both seemed glued to the card table;
they had lost count of their whereabouts and never once noticed the broad light
of day without, while Blanche had made bold to put her feet up on a sofa in
order to try and get a little sleep.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, Blanche is with them!&rdquo; cried Nana. &ldquo;We are going to
drink milk, dear. Do come; you&rsquo;ll find Vandeuvres here when we
return.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Blanche got up lazily. This time the banker&rsquo;s fiery face grew white with
annoyance at the idea of having to take that big wench with him too. She was
certain to bore him. But the two women had already got him by the arms and were
reiterating:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;We want them to milk the cow before our eyes, you know.&rdquo;
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"></a> CHAPTER V</h2>

<p>
At the Variétés they were giving the thirty-fourth performance of the Blonde
Venus. The first act had just finished, and in the greenroom Simonne, dressed
as the little laundress, was standing in front of a console table, surmounted
by a looking glass and situated between the two corner doors which opened
obliquely on the end of the dressing-room passage. No one was with her, and she
was scrutinizing her face and rubbing her finger up and down below her eyes
with a view to putting the finishing touches to her make-up. The gas jets on
either side of the mirror flooded her with warm, crude light.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Has he arrived?&rdquo; asked Prullière, entering the room in his Alpine
admiral&rsquo;s costume, which was set off by a big sword, enormous top boots
and a vast tuft of plumes.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Who d&rsquo;you mean?&rdquo; said Simonne, taking no notice of him and
laughing into the mirror in order to see how her lips looked.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The prince.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know; I&rsquo;ve just come down. Oh, he&rsquo;s certainly
due here tonight; he comes every time!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Prullière had drawn near the hearth opposite the console table, where a coke
fire was blazing and two more gas jets were flaring brightly. He lifted his
eyes and looked at the clock and the barometer on his right hand and on his
left. They had gilded sphinxes by way of adornment in the style of the First
Empire. Then he stretched himself out in a huge armchair with ears, the green
velvet of which had been so worn by four generations of comedians that it
looked yellow in places, and there he stayed, with moveless limbs and vacant
eyes, in that weary and resigned attitude peculiar to actors who are used to
long waits before their turn for going on the stage.
</p>

<p>
Old Bosc, too, had just made his appearance. He came in dragging one foot
behind the other and coughing. He was wrapped in an old box coat, part of which
had slipped from his shoulder in such a way as to uncover the gold-laced cloak
of King Dagobert. He put his crown on the piano and for a moment or two stood
moodily stamping his feet. His hands were trembling slightly with the first
beginnings of alcoholism, but he looked a sterling old fellow for all that, and
a long white beard lent that fiery tippler&rsquo;s face of his a truly
venerable appearance. Then in the silence of the room, while the shower of hail
was whipping the panes of the great window that looked out on the courtyard, he
shook himself disgustedly.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What filthy weather!&rdquo; he growled.
</p>

<p>
Simonne and Prullière did not move. Four or five pictures&mdash;a landscape, a
portrait of the actor Vernet&mdash;hung yellowing in the hot glare of the gas,
and a bust of Potier, one of the bygone glories of the Variétés, stood gazing
vacant-eyed from its pedestal. But just then there was a burst of voices
outside. It was Fontan, dressed for the second act. He was a young dandy, and
his habiliments, even to his gloves, were entirely yellow.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now say you don&rsquo;t know!&rdquo; he shouted, gesticulating.
&ldquo;Today&rsquo;s my patron saint&rsquo;s day!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What?&rdquo; asked Simonne, coming up smilingly, as though attracted by
the huge nose and the vast, comic mouth of the man. &ldquo;D&rsquo;you answer
to the name of Achille?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Exactly so! And I&rsquo;m going to get &rsquo;em to tell Madame Bron to
send up champagne after the second act.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
For some seconds a bell had been ringing in the distance. The long-drawn sound
grew fainter, then louder, and when the bell ceased a shout ran up the stair
and down it till it was lost along the passages. &ldquo;All on the stage for
the second act! All on the stage for the second act!&rdquo; The sound drew
near, and a little pale-faced man passed by the greenroom doors, outside each
of which he yelled at the top of his shrill voice, &ldquo;On the stage for the
second act!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The deuce, it&rsquo;s champagne!&rdquo; said Prullière without appearing
to hear the din. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re prospering!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;If I were you I should have it in from the cafe,&rdquo; old Bosc slowly
announced. He was sitting on a bench covered with green velvet, with his head
against the wall.
</p>

<p>
But Simonne said that it was one&rsquo;s duty to consider Mme Bron&rsquo;s
small perquisites. She clapped her hands excitedly and devoured Fontan with her
gaze while his long goatlike visage kept up a continuous twitching of eyes and
nose and mouth.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, that Fontan!&rdquo; she murmured. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s no one like
him, no one like him!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The two greenroom doors stood wide open to the corridor leading to the wings.
And along the yellow wall, which was brightly lit up by a gas lamp out of view,
passed a string of rapidly moving shadows&mdash;men in costume, women with
shawls over their scant attire, in a word, the whole of the characters in the
second act, who would shortly make their appearance as masqeuraders in the ball
at the Boule Noire. And at the end of the corridor became audible a shuffling
of feet as these people clattered down the five wooden steps which led to the
stage. As the big Clarisse went running by Simonne called to her, but she said
she would be back directly. And, indeed, she reappeared almost at once,
shivering in the thin tunic and scarf which she wore as Iris.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;God bless me!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t warm, and
I&rsquo;ve left my furs in my dressing room!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then as she stood toasting her legs in their warm rose-colored tights in front
of the fireplace she resumed:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The prince has arrived.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; cried the rest with the utmost curiosity.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, that&rsquo;s why I ran down: I wanted to see. He&rsquo;s in the
first stage box to the right, the same he was in on Thursday. It&rsquo;s the
third time he&rsquo;s been this week, eh? That&rsquo;s Nana; well, she&rsquo;s
in luck&rsquo;s way! I was willing to wager he wouldn&rsquo;t come
again.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Simonne opened her lips to speak, but her remarks were drowned by a fresh shout
which arose close to the greenroom. In the passage the callboy was yelling at
the top of his shrill voice, &ldquo;They&rsquo;ve knocked!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Three times!&rdquo; said Simonne when she was again able to speak.
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s getting exciting. You know, he won&rsquo;t go to her place;
he takes her to his. And it seems that he has to pay for it too!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Egad! It&rsquo;s a case of when one &lsquo;has to go out,&rsquo;&rdquo;
muttered Prullière wickedly, and he got up to have a last look at the mirror as
became a handsome fellow whom the boxes adored.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;They&rsquo;ve knocked! They&rsquo;ve knocked!&rdquo; the callboy kept
repeating in tones that died gradually away in the distance as he passed
through the various stories and corridors.
</p>

<p>
Fontan thereupon, knowing how it had all gone off on the first occasion the
prince and Nana met, told the two women the whole story while they in their
turn crowded against him and laughed at the tops of their voices whenever he
stooped to whisper certain details in their ears. Old Bosc had never budged an
inch&mdash;he was totally indifferent. That sort of thing no longer interested
him now. He was stroking a great tortoise-shell cat which was lying curled up
on the bench. He did so quite beautifully and ended by taking her in his arms
with the tender good nature becoming a worn-out monarch. The cat arched its
back and then, after a prolonged sniff at the big white beard, the gluey odor
of which doubtless disgusted her, she turned and, curling herself up, went to
sleep again on the bench beside him. Bosc remained grave and absorbed.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;That&rsquo;s all right, but if I were you I should drink the champagne
at the restaurant&mdash;its better there,&rdquo; he said, suddenly addressing
Fontan when he had finished his recital.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The curtain&rsquo;s up!&rdquo; cried the callboy in cracked and
long-drawn accents &ldquo;The curtain&rsquo;s up! The curtain&rsquo;s
up!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The shout sounded for some moments, during which there had been a noise of
rapid footsteps. Through the suddenly opened door of the passage came a burst
of music and a far-off murmur of voices, and then the door shut to again and
you could hear its dull thud as it wedged itself into position once more.
</p>

<p>
A heavy, peaceful, atmosphere again pervaded the greenroom, as though the place
were situated a hundred leagues from the house where crowds were applauding.
Simonne and Clarisse were still on the topic of Nana. There was a girl who
never hurried herself! Why, yesterday she had again come on too late! But there
was a silence, for a tall damsel had just craned her head in at the door and,
seeing that she had made a mistake, had departed to the other end of the
passage. It was Satin. Wearing a hat and a small veil for the nonce she was
affecting the manner of a lady about to pay a call.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;A pretty trollop!&rdquo; muttered Prullière, who had been coming across
her for a year past at the Café des Variétés. And at this Simonne told them how
Nana had recognized in Satin an old schoolmate, had taken a vast fancy to her
and was now plaguing Bordenave to let her make a first appearance on the stage.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;How d&rsquo;ye do?&rdquo; said Fontan, shaking hands with Mignon and
Fauchery, who now came into the room.
</p>

<p>
Old Bosc himself gave them the tips of his fingers while the two women kissed
Mignon.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;A good house this evening?&rdquo; queried Fauchery.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, a splendid one!&rdquo; replied Prullière. &ldquo;You should see
&rsquo;em gaping.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I say, my little dears,&rdquo; remarked Mignon, &ldquo;it must be your
turn!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Oh, all in good time! They were only at the fourth scene as yet, but Bosc got
up in obedience to instinct, as became a rattling old actor who felt that his
cue was coming. At that very moment the callboy was opening the door.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Monsieur Bosc!&rdquo; he called. &ldquo;Mademoiselle Simonne!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Simonne flung a fur-lined pelisse briskly over her shoulders and went out.
Bosc, without hurrying at all, went and got his crown, which he settled on his
brow with a rap. Then dragging himself unsteadily along in his greatcoat, he
took his departure, grumbling and looking as annoyed as a man who has been
rudely disturbed.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You were very amiable in your last notice,&rdquo; continued Fontan,
addressing Fauchery. &ldquo;Only why do you say that comedians are vain?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, my little man, why d&rsquo;you say that?&rdquo; shouted Mignon,
bringing down his huge hands on the journalist&rsquo;s slender shoulders with
such force as almost to double him up.
</p>

<p>
Prullière and Clarisse refrained from laughing aloud. For some time past the
whole company had been deriving amusement from a comedy which was going on in
the wings. Mignon, rendered frantic by his wife&rsquo;s caprice and annoyed at
the thought that this man Fauchery brought nothing but a certain doubtful
notoriety to his household, had conceived the idea of revenging himself on the
journalist by overwhelming him with tokens of friendship. Every evening,
therefore, when he met him behind scenes he would shower friendly slaps on his
back and shoulders, as though fairly carried away by an outburst of tenderness,
and Fauchery, who was a frail, small man in comparison with such a giant, was
fain to take the raps with a strained smile in order not to quarrel with
Rose&rsquo;s husband.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Aha, my buck, you&rsquo;ve insulted Fontan,&rdquo; resumed Mignon, who
was doing his best to force the joke. &ldquo;Stand on guard!
One&mdash;two&mdash;got him right in the middle of his chest!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He lunged and struck the young man with such force that the latter grew very
pale and could not speak for some seconds. With a wink Clarisse showed the
others where Rose Mignon was standing on the threshold of the greenroom. Rose
had witnessed the scene, and she marched straight up to the journalist, as
though she had failed to notice her husband and, standing on tiptoe, bare-armed
and in baby costume, she held her face up to him with a caressing, infantine
pout.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Good evening, baby,&rdquo; said Fauchery, kissing her familiarly.
</p>

<p>
Thus he indemnified himself. Mignon, however, did not seem to have observed
this kiss, for everybody kissed his wife at the theater. But he laughed and
gave the journalist a keen little look. The latter would assurely have to pay
for Rose&rsquo;s bravado.
</p>

<p>
In the passage the tightly shutting door opened and closed again, and a tempest
of applause was blown as far as the greenroom. Simonne came in after her scene.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, Father Bosc HAS just scored!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;The prince was
writhing with laughter and applauded with the rest as though he had been paid
to. I say, do you know the big man sitting beside the prince in the stage box?
A handsome man, with a very sedate expression and splendid whiskers!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s Count Muffat,&rdquo; replied Fauchery. &ldquo;I know that the
prince, when he was at the empress&rsquo;s the day before yesterday, invited
him to dinner for tonight. He&rsquo;ll have corrupted him afterward!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;So that&rsquo;s Count Muffat! We know his father-in-law, eh,
Auguste?&rdquo; said Rose, addressing her remark to Mignon. &ldquo;You know the
Marquis de Chouard, at whose place I went to sing? Well, he&rsquo;s in the
house too. I noticed him at the back of a box. There&rsquo;s an old boy for
you!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Prullière, who had just put on his huge plume of feathers, turned round and
called her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Hi, Rose! Let&rsquo;s go now!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She ran after him, leaving her sentence unfinished. At that moment Mme Bron,
the portress of the theater, passed by the door with an immense bouquet in her
arms. Simonne asked cheerfully if it was for her, but the porter woman did not
vouchsafe an answer and only pointed her chin toward Nana&rsquo;s dressing room
at the end of the passage. Oh, that Nana! They were loading her with flowers!
Then when Mme Bron returned she handed a letter to Clarisse, who allowed a
smothered oath to escape her. That beggar La Faloise again! There was a fellow
who wouldn&rsquo;t let her alone! And when she learned the gentleman in
question was waiting for her at the porter&rsquo;s lodge she shrieked:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Tell him I&rsquo;m coming down after this act. I&rsquo;m going to catch
him one on the face.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Fontan had rushed forward, shouting:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Madame Bron, just listen. Please listen, Madame Bron. I want you to send
up six bottles of champagne between the acts.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But the callboy had again made his appearance. He was out of breath, and in a
singsong voice he called out:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;All to go on the stage! It&rsquo;s your turn, Monsieur Fontan. Make
haste, make haste!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, yes, I&rsquo;m going, Father Barillot,&rdquo; replied Fontan in a
flurry.
</p>

<p>
And he ran after Mme Bron and continued:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You understand, eh? Six bottles of champagne in the greenroom between
the acts. It&rsquo;s my patron saint&rsquo;s day, and I&rsquo;m standing the
racket.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Simonne and Clarisse had gone off with a great rustling of skirts. Everybody
was swallowed up in the distance, and when the passage door had banged with its
usual hollow sound a fresh hail shower was heard beating against the windows in
the now-silent greenroom. Barillot, a small, pale-faced ancient, who for thirty
years had been a servant in the theater, had advanced familiarly toward Mignon
and had presented his open snuffbox to him. This proffer of a pinch and its
acceptance allowed him a minute&rsquo;s rest in his interminable career up and
down stairs and along the dressing-room passage. He certainly had still to look
up Mme Nana, as he called her, but she was one of those who followed her own
sweet will and didn&rsquo;t care a pin for penalties. Why, if she chose to be
too late she was too late! But he stopped short and murmured in great surprise:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, I never! She&rsquo;s ready; here she is! She must know that the
prince is here.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Indeed, Nana appeared in the corridor. She was dressed as a fish hag: her arms
and face were plastered with white paint, and she had a couple of red dabs
under her eyes. Without entering the greenroom she contented herself by nodding
to Mignon and Fauchery.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;How do? You&rsquo;re all right?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Only Mignon shook her outstretched hand, and she hied royally on her way,
followed by her dresser, who almost trod on her heels while stooping to adjust
the folds of her skirt. In the rear of the dresser came Satin, closing the
procession and trying to look quite the lady, though she was already bored to
death.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And Steiner?&rdquo; asked Mignon sharply.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Monsieur Steiner has gone away to the Loiret,&rdquo; said Barillot,
preparing to return to the neighborhood of the stage. &ldquo;I expect
he&rsquo;s gone to buy a country place in those parts.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah yes, I know, Nana&rsquo;s country place.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Mignon had grown suddenly serious. Oh, that Steiner! He had promised Rose a
fine house in the old days! Well, well, it wouldn&rsquo;t do to grow angry with
anybody. Here was a position that would have to be won again. From fireplace to
console table Mignon paced, sunk in thought yet still unconquered by
circumstances. There was no one in the greenroom now save Fauchery and himself.
The journalist was tired and had flung himself back into the recesses of the
big armchair. There he stayed with half-closed eyes and as quiet as quiet could
be, while the other glanced down at him as he passed. When they were alone
Mignon scorned to slap him at every turn. What good would it have done, since
nobody would have enjoyed the spectacle? He was far too disinterested to be
personally entertained by the farcical scenes in which he figured as a
bantering husband. Glad of this short-lived respite, Fauchery stretched his
feet out languidly toward the fire and let his upturned eyes wander from the
barometer to the clock. In the course of his march Mignon planted himself in
front of Potier&rsquo;s bust, looked at it without seeming to see it and then
turned back to the window, outside which yawned the darkling gulf of the
courtyard. The rain had ceased, and there was now a deep silence in the room,
which the fierce heat of the coke fire and the flare of the gas jets rendered
still more oppressive. Not a sound came from the wings: the staircase and the
passages were deadly still.
</p>

<p>
That choking sensation of quiet, which behind the scenes immediately precedes
the end of an act, had begun to pervade the empty greenroom. Indeed, the place
seemed to be drowsing off through very breathlessness amid that faint murmur
which the stage gives forth when the whole troupe are raising the deafening
uproar of some grand finale.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, the cows!&rdquo; Bordenave suddenly shouted in his hoarse voice.
</p>

<p>
He had only just come up, and he was already howling complaints about two
chorus girls who had nearly fallen flat on the stage because they were playing
the fool together. When his eye lit on Mignon and Fauchery he called them; he
wanted to show them something. The prince had just notified a desire to
compliment Nana in her dressing room during the next interval. But as he was
leading them into the wings the stage manager passed.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Just you find those hags Fernande and Maria!&rdquo; cried Bordenave
savagely.
</p>

<p>
Then calming down and endeavoring to assume the dignified expression worn by
&ldquo;heavy fathers,&rdquo; he wiped his face with his pocket handkerchief and
added:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I am now going to receive His Highness.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The curtain fell amid a long-drawn salvo of applause. Then across the twilight
stage, which was no longer lit up by the footlights, there followed a
disorderly retreat. Actors and supers and chorus made haste to get back to
their dressing rooms while the sceneshifters rapidly changed the scenery.
Simonne and Clarisse, however, had remained &ldquo;at the top,&rdquo; talking
together in whispers. On the stage, in an interval between their lines, they
had just settled a little matter. Clarisse, after viewing the thing in every
light, found she preferred not to see La Faloise, who could never decide to
leave her for Gaga, and so Simonne was simply to go and explain that a woman
ought not to be palled up to in that fashion! At last she agreed to undertake
the mission.
</p>

<p>
Then Simonne, in her theatrical laundress&rsquo;s attire but with furs over her
shoulders, ran down the greasy steps of the narrow, winding stairs which led
between damp walls to the porter&rsquo;s lodge. This lodge, situated between
the actors&rsquo; staircase and that of the management, was shut in to right
and left by large glass partitions and resembled a huge transparent lantern in
which two gas jets were flaring.
</p>

<p>
There was a set of pigeonholes in the place in which were piled letters and
newspapers, while on the table various bouquets lay awaiting their recipients
in close proximity to neglected heaps of dirty plates and to an old pair of
stays, the eyelets of which the portress was busy mending. And in the middle of
this untidy, ill-kept storeroom sat four fashionable, white-gloved society men.
They occupied as many ancient straw-bottomed chairs and, with an expression at
once patient and submissive, kept sharply turning their heads in Mme
Bron&rsquo;s direction every time she came down from the theater overhead, for
on such occasions she was the bearer of replies. Indeed, she had but now handed
a note to a young man who had hurried out to open it beneath the gaslight in
the vestibule, where he had grown slightly pale on reading the classic
phrase&mdash;how often had others read it in that very
place!&mdash;&ldquo;Impossible tonight, my dearie! I&rsquo;m booked!&rdquo; La
Faloise sat on one of these chairs at the back of the room, between the table
and the stove. He seemed bent on passing the evening there, and yet he was not
quite happy. Indeed, he kept tucking up his long legs in his endeavors to
escape from a whole litter of black kittens who were gamboling wildly round
them while the mother cat sat bolt upright, staring at him with yellow eyes.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, it&rsquo;s you, Mademoiselle Simonne! What can I do for you?&rdquo;
asked the portress.
</p>

<p>
Simonne begged her to send La Faloise out to her. But Mme Bron was unable to
comply with her wishes all at once. Under the stairs in a sort of deep cupboard
she kept a little bar, whither the supers were wont to descend for drinks
between the acts, and seeing that just at that moment there were five or six
tall lubbers there who, still dressed as Boule Noire masqueraders, were dying
of thirst and in a great hurry, she lost her head a bit. A gas jet was flaring
in the cupboard, within which it was possible to descry a tin-covered table and
some shelves garnished with half-emptied bottles. Whenever the door of this
coalhole was opened a violent whiff of alcohol mingled with the scent of stale
cooking in the lodge, as well as with the penetrating scent of the flowers upon
the table.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well now,&rdquo; continued the portress when she had served the supers,
&ldquo;is it the little dark chap out there you want?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, no; don&rsquo;t be silly!&rdquo; said Simonne. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s the
lanky one by the side of the stove. Your cat&rsquo;s sniffing at his trouser
legs!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with that she carried La Faloise off into the lobby, while the other
gentlemen once more resigned themselves to their fate and to semisuffocation
and the masqueraders drank on the stairs and indulged in rough horseplay and
guttural drunken jests.
</p>

<p>
On the stage above Bordenave was wild with the sceneshifters, who seemed never
to have done changing scenes. They appeared to be acting of set
purpose&mdash;the prince would certainly have some set piece or other tumbling
on his head.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Up with it! Up with it!&rdquo; shouted the foreman.
</p>

<p>
At length the canvas at the back of the stage was raised into position, and the
stage was clear. Mignon, who had kept his eye on Fauchery, seized this
opportunity in order to start his pummeling matches again. He hugged him in his
long arms and cried:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, take care! That mast just missed crushing you!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And he carried him off and shook him before setting him down again. In view of
the sceneshifters&rsquo; exaggerated mirth, Fauchery grew white. His lips
trembled, and he was ready to flare up in anger while Mignon, shamming good
nature, was clapping him on the shoulder with such affectionate violence as
nearly to pulverize him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I value your health, I do!&rdquo; he kept repeating. &ldquo;Egad! I
should be in a pretty pickle if anything serious happened to you!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But just then a whisper ran through their midst: &ldquo;The prince! The
prince!&rdquo; And everybody turned and looked at the little door which opened
out of the main body of the house. At first nothing was visible save
Bordenave&rsquo;s round back and beefy neck, which bobbed down and arched up in
a series of obsequious obeisances. Then the prince made his appearance. Largely
and strongly built, light of beard and rosy of hue, he was not lacking in the
kind of distinction peculiar to a sturdy man of pleasure, the square contours
of whose limbs are clearly defined by the irreproachable cut of a frock coat.
Behind him walked Count Muffat and the Marquis de Chouard, but this particular
corner of the theater being dark, the group were lost to view amid huge moving
shadows.
</p>

<p>
In order fittingly to address the son of a queen, who would someday occupy a
throne, Bordenave had assumed the tone of a man exhibiting a bear in the
street. In a voice tremulous with false emotion he kept repeating:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;If His Highness will have the goodness to follow me&mdash;would His
Highness deign to come this way? His Highness will take care!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The prince did not hurry in the least. On the contrary, he was greatly
interested and kept pausing in order to look at the sceneshifters&rsquo;
maneuvers. A batten had just been lowered, and the group of gaslights high up
among its iron crossbars illuminated the stage with a wide beam of light.
Muffat, who had never yet been behind scenes at a theater, was even more
astonished than the rest. An uneasy feeling of mingled fear and vague
repugnance took possession of him. He looked up into the heights above him,
where more battens, the gas jets on which were burning low, gleamed like
galaxies of little bluish stars amid a chaos of iron rods, connecting lines of
all sizes, hanging stages and canvases spread out in space, like huge cloths
hung out to dry.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Lower away!&rdquo; shouted the foreman unexpectedly.
</p>

<p>
And the prince himself had to warn the count, for a canvas was descending. They
were setting the scenery for the third act, which was the grotto on Mount Etna.
Men were busy planting masts in the sockets, while others went and took frames
which were leaning against the walls of the stage and proceeded to lash them
with strong cords to the poles already in position. At the back of the stage,
with a view to producing the bright rays thrown by Vulcan&rsquo;s glowing
forge, a stand had been fixed by a limelight man, who was now lighting various
burners under red glasses. The scene was one of confusion, verging to all
appearances on absolute chaos, but every little move had been prearranged. Nay,
amid all the scurry the whistle blower even took a few turns, stepping short as
he did so, in order to rest his legs.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;His Highness overwhelms me,&rdquo; said Bordenave, still bowing low.
&ldquo;The theater is not large, but we do what we can. Now if His Highness
deigns to follow me&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Count Muffat was already making for the dressing-room passage. The really sharp
downward slope of the stage had surprised him disagreeably, and he owed no
small part of his present anxiety to a feeling that its boards were moving
under his feet. Through the open sockets gas was descried burning in the
&ldquo;dock.&rdquo; Human voices and blasts of air, as from a vault, came up
thence, and, looking down into the depths of gloom, one became aware of a whole
subterranean existence. But just as the count was going up the stage a small
incident occurred to stop him. Two little women, dressed for the third act,
were chatting by the peephole in the curtain. One of them, straining forward
and widening the hole with her fingers in order the better to observe things,
was scanning the house beyond.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I see him,&rdquo; said she sharply. &ldquo;Oh, what a mug!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Horrified, Bordenave had much ado not to give her a kick. But the prince smiled
and looked pleased and excited by the remark. He gazed warmly at the little
woman who did not care a button for His Highness, and she, on her part, laughed
unblushingly. Bordenave, however, persuaded the prince to follow him. Muffat
was beginning to perspire; he had taken his hat off. What inconvenienced him
most was the stuffy, dense, overheated air of the place with its strong,
haunting smell, a smell peculiar to this part of a theater, and, as such,
compact of the reek of gas, of the glue used in the manufacture of the scenery,
of dirty dark nooks and corners and of questionably clean chorus girls. In the
passage the air was still more suffocating, and one seemed to breathe a
poisoned atmosphere, which was occasionally relieved by the acid scents of
toilet waters and the perfumes of various soaps emanating from the dressing
rooms. The count lifted his eyes as he passed and glanced up the staircase, for
he was well-nigh startled by the keen flood of light and warmth which flowed
down upon his back and shoulders. High up above him there was a clicking of
ewers and basins, a sound of laughter and of people calling to one another, a
banging of doors, which in their continual opening and shutting allowed an odor
of womankind to escape&mdash;a musky scent of oils and essences mingling with
the natural pungency exhaled from human tresses. He did not stop. Nay, he
hastened his walk: he almost ran, his skin tingling with the breath of that
fiery approach to a world he knew nothing of.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;A theater&rsquo;s a curious sight, eh?&rdquo; said the Marquis de
Chouard with the enchanted expression of a man who once more finds himself amid
familiar surroundings.
</p>

<p>
But Bordenave had at length reached Nana&rsquo;s dressing room at the end of
the passage. He quietly turned the door handle; then, cringing again:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;If His Highness will have the goodness to enter&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They heard the cry of a startled woman and caught sight of Nana as, stripped to
the waist, she slipped behind a curtain while her dresser, who had been in the
act of drying her, stood, towel in air, before them.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, it IS silly to come in that way!&rdquo; cried Nana from her hiding
place. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t come in; you see you mustn&rsquo;t come in!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Bordenave did not seem to relish this sudden flight.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do stay where you were, my dear. Why, it doesn&rsquo;t matter,&rdquo; he
said. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s His Highness. Come, come, don&rsquo;t be
childish.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And when she still refused to make her appearance&mdash;for she was startled as
yet, though she had begun to laugh&mdash;he added in peevish, paternal tones:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Good heavens, these gentlemen know perfectly well what a woman looks
like. They won&rsquo;t eat you.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not so sure of that,&rdquo; said the prince wittily.
</p>

<p>
With that the whole company began laughing in an exaggerated manner in order to
pay him proper court.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;An exquisitely witty speech&mdash;an altogether Parisian speech,&rdquo;
as Bordenave remarked.
</p>

<p>
Nana vouchsafed no further reply, but the curtain began moving. Doubtless she
was making up her mind. Then Count Muffat, with glowing cheeks, began to take
stock of the dressing room. It was a square room with a very low ceiling, and
it was entirely hung with a light-colored Havana stuff. A curtain of the same
material depended from a copper rod and formed a sort of recess at the end of
the room, while two large windows opened on the courtyard of the theater and
were faced, at a distance of three yards at most, by a leprous-looking wall
against which the panes cast squares of yellow light amid the surrounding
darkness. A large dressing glass faced a white marble toilet table, which was
garnished with a disorderly array of flasks and glass boxes containing oils,
essences and powders. The count went up to the dressing glass and discovered
that he was looking very flushed and had small drops of perspiration on his
forehead. He dropped his eyes and came and took up a position in front of the
toilet table, where the basin, full of soapy water, the small, scattered, ivory
toilet utensils and the damp sponges, appeared for some moments to absorb his
attention. The feeling of dizziness which he had experienced when he first
visited Nana in the Boulevard Haussmann once more overcame him. He felt the
thick carpet soften under foot, and the gasjets burning by the dressing table
and by the glass seemed to shoot whistling flames about his temples. For one
moment, being afraid of fainting away under the influence of those feminine
odors which he now re-encountered, intensified by the heat under the
low-pitched ceiling, he sat down on the edge of a softly padded divan between
the two windows. But he got up again almost directly and, returning to the
dressing table, seemed to gaze with vacant eyes into space, for he was thinking
of a bouquet of tuberoses which had once faded in his bedroom and had nearly
killed him in their death. When tuberoses are turning brown they have a human
smell.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Make haste!&rdquo; Bordenave whispered, putting his head in behind the
curtain.
</p>

<p>
The prince, however, was listening complaisantly to the Marquis de Chouard, who
had taken up a hare&rsquo;s-foot on the dressing table and had begun explaining
the way grease paint is put on. In a corner of the room Satin, with her pure,
virginal face, was scanning the gentlemen keenly, while the dresser, Mme Jules
by name, was getting ready Venus&rsquo; tights and tunic. Mme Jules was a woman
of no age. She had the parchment skin and changeless features peculiar to old
maids whom no one ever knew in their younger years. She had indeed shriveled up
in the burning atmosphere of the dressing rooms and amid the most famous thighs
and bosoms in all Paris. She wore everlastingly a faded black dress, and on her
flat and sexless chest a perfect forest of pins clustered above the spot where
her heart should have been.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I beg your pardon, gentlemen,&rdquo; said Nana, drawing aside the
curtain, &ldquo;but you took me by surprise.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They all turned round. She had not clothed herself at all, had, in fact, only
buttoned on a little pair of linen stays which half revealed her bosom. When
the gentlemen had put her to flight she had scarcely begun undressing and was
rapidly taking off her fishwife&rsquo;s costume. Through the opening in her
drawers behind a corner of her shift was even now visible. There she stood,
bare-armed, bare-shouldered, bare-breasted, in all the adorable glory of her
youth and plump, fair beauty, but she still held the curtain with one hand, as
though ready to draw it to again upon the slightest provocation.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, you took me by surprise! I never shall dare&mdash;&rdquo; she
stammered in pretty, mock confusion, while rosy blushes crossed her neck and
shoulders and smiles of embarrassment played about her lips.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, don&rsquo;t apologize,&rdquo; cried Bordenave, &ldquo;since these
gentlemen approve of your good looks!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But she still tried the hesitating, innocent, girlish game, and, shivering as
though someone were tickling her, she continued:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;His Highness does me too great an honor. I beg His Highness will excuse
my receiving him thus&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It is I who am importunate,&rdquo; said the prince, &ldquo;but, madame,
I could not resist the desire of complimenting you.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Thereupon, in order to reach her dressing table, she walked very quietly and
just as she was through the midst of the gentlemen, who made way for her to
pass.
</p>

<p>
She had strongly marked hips, which filled her drawers out roundly, while with
swelling bosom she still continued bowing and smiling her delicate little
smile. Suddenly she seemed to recognize Count Muffat, and she extended her hand
to him as an old friend. Then she scolded him for not having come to her supper
party. His Highness deigned to chaff Muffat about this, and the latter
stammered and thrilled again at the thought that for one second he had held in
his own feverish clasp a little fresh and perfumed hand. The count had dined
excellently at the prince&rsquo;s, who, indeed, was a heroic eater and drinker.
Both of them were even a little intoxicated, but they behaved very creditably.
To hide the commotion within him Muffat could only remark about the heat.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Good heavens, how hot it is here!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;How do you
manage to live in such a temperature, madame?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And conversation was about to ensue on this topic when noisy voices were heard
at the dressing-room door. Bordenave drew back the slide over a grated peephole
of the kind used in convents. Fontan was outside with Prullière and Bosc, and
all three had bottles under their arms and their hands full of glasses. He
began knocking and shouting out that it was his patron saint&rsquo;s day and
that he was standing champagne round. Nana consulted the prince with a glance.
Eh! Oh dear, yes! His Highness did not want to be in anyone&rsquo;s way; he
would be only too happy! But without waiting for permission Fontan came in,
repeating in baby accents:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Me not a cad, me pay for champagne!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then all of a sudden he became aware of the prince&rsquo;s presence of which he
had been totally ignorant. He stopped short and, assuming an air of farcical
solemnity, announced:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;King Dagobert is in the corridor and is desirous of drinking the health
of His Royal Highness.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The prince having made answer with a smile, Fontan&rsquo;s sally was voted
charming. But the dressing room was too small to accommodate everybody, and it
became necessary to crowd up anyhow, Satin and Mme Jules standing back against
the curtain at the end and the men clustering closely round the half-naked
Nana. The three actors still had on the costumes they had been wearing in the
second act, and while Prullière took off his Alpine admiral&rsquo;s cocked hat,
the huge plume of which would have knocked the ceiling, Bosc, in his purple
cloak and tinware crown, steadied himself on his tipsy old legs and greeted the
prince as became a monarch receiving the son of a powerful neighbor. The
glasses were filled, and the company began clinking them together.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I drink to Your Highness!&rdquo; said ancient Bosc royally.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;To the army!&rdquo; added Prullière.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;To Venus!&rdquo; cried Fontan.
</p>

<p>
The prince complaisantly poised his glass, waited quietly, bowed thrice and
murmured:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Madame! Admiral! Your Majesty!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then he drank it off. Count Muffat and the Marquis de Chouard had followed his
example. There was no more jesting now&mdash;the company were at court. Actual
life was prolonged in the life of the theater, and a sort of solemn farce was
enacted under the hot flare of the gas. Nana, quite forgetting that she was in
her drawers and that a corner of her shift stuck out behind, became the great
lady, the queen of love, in act to open her most private palace chambers to
state dignitaries. In every sentence she used the words &ldquo;Royal
Highness&rdquo; and, bowing with the utmost conviction, treated the
masqueraders, Bosc and Prullière, as if the one were a sovereign and the other
his attendant minister. And no one dreamed of smiling at this strange contrast,
this real prince, this heir to a throne, drinking a petty actor&rsquo;s
champagne and taking his ease amid a carnival of gods, a masquerade of royalty,
in the society of dressers and courtesans, shabby players and showmen of venal
beauty. Bordenave was simply ravished by the dramatic aspects of the scene and
began dreaming of the receipts which would have accrued had His Highness only
consented thus to appear in the second act of the Blonde Venus.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I say, shall we have our little women down?&rdquo; he cried, becoming
familiar.
</p>

<p>
Nana would not hear of it. But notwithstanding this, she was giving way
herself. Fontan attracted her with his comic make-up. She brushed against him
and, eying him as a woman in the family way might do when she fancies some
unpleasant kind of food, she suddenly became extremely familiar:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now then, fill up again, ye great brute!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Fontan charged the glasses afresh, and the company drank, repeating the same
toasts.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;To His Highness!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;To the army!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;To Venus!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But with that Nana made a sign and obtained silence. She raised her glass and
cried:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, no! To Fontan! It&rsquo;s Fontan&rsquo;s day; to Fontan! To
Fontan!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then they clinked glasses a third time and drank Fontan with all the honors.
The prince, who had noticed the young woman devouring the actor with her eyes,
saluted him with a &ldquo;Monsieur Fontan, I drink to your success!&rdquo; This
he said with his customary courtesy.
</p>

<p>
But meanwhile the tail of his highness&rsquo;s frock coat was sweeping the
marble of the dressing table. The place, indeed, was like an alcove or narrow
bathroom, full as it was of the steam of hot water and sponges and of the
strong scent of essences which mingled with the tartish, intoxicating fumes of
the champagne. The prince and Count Muffat, between whom Nana was wedged, had
to lift up their hands so as not to brush against her hips or her breast with
every little movement. And there stood Mme Jules, waiting, cool and rigid as
ever, while Satin, marveling in the depths of her vicious soul to see a prince
and two gentlemen in black coats going after a naked woman in the society of
dressed-up actors, secretly concluded that fashionable people were not so very
particular after all.
</p>

<p>
But Father Barillot&rsquo;s tinkling bell approached along the passage. At the
door of the dressing room he stood amazed when he caught sight of the three
actors still clad in the costumes which they had worn in the second act.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Gentlemen, gentlemen,&rdquo; he stammered, &ldquo;do please make haste.
They&rsquo;ve just rung the bell in the public foyer.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Bah, the public will have to wait!&rdquo; said Bordenave placidly.
</p>

<p>
However, as the bottles were now empty, the comedians went upstairs to dress
after yet another interchange of civilities. Bosc, having dipped his beard in
the champagne, had taken it off, and under his venerable disguise the drunkard
had suddenly reappeared. His was the haggard, empurpled face of the old actor
who has taken to drink. At the foot of the stairs he was heard remarking to
Fontan in his boozy voice:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I pulverized him, eh?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He was alluding to the prince.
</p>

<p>
In Nana&rsquo;s dressing room none now remained save His Highness, the count
and the marquis. Bordenave had withdrawn with Barillot, whom he advised not to
knock without first letting Madame know.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You will excuse me, gentlemen?&rdquo; asked Nana, again setting to work
to make up her arms and face, of which she was now particularly careful, owing
to her nude appearance in the third act.
</p>

<p>
The prince seated himself by the Marquis de Chouard on the divan, and Count
Muffat alone remained standing. In that suffocating heat the two glasses of
champagne they had drunk had increased their intoxication. Satin, when she saw
the gentlemen thus closeting themselves with her friend, had deemed it discreet
to vanish behind the curtain, where she sat waiting on a trunk, much annoyed at
being compelled to remain motionless, while Mme Jules came and went quietly
without word or look.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You sang your numbers marvelously,&rdquo; said the prince.
</p>

<p>
And with that they began a conversation, but their sentences were short and
their pauses frequent. Nana, indeed, was not always able to reply. After
rubbing cold cream over her arms and face with the palm of her hand she laid on
the grease paint with the corner of a towel. For one second only she ceased
looking in the glass and smilingly stole a glance at the prince.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;His Highness is spoiling me,&rdquo; she murmured without putting down
the grease paint.
</p>

<p>
Her task was a complicated one, and the Marquis de Chouard followed it with an
expression of devout enjoyment. He spoke in his turn.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Could not the band accompany you more softly?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It
drowns your voice, and that&rsquo;s an unpardonable crime.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
This time Nana did not turn round. She had taken up the hare&rsquo;s-foot and
was lightly manipulating it. All her attention was concentrated on this action,
and she bent forward over her toilet table so very far that the white round
contour of her drawers and the little patch of chemise stood out with the
unwonted tension. But she was anxious to prove that she appreciated the old
man&rsquo;s compliment and therefore made a little swinging movement with her
hips.
</p>

<p>
Silence reigned. Mme Jules had noticed a tear in the right leg of her drawers.
She took a pin from over her heart and for a second or so knelt on the ground,
busily at work about Nana&rsquo;s leg, while the young woman, without seeming
to notice her presence, applied the rice powder, taking extreme pains as she
did so, to avoid putting any on the upper part of her cheeks. But when the
prince remarked that if she were to come and sing in London all England would
want to applaud her, she laughed amiably and turned round for a moment with her
left cheek looking very white amid a perfect cloud of powder. Then she became
suddenly serious, for she had come to the operation of rouging. And with her
face once more close to the mirror, she dipped her finger in a jar and began
applying the rouge below her eyes and gently spreading it back toward her
temples. The gentlemen maintained a respectful silence.
</p>

<p>
Count Muffat, indeed, had not yet opened his lips. He was thinking perforce of
his own youth. The bedroom of his childish days had been quite cold, and later,
when he had reached the age of sixteen and would give his mother a good-night
kiss every evening, he used to carry the icy feeling of the embrace into the
world of dreams. One day in passing a half-open door he had caught sight of a
maidservant washing herself, and that was the solitary recollection which had
in any way troubled his peace of mind from the days of puberty till the time of
marriage. Afterward he had found his wife strictly obedient to her conjugal
duties but had himself felt a species of religious dislike to them. He had
grown to man&rsquo;s estate and was now aging, in ignorance of the flesh, in
the humble observance of rigid devotional practices and in obedience to a rule
of life full of precepts and moral laws. And now suddenly he was dropped down
in this actress&rsquo;s dressing room in the presence of this undraped
courtesan.
</p>

<p>
He, who had never seen the Countess Muffat putting on her garters, was
witnessing, amid that wild disarray of jars and basins and that strong, sweet
perfume, the intimate details of a woman&rsquo;s toilet. His whole being was in
turmoil; he was terrified by the stealthy, all-pervading influence which for
some time past Nana&rsquo;s presence had been exercising over him, and he
recalled to mind the pious accounts of diabolic possession which had amused his
early years. He was a believer in the devil, and, in a confused kind of way,
Nana was he, with her laughter and her bosom and her hips, which seemed swollen
with many vices. But he promised himself that he would be strong&mdash;nay, he
would know how to defend himself.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well then, it&rsquo;s agreed,&rdquo; said the prince, lounging quite
comfortably on the divan. &ldquo;You will come to London next year, and we
shall receive you so cordially that you will never return to France again. Ah,
my dear Count, you don&rsquo;t value your pretty women enough. We shall take
them all from you!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;That won&rsquo;t make much odds to him,&rdquo; murmured the Marquis de
Chouard wickedly, for he occasionally said a risky thing among friends.
&ldquo;The count is virtue itself.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Hearing his virtue mentioned, Nana looked at him so comically that Muffat felt
a keen twinge of annoyance. But directly afterward he was surprised and angry
with himself. Why, in the presence of this courtesan, should the idea of being
virtuous embarrass him? He could have struck her. But in attempting to take up
a brush Nana had just let it drop on the ground, and as she stooped to pick it
up he rushed forward. Their breath mingled for one moment, and the loosened
tresses of Venus flowed over his hands. But remorse mingled with his enjoyment,
a kind of enjoyment, moreover, peculiar to good Catholics, whom the fear of
hell torments in the midst of their sin.
</p>

<p>
At this moment Father Barillot&rsquo;s voice was heard outside the door.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;May I give the knocks, madame? The house is growing impatient.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;All in good time,&rdquo; answered Nana quietly.
</p>

<p>
She had dipped her paint brush in a pot of kohl, and with the point of her nose
close to the glass and her left eye closed she passed it delicately along
between her eyelashes. Muffat stood behind her, looking on. He saw her
reflection in the mirror, with her rounded shoulders and her bosom half hidden
by a rosy shadow. And despite all his endeavors he could not turn away his gaze
from that face so merry with dimples and so worn with desire, which the closed
eye rendered more seductive. When she shut her right eye and passed the brush
along it he understood that he belonged to her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;They are stamping their feet, madame,&rdquo; the callboy once more
cried. &ldquo;They&rsquo;ll end by smashing the seats. May I give the
knocks?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, bother!&rdquo; said Nana impatiently. &ldquo;Knock away; I
don&rsquo;t care! If I&rsquo;m not ready, well, they&rsquo;ll have to wait for
me!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She grew calm again and, turning to the gentlemen, added with a smile:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s true: we&rsquo;ve only got a minute left for our talk.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Her face and arms were now finished, and with her fingers she put two large
dabs of carmine on her lips. Count Muffat felt more excited than ever. He was
ravished by the perverse transformation wrought by powders and paints and
filled by a lawless yearning for those young painted charms, for the too-red
mouth and the too-white face and the exaggerated eyes, ringed round with black
and burning and dying for very love. Meanwhile Nana went behind the curtain for
a second or two in order to take off her drawers and slip on Venus&rsquo;
tights. After which, with tranquil immodesty, she came out and undid her little
linen stays and held out her arms to Mme Jules, who drew the short-sleeved
tunic over them.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Make haste; they&rsquo;re growing angry!&rdquo; she muttered.
</p>

<p>
The prince with half-closed eyes marked the swelling lines of her bosom with an
air of connoisseurship, while the Marquis de Chouard wagged his head
involuntarily. Muffat gazed at the carpet in order not to see any more. At
length Venus, with only her gauze veil over her shoulders, was ready to go on
the stage. Mme Jules, with vacant, unconcerned eyes and an expression
suggestive of a little elderly wooden doll, still kept circling round her. With
brisk movements she took pins out of the inexhaustible pincushion over her
heart and pinned up Venus&rsquo; tunic, but as she ran over all those plump
nude charms with her shriveled hands, nothing was suggested to her. She was as
one whom her sex does not concern.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;There!&rdquo; said the young woman, taking a final look at herself in
the mirror.
</p>

<p>
Bordenave was back again. He was anxious and said the third act had begun.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Very well! I&rsquo;m coming,&rdquo; replied Nana. &ldquo;Here&rsquo;s a
pretty fuss! Why, it&rsquo;s usually I that waits for the others.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The gentlemen left the dressing room, but they did not say good-by, for the
prince had expressed a desire to assist behind the scenes at the performance of
the third act. Left alone, Nana seemed greatly surprised and looked round her
in all directions.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Where can she be?&rdquo; she queried.
</p>

<p>
She was searching for Satin. When she had found her again, waiting on her trunk
behind the curtain, Satin quietly replied:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Certainly I didn&rsquo;t want to be in your way with all those men
there!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she added further that she was going now. But Nana held her back. What a
silly girl she was! Now that Bordenave had agreed to take her on! Why, the
bargain was to be struck after the play was over! Satin hesitated. There were
too many bothers; she was out of her element! Nevertheless, she stayed.
</p>

<p>
As the prince was coming down the little wooden staircase a strange sound of
smothered oaths and stamping, scuffling feet became audible on the other side
of the theater. The actors waiting for their cues were being scared by quite a
serious episode. For some seconds past Mignon had been renewing his jokes and
smothering Fauchery with caresses. He had at last invented a little game of a
novel kind and had begun flicking the other&rsquo;s nose in order, as he
phrased it, to keep the flies off him. This kind of game naturally diverted the
actors to any extent.
</p>

<p>
But success had suddenly thrown Mignon off his balance. He had launched forth
into extravagant courses and had given the journalist a box on the ear, an
actual, a vigorous, box on the ear. This time he had gone too far: in the
presence of so many spectators it was impossible for Fauchery to pocket such a
blow with laughing equanimity. Whereupon the two men had desisted from their
farce, had sprung at one another&rsquo;s throats, their faces livid with hate,
and were now rolling over and over behind a set of side lights, pounding away
at each other as though they weren&rsquo;t breakable.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Monsieur Bordenave, Monsieur Bordenave!&rdquo; said the stage manager,
coming up in a terrible flutter.
</p>

<p>
Bordenave made his excuses to the prince and followed him. When he recognized
Fauchery and Mignon in the men on the floor he gave vent to an expression of
annoyance. They had chosen a nice time, certainly, with His Highness on the
other side of the scenery and all that houseful of people who might have
overheard the row! To make matters worse, Rose Mignon arrived out of breath at
the very moment she was due on the stage. Vulcan, indeed, was giving her the
cue, but Rose stood rooted to the ground, marveling at sight of her husband and
her lover as they lay wallowing at her feet, strangling one another, kicking,
tearing their hair out and whitening their coats with dust. They barred the
way. A sceneshifter had even stopped Fauchery&rsquo;s hat just when the
devilish thing was going to bound onto the stage in the middle of the struggle.
Meanwhile Vulcan, who had been gagging away to amuse the audience, gave Rose
her cue a second time. But she stood motionless, still gazing at the two men.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, don&rsquo;t look at THEM!&rdquo; Bordenave furiously whispered to
her. &ldquo;Go on the stage; go on, do! It&rsquo;s no business of yours! Why,
you&rsquo;re missing your cue!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with a push from the manager, Rose stepped over the prostrate bodies and
found herself in the flare of the footlights and in the presence of the
audience. She had quite failed to understand why they were fighting on the
floor behind her. Trembling from head to foot and with a humming in her ears,
she came down to the footlights, Diana&rsquo;s sweet, amorous smile on her
lips, and attacked the opening lines of her duet with so feeling a voice that
the public gave her a veritable ovation.
</p>

<p>
Behind the scenery she could hear the dull thuds caused by the two men. They
had rolled down to the wings, but fortunately the music covered the noise made
by their feet as they kicked against them.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By God!&rdquo; yelled Bordenave in exasperation when at last he had
succeeded in separating them. &ldquo;Why couldn&rsquo;t you fight at home? You
know as well as I do that I don&rsquo;t like this sort of thing. You, Mignon,
you&rsquo;ll do me the pleasure of staying over here on the prompt side, and
you, Fauchery, if you leave the O.P. side I&rsquo;ll chuck you out of the
theater. You understand, eh? Prompt side and O.P. side or I forbid Rose to
bring you here at all.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
When he returned to the prince&rsquo;s presence the latter asked what was the
matter.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, nothing at all,&rdquo; he murmured quietly.
</p>

<p>
Nana was standing wrapped in furs, talking to these gentlemen while awaiting
her cue. As Count Muffat was coming up in order to peep between two of the
wings at the stage, he understood from a sign made him by the stage manager
that he was to step softly. Drowsy warmth was streaming down from the flies,
and in the wings, which were lit by vivid patches of light, only a few people
remained, talking in low voices or making off on tiptoe. The gasman was at his
post amid an intricate arrangement of cocks; a fireman, leaning against the
side lights, was craning forward, trying to catch a glimpse of things, while on
his seat, high up, the curtain man was watching with resigned expression,
careless of the play, constantly on the alert for the bell to ring him to his
duty among the ropes. And amid the close air and the shuffling of feet and the
sound of whispering, the voices of the actors on the stage sounded strange,
deadened, surprisingly discordant. Farther off again, above the confused noises
of the band, a vast breathing sound was audible. It was the breath of the
house, which sometimes swelled up till it burst in vague rumors, in laughter,
in applause. Though invisible, the presence of the public could be felt, even
in the silences.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;There&rsquo;s something open,&rdquo; said Nana sharply, and with that
she tightened the folds of her fur cloak. &ldquo;Do look, Barillot. I bet
they&rsquo;ve just opened a window. Why, one might catch one&rsquo;s death of
cold here!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Barillot swore that he had closed every window himself but suggested that
possibly there were broken panes about. The actors were always complaining of
drafts. Through the heavy warmth of that gaslit region blasts of cold air were
constantly passing&mdash;it was a regular influenza trap, as Fontan phrased it.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I should like to see YOU in a low-cut dress,&rdquo; continued Nana,
growing annoyed.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Hush!&rdquo; murmured Bordenave.
</p>

<p>
On the stage Rose rendered a phrase in her duet so cleverly that the stalls
burst into universal applause. Nana was silent at this, and her face grew
grave. Meanwhile the count was venturing down a passage when Barillot stopped
him and said he would make a discovery there. Indeed, he obtained an oblique
back view of the scenery and of the wings which had been strengthened, as it
were, by a thick layer of old posters. Then he caught sight of a corner of the
stage, of the Etna cave hollowed out in a silver mine and of Vulcan&rsquo;s
forge in the background. Battens, lowered from above, lit up a sparkling
substance which had been laid on with large dabs of the brush. Side lights with
red glasses and blue were so placed as to produce the appearance of a fiery
brazier, while on the floor of the stage, in the far background, long lines of
gaslight had been laid down in order to throw a wall of dark rocks into sharp
relief. Hard by on a gentle, &ldquo;practicable&rdquo; incline, amid little
points of light resembling the illumination lamps scattered about in the grass
on the night of a public holiday, old Mme Drouard, who played Juno, was sitting
dazed and sleepy, waiting for her cue.
</p>

<p>
Presently there was a commotion, for Simonne, while listening to a story
Clarisse was telling her, cried out:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My! It&rsquo;s the Tricon!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
It was indeed the Tricon, wearing the same old curls and looking as like a
litigious great lady as ever.
</p>

<p>
When she saw Nana she went straight up to her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said the latter after some rapid phrases had been exchanged,
&ldquo;not now.&rdquo; The old lady looked grave. Just then Prullière passed by
and shook hands with her, while two little chorus girls stood gazing at her
with looks of deep emotion. For a moment she seemed to hesitate. Then she
beckoned to Simonne, and the rapid exchange of sentences began again.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Simonne at last. &ldquo;In half an hour.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But as she was going upstairs again to her dressing room, Mme Bron, who was
once more going the rounds with letters, presented one to her. Bordenave
lowered his voice and furiously reproached the portress for having allowed the
Tricon to come in. That woman! And on such an evening of all others! It made
him so angry because His Highness was there! Mme Bron, who had been thirty
years in the theater, replied quite sourly. How was she to know? she asked. The
Tricon did business with all the ladies&mdash;M. le Directeur had met her a
score of times without making remarks. And while Bordenave was muttering oaths
the Tricon stood quietly by, scrutinizing the prince as became a woman who
weighs a man at a glance. A smile lit up her yellow face. Presently she paced
slowly off through the crowd of deeply deferential little women.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Immediately, eh?&rdquo; she queried, turning round again to Simonne.
</p>

<p>
Simonne seemed much worried. The letter was from a young man to whom she had
engaged herself for that evening. She gave Mme Bron a scribbled note in which
were the words, &ldquo;Impossible tonight, darling&mdash;I&rsquo;m
booked.&rdquo; But she was still apprehensive; the young man might possibly
wait for her in spite of everything. As she was not playing in the third act,
she had a mind to be off at once and accordingly begged Clarisse to go and see
if the man were there. Clarisse was only due on the stage toward the end of the
act, and so she went downstairs while Simonne ran up for a minute to their
common dressing room.
</p>

<p>
In Mme Bron&rsquo;s drinking bar downstairs a super, who was charged with the
part of Pluto, was drinking in solitude amid the folds of a great red robe
diapered with golden flames. The little business plied by the good portress
must have been progressing finely, for the cellarlike hole under the stairs was
wet with emptied heeltaps and water. Clarisse picked up the tunic of Iris,
which was dragging over the greasy steps behind her, but she halted prudently
at the turn in the stairs and was content simply to crane forward and peer into
the lodge. She certainly had been quick to scent things out! Just fancy! That
idiot La Faloise was still there, sitting on the same old chair between the
table and the stove! He had made pretense of sneaking off in front of Simonne
and had returned after her departure. For the matter of that, the lodge was
still full of gentlemen who sat there gloved, elegant, submissive and patient
as ever. They were all waiting and viewing each other gravely as they waited.
On the table there were now only some dirty plates, Mme Bron having recently
distributed the last of the bouquets. A single fallen rose was withering on the
floor in the neighborhood of the black cat, who had lain down and curled
herself up while the kittens ran wild races and danced fierce gallops among the
gentlemen&rsquo;s legs. Clarisse was momentarily inclined to turn La Faloise
out. The idiot wasn&rsquo;t fond of animals, and that put the finishing touch
to him! He was busy drawing in his legs because the cat was there, and he
didn&rsquo;t want to touch her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;He&rsquo;ll nip you; take care!&rdquo; said Pluto, who was a joker, as
he went upstairs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
</p>

<p>
After that Clarisse gave up the idea of hauling La Faloise over the coals. She
had seen Mme Bron giving the letter to Simonne&rsquo;s young man, and he had
gone out to read it under the gas light in the lobby. &ldquo;Impossible
tonight, darling&mdash;I&rsquo;m booked.&rdquo; And with that he had peaceably
departed, as one who was doubtless used to the formula. He, at any rate, knew
how to conduct himself! Not so the others, the fellows who sat there doggedly
on Mme Bron&rsquo;s battered straw-bottomed chairs under the great glazed
lantern, where the heat was enough to roast you and there was an unpleasant
odor. What a lot of men it must have held! Clarisse went upstairs again in
disgust, crossed over behind scenes and nimbly mounted three flights of steps
which led to the dressing rooms, in order to bring Simonne her reply.
</p>

<p>
Downstairs the prince had withdrawn from the rest and stood talking to Nana. He
never left her; he stood brooding over her through half-shut eyelids. Nana did
not look at him but, smiling, nodded yes. Suddenly, however, Count Muffat
obeyed an overmastering impulse, and leaving Bordenave, who was explaining to
him the working of the rollers and windlasses, he came up in order to interrupt
their confabulations. Nana lifted her eyes and smiled at him as she smiled at
His Highness. But she kept her ears open notwithstanding, for she was waiting
for her cue.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The third act is the shortest, I believe,&rdquo; the prince began
saying, for the count&rsquo;s presence embarrassed him.
</p>

<p>
She did not answer; her whole expression altered; she was suddenly intent on
her business. With a rapid movement of the shoulders she had let her furs slip
from her, and Mme Jules, standing behind, had caught them in her arms. And then
after passing her two hands to her hair as though to make it fast, she went on
the stage in all her nudity.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Hush, hush!&rdquo; whispered Bordenave.
</p>

<p>
The count and the prince had been taken by surprise. There was profound
silence, and then a deep sigh and the far-off murmur of a multitude became
audible. Every evening when Venus entered in her godlike nakedness the same
effect was produced. Then Muffat was seized with a desire to see; he put his
eye to the peephole. Above and beyond the glowing arc formed by the footlights
the dark body of the house seemed full of ruddy vapor, and against this
neutral-tinted background, where row upon row of faces struck a pale, uncertain
note, Nana stood forth white and vast, so that the boxes from the balcony to
the flies were blotted from view. He saw her from behind, noted her swelling
hips, her outstretched arms, while down on the floor, on the same level as her
feet, the prompter&rsquo;s head&mdash;an old man&rsquo;s head with a humble,
honest face&mdash;stood on the edge of the stage, looking as though it had been
severed from the body. At certain points in her opening number an undulating
movement seemed to run from her neck to her waist and to die out in the
trailing border of her tunic. When amid a tempest of applause she had sung her
last note she bowed, and the gauze floated forth round about her limbs, and her
hair swept over her waist as she bent sharply backward. And seeing her thus, as
with bending form and with exaggerated hips she came backing toward the
count&rsquo;s peephole, he stood upright again, and his face was very white.
The stage had disappeared, and he now saw only the reverse side of the scenery
with its display of old posters pasted up in every direction. On the
practicable slope, among the lines of gas jets, the whole of Olympus had
rejoined the dozing Mme Drouard. They were waiting for the close of the act.
Bosc and Fontan sat on the floor with their knees drawn up to their chins, and
Prullière stretched himself and yawned before going on. Everybody was worn out;
their eyes were red, and they were longing to go home to sleep.
</p>

<p>
Just then Fauchery, who had been prowling about on the O.P. side ever since
Bordenave had forbidden him the other, came and buttonholed the count in order
to keep himself in countenance and offered at the same time to show him the
dressing rooms. An increasing sense of languor had left Muffat without any
power of resistance, and after looking round for the Marquis de Chouard, who
had disappeared, he ended by following the journalist. He experienced a mingled
feeling of relief and anxiety as he left the wings whence he had been listening
to Nana&rsquo;s songs.
</p>

<p>
Fauchery had already preceded him up the staircase, which was closed on the
first and second floors by low-paneled doors. It was one of those stairways
which you find in miserable tenements. Count Muffat had seen many such during
his rounds as member of the Benevolent Organization. It was bare and
dilapidated: there was a wash of yellow paint on its walls; its steps had been
worn by the incessant passage of feet, and its iron balustrade had grown smooth
under the friction of many hands. On a level with the floor on every stairhead
there was a low window which resembled a deep, square venthole, while in
lanterns fastened to the walls flaring gas jets crudely illuminated the
surrounding squalor and gave out a glowing heat which, as it mounted up the
narrow stairwell, grew ever more intense.
</p>

<p>
When he reached the foot of the stairs the count once more felt the hot breath
upon his neck and shoulders. As of old it was laden with the odor of women,
wafted amid floods of light and sound from the dressing rooms above, and now
with every upward step he took the musky scent of powders and the tart perfume
of toilet vinegars heated and bewildered him more and more. On the first floor
two corridors ran backward, branching sharply off and presenting a set of doors
to view which were painted yellow and numbered with great white numerals in
such a way as to suggest a hotel with a bad reputation. The tiles on the floor
had been many of them unbedded, and the old house being in a state of
subsidence, they stuck up like hummocks. The count dashed recklessly forward,
glanced through a half-open door and saw a very dirty room which resembled a
barber&rsquo;s shop in a poor part of the town. In was furnished with two
chairs, a mirror and a small table containing a drawer which had been blackened
by the grease from brushes and combs. A great perspiring fellow with smoking
shoulders was changing his linen there, while in a similar room next door a
woman was drawing on her gloves preparatory to departure. Her hair was damp and
out of curl, as though she had just had a bath. But Fauchery began calling the
count, and the latter was rushing up without delay when a furious
&ldquo;damn!&rdquo; burst from the corridor on the right. Mathilde, a little
drab of a miss, had just broken her washhand basin, the soapy water from which
was flowing out to the stairhead. A dressing room door banged noisily. Two
women in their stays skipped across the passage, and another, with the hem of
her shift in her mouth, appeared and immediately vanished from view. Then
followed a sound of laughter, a dispute, the snatch of a song which was
suddenly broken off short. All along the passage naked gleams, sudden visions
of white skin and wan underlinen were observable through chinks in doorways.
Two girls were making very merry, showing each other their birthmarks. One of
them, a very young girl, almost a child, had drawn her skirts up over her knees
in order to sew up a rent in her drawers, and the dressers, catching sight of
the two men, drew some curtains half to for decency&rsquo;s sake. The wild
stampede which follows the end of a play had already begun, the grand removal
of white paint and rouge, the reassumption amid clouds of rice powder of
ordinary attire. The strange animal scent came in whiffs of redoubled intensity
through the lines of banging doors. On the third story Muffat abandoned himself
to the feeling of intoxication which was overpowering him. For the chorus
girls&rsquo; dressing room was there, and you saw a crowd of twenty women and a
wild display of soaps and flasks of lavender water. The place resembled the
common room in a slum lodging house. As he passed by he heard fierce sounds of
washing behind a closed door and a perfect storm raging in a washhand basin.
And as he was mounting up to the topmost story of all, curiosity led him to
risk one more little peep through an open loophole. The room was empty, and
under the flare of the gas a solitary chamber pot stood forgotten among a heap
of petticoats trailing on the floor. This room afforded him his ultimate
impression. Upstairs on the fourth floor he was well-nigh suffocated. All the
scents, all the blasts of heat, had found their goal there. The yellow ceiling
looked as if it had been baked, and a lamp burned amid fumes of russet-colored
fog. For some seconds he leaned upon the iron balustrade which felt warm and
damp and well-nigh human to the touch. And he shut his eyes and drew a long
breath and drank in the sexual atmosphere of the place. Hitherto he had been
utterly ignorant of it, but now it beat full in his face.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do come here,&rdquo; shouted Fauchery, who had vanished some moments
ago. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re being asked for.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At the end of the corridor was the dressing room belonging to Clarisse and
Simonne. It was a long, ill-built room under the roof with a garret ceiling and
sloping walls. The light penetrated to it from two deep-set openings high up in
the wall, but at that hour of the night the dressing room was lit by flaring
gas. It was papered with a paper at seven sous a roll with a pattern of roses
twining over green trelliswork. Two boards, placed near one another and covered
with oilcloth, did duty for dressing tables. They were black with spilled
water, and underneath them was a fine medley of dinted zinc jugs, slop pails
and coarse yellow earthenware crocks. There was an array of fancy articles in
the room&mdash;a battered, soiled and well-worn array of chipped basins, of
toothless combs, of all those manifold untidy trifles which, in their hurry and
carelessness, two women will leave scattered about when they undress and wash
together amid purely temporary surroundings, the dirty aspect of which has
ceased to concern them.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do come here,&rdquo; Fauchery repeated with the good-humored familiarity
which men adopt among their fallen sisters. &ldquo;Clarisse is wanting to kiss
you.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Muffat entered the room at last. But what was his surprise when he found the
Marquis de Chouard snugly enscounced on a chair between the two dressing
tables! The marquis had withdrawn thither some time ago. He was spreading his
feet apart because a pail was leaking and letting a whitish flood spread over
the floor. He was visibly much at his ease, as became a man who knew all the
snug corners, and had grown quite merry in the close dressing room, where
people might have been bathing, and amid those quietly immodest feminine
surroundings which the uncleanness of the little place rendered at once natural
and poignant.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;D&rsquo;you go with the old boy?&rdquo; Simonne asked Clarisse in a
whisper.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Rather!&rdquo; replied the latter aloud.
</p>

<p>
The dresser, a very ugly and extremely familiar young girl, who was helping
Simonne into her coat, positively writhed with laughter. The three pushed each
other and babbled little phrases which redoubled their merriment.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come, Clarisse, kiss the gentleman,&rdquo; said Fauchery. &ldquo;You
know, he&rsquo;s got the rhino.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And turning to the count:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll see, she&rsquo;s very nice! She&rsquo;s going to kiss
you!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But Clarisse was disgusted by the men. She spoke in violent terms of the dirty
lot waiting at the porter&rsquo;s lodge down below. Besides, she was in a hurry
to go downstairs again; they were making her miss her last scene. Then as
Fauchery blocked up the doorway, she gave Muffat a couple of kisses on the
whiskers, remarking as she did so:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s not for you, at any rate! It&rsquo;s for that nuisance
Fauchery!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with that she darted off, and the count remained much embarrassed in his
father-in-law&rsquo;s presence. The blood had rushed to his face. In
Nana&rsquo;s dressing room, amid all the luxury of hangings and mirrors, he had
not experienced the sharp physical sensation which the shameful wretchedness of
that sorry garret excited within him, redolent as it was of these two
girls&rsquo; self-abandonment. Meanwhile the marquis had hurried in the rear of
Simonne, who was making off at the top of her pace, and he kept whispering in
her ear while she shook her head in token of refusal. Fauchery followed them,
laughing. And with that the count found himself alone with the dresser, who was
washing out the basins. Accordingly he took his departure, too, his legs almost
failing under him. Once more he put up flights of half-dressed women and caused
doors to bang as he advanced. But amid the disorderly, disbanded troops of
girls to be found on each of the four stories, he was only distinctly aware of
a cat, a great tortoise-shell cat, which went gliding upstairs through the
ovenlike place where the air was poisoned with musk, rubbing its back against
the banisters and keeping its tail exceedingly erect.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, to be sure!&rdquo; said a woman hoarsely. &ldquo;I thought
they&rsquo;d keep us back tonight! What a nuisance they are with their
calls!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The end had come; the curtain had just fallen. There was a veritable stampede
on the staircase&mdash;its walls rang with exclamations, and everyone was in a
savage hurry to dress and be off. As Count Muffat came down the last step or
two he saw Nana and the prince passing slowly along the passage. The young
woman halted and lowered her voice as she said with a smile:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;All right then&mdash;by and by!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The prince returned to the stage, where Bordenave was awaiting him. And left
alone with Nana, Muffat gave way to an impulse of anger and desire. He ran up
behind her and, as she was on the point of entering her dressing room,
imprinted a rough kiss on her neck among little golden hairs curling low down
between her shoulders. It was as though he had returned the kiss that had been
given him upstairs. Nana was in a fury; she lifted her hand, but when she
recognized the count she smiled.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, you frightened me,&rdquo; she said simply.
</p>

<p>
And her smile was adorable in its embarrassment and submissiveness, as though
she had despaired of this kiss and were happy to have received it. But she
could do nothing for him either that evening or the day after. It was a case of
waiting. Nay, even if it had been in her power she would still have let herself
be desired. Her glance said as much. At length she continued:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;m a landowner, you know. Yes, I&rsquo;m buying a country house
near Orleans, in a part of the world to which you sometimes betake yourself.
Baby told me you did&mdash;little Georges Hugon, I mean. You know him? So come
and see me down there.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The count was a shy man, and the thought of his roughness had frightened him;
he was ashamed of what he had done and he bowed ceremoniously, promising at the
same time to take advantage of her invitation. Then he walked off as one who
dreams.
</p>

<p>
He was rejoining the prince when, passing in front of the foyer, he heard Satin
screaming out:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, the dirty old thing! Just you bloody well leave me alone!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
It was the Marquis de Chouard who was tumbling down over Satin. The girl had
decidedly had enough of the fashionable world! Nana had certainly introduced
her to Bordenave, but the necessity of standing with sealed lips for fear of
allowing some awkward phrase to escape her had been too much for her feelings,
and now she was anxious to regain her freedom, the more so as she had run
against an old flame of hers in the wings. This was the super, to whom the task
of impersonating Pluto had been entrusted, a pastry cook, who had already
treated her to a whole week of love and flagellation. She was waiting for him,
much irritated at the things the marquis was saying to her, as though she were
one of those theatrical ladies! And so at last she assumed a highly respectable
expression and jerked out this phrase:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My husband&rsquo;s coming! You&rsquo;ll see.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile the worn-looking artistes were dropping off one after the other in
their outdoor coats. Groups of men and women were coming down the little
winding staircase, and the outlines of battered hats and worn-out shawls were
visible in the shadows. They looked colorless and unlovely, as became poor play
actors who have got rid of their paint. On the stage, where the side lights and
battens were being extinguished, the prince was listening to an anecdote
Bordenave was telling him. He was waiting for Nana, and when at length she made
her appearance the stage was dark, and the fireman on duty was finishing his
round, lantern in hand. Bordenave, in order to save His Highness going about by
the Passage des Panoramas, had made them open the corridor which led from the
porter&rsquo;s lodge to the entrance hall of the theater. Along this narrow
alley little women were racing pell-mell, for they were delighted to escape
from the men who were waiting for them in the other passage. They went jostling
and elbowing along, casting apprehensive glances behind them and only breathing
freely when they got outside. Fontan, Bosc and Prullière, on the other hand,
retired at a leisurely pace, joking at the figure cut by the serious, paying
admirers who were striding up and down the Galerie des Variétés at a time when
the little dears were escaping along the boulevard with the men of their
hearts. But Clarisse was especially sly. She had her suspicions about La
Faloise, and, as a matter of fact, he was still in his place in the lodge among
the gentlemen obstinately waiting on Mme Bron&rsquo;s chairs. They all
stretched forward, and with that she passed brazenly by in the wake of a
friend. The gentlemen were blinking in bewilderment over the wild whirl of
petticoats eddying at the foot of the narrow stairs. It made them desperate to
think they had waited so long, only to see them all flying away like this
without being able to recognize a single one. The litter of little black cats
were sleeping on the oilcloth, nestled against their mother&rsquo;s belly, and
the latter was stretching her paws out in a state of beatitude while the big
tortoise-shell cat sat at the other end of the table, her tail stretched out
behind her and her yellow eyes solemnly following the flight of the women.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;If His Highness will be good enough to come this way,&rdquo; said
Bordenave at the bottom of the stairs, and he pointed to the passage.
</p>

<p>
Some chorus girls were still crowding along it. The prince began following Nana
while Muffat and the marquis walked behind.
</p>

<p>
It was a long, narrow passage lying between the theater and the house next
door, a kind of contracted by-lane which had been covered with a sloping glass
roof. Damp oozed from the walls, and the footfall sounded as hollow on the
tiled floor as in an underground vault. It was crowded with the kind of rubbish
usually found in a garret. There was a workbench on which the porter was wont
to plane such parts of the scenery as required it, besides a pile of wooden
barriers which at night were placed at the doors of the theater for the purpose
of regulating the incoming stream of people. Nana had to pick up her dress as
she passed a hydrant which, through having been carelessly turned off, was
flooding the tiles underfoot. In the entrance hall the company bowed and said
good-by. And when Bordenave was alone he summed up his opinion of the prince in
a shrug of eminently philosophic disdain.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;He&rsquo;s a bit of a duffer all the same,&rdquo; he said to Fauchery
without entering on further explanations, and with that Rose Mignon carried the
journalist off with her husband in order to effect a reconciliation between
them at home.
</p>

<p>
Muffat was left alone on the sidewalk. His Highness had handed Nana quietly
into his carriage, and the marquis had slipped off after Satin and her super.
In his excitement he was content to follow this vicious pair in vague hopes of
some stray favor being granted him. Then with brain on fire Muffat decided to
walk home. The struggle within him had wholly ceased. The ideas and beliefs of
the last forty years were being drowned in a flood of new life. While he was
passing along the boulevards the roll of the last carriages deafened him with
the name of Nana; the gaslights set nude limbs dancing before his
eyes&mdash;the nude limbs, the lithe arms, the white shoulders, of Nana. And he
felt that he was hers utterly: he would have abjured everything, sold
everything, to possess her for a single hour that very night. Youth, a lustful
puberty of early manhood, was stirring within him at last, flaming up suddenly
in the chaste heart of the Catholic and amid the dignified traditions of middle
age.
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"></a> CHAPTER VI</h2>

<p>
Count Muffat, accompanied by his wife and daughter, had arrived overnight at
Les Fondettes, where Mme Hugon, who was staying there with only her son
Georges, had invited them to come and spend a week. The house, which had been
built at the end of the eighteenth century, stood in the middle of a huge
square enclosure. It was perfectly unadorned, but the garden possessed
magnificent shady trees and a chain of tanks fed by running spring water. It
stood at the side of the road which leads from Orleans to Paris and with its
rich verdure and high-embowered trees broke the monotony of that flat
countryside, where fields stretched to the horizon&rsquo;s verge.
</p>

<p>
At eleven o&rsquo;clock, when the second lunch bell had called the whole
household together, Mme Hugon, smiling in her kindly maternal way, gave Sabine
two great kisses, one on each cheek, and said as she did so:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You know it&rsquo;s my custom in the country. Oh, seeing you here makes
me feel twenty years younger. Did you sleep well in your old room?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then without waiting for her reply she turned to Estelle:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And this little one, has she had a nap too? Give me a kiss, my
child.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They had taken their seats in the vast dining room, the windows of which looked
out on the park. But they only occupied one end of the long table, where they
sat somewhat crowded together for company&rsquo;s sake. Sabine, in high good
spirits, dwelt on various childish memories which had been stirred up within
her&mdash;memories of months passed at Les Fondettes, of long walks, of a
tumble into one of the tanks on a summer evening, of an old romance of chivalry
discovered by her on the top of a cupboard and read during the winter before
fires made of vine branches. And Georges, who had not seen the countess for
some months, thought there was something curious about her. Her face seemed
changed, somehow, while, on the other hand, that stick of an Estelle seemed
more insignificant and dumb and awkward than ever.
</p>

<p>
While such simple fare as cutlets and boiled eggs was being discussed by the
company, Mme Hugon, as became a good housekeeper, launched out into complaints.
The butchers, she said, were becoming impossible. She bought everything at
Orleans, and yet they never brought her the pieces she asked for. Yet, alas, if
her guests had nothing worth eating it was their own fault: they had come too
late in the season.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no sense in it,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been
expecting you since June, and now we&rsquo;re half through September. You see,
it doesn&rsquo;t look pretty.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with a movement she pointed to the trees on the grass outside, the leaves
of which were beginning to turn yellow. The day was covered, and the distance
was hidden by a bluish haze which was fraught with a sweet and melancholy
peacefulness.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, I&rsquo;m expecting company,&rdquo; she continued. &ldquo;We shall
be gayer then! The first to come will be two gentlemen whom Georges has
invited&mdash;Monsieur Fauchery and Monsieur Daguenet; you know them, do you
not? Then we shall have Monsieur de Vandeuvres, who has promised me a visit
these five years past. This time, perhaps, he&rsquo;ll make up his mind!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, well and good!&rdquo; said the countess, laughing. &ldquo;If we only
can get Monsieur de Vandeuvres! But he&rsquo;s too much engaged.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And Philippe?&rdquo; queried Muffat.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Philippe has asked for a furlough,&rdquo; replied the old lady,
&ldquo;but without doubt you won&rsquo;t be at Les Fondettes any longer when he
arrives.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The coffee was served. Paris was now the subject of conversation, and
Steiner&rsquo;s name was mentioned, at which Mme Hugon gave a little cry.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Let me see,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;Monsieur Steiner is that stout man I
met at your house one evening. He&rsquo;s a banker, is he not? Now
there&rsquo;s a detestable man for you! Why, he&rsquo;s gone and bought an
actress an estate about a league from here, over Gumières way, beyond the
Choue. The whole countryside&rsquo;s scandalized. Did you know about that, my
friend?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I knew nothing about it,&rdquo; replied Muffat. &ldquo;Ah, then,
Steiner&rsquo;s bought a country place in the neighborhood!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Hearing his mother broach the subject, Georges looked into his coffee cup, but
in his astonishment at the count&rsquo;s answer he glanced up at him and
stared. Why was he lying so glibly? The count, on his side, noticed the young
fellow&rsquo;s movement and gave him a suspicious glance. Mme Hugon continued
to go into details: the country place was called La Mignotte. In order to get
there one had to go up the bank of the Choue as far as Gumières in order to
cross the bridge; otherwise one got one&rsquo;s feet wet and ran the risk of a
ducking.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And what is the actress&rsquo;s name?&rdquo; asked the countess.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, I wasn&rsquo;t told,&rdquo; murmured the old lady. &ldquo;Georges,
you were there the morning the gardener spoke to us about it.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Georges appeared to rack his brains. Muffat waited, twirling a teaspoon between
his fingers. Then the countess addressed her husband:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t Monsieur Steiner with that singer at the Variétés, that
Nana?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Nana, that&rsquo;s the name! A horrible woman!&rdquo; cried Mme Hugon
with growing annoyance. &ldquo;And they are expecting her at La Mignotte.
I&rsquo;ve heard all about it from the gardener. Didn&rsquo;t the gardener say
they were expecting her this evening, Georges?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The count gave a little start of astonishment, but Georges replied with much
vivacity:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, Mother, the gardener spoke without knowing anything about it.
Directly afterward the coachman said just the opposite. Nobody&rsquo;s expected
at La Mignotte before the day after tomorrow.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He tried hard to assume a natural expression while he slyly watched the effect
of his remarks on the count. The latter was twirling his spoon again as though
reassured. The countess, her eyes fixed dreamily on the blue distances of the
park, seemed to have lost all interest in the conversation. The shadow of a
smile on her lips, she seemed to be following up a secret thought which had
been suddenly awakened within her. Estelle, on the other hand, sitting stiffly
on her chair, had heard all that had been said about Nana, but her white,
virginal face had not betrayed a trace of emotion.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dear me, dear me! I&rsquo;ve got no right to grow angry,&rdquo; murmured
Mme Hugon after a pause, and with a return to her old good humor she added:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Everybody&rsquo;s got a right to live. If we meet this said lady on the
road we shall not bow to her&mdash;that&rsquo;s all!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And as they got up from table she once more gently upbraided the Countess
Sabine for having been so long in coming to her that year. But the countess
defended herself and threw the blame of the delays upon her husband&rsquo;s
shoulders. Twice on the eve of departure, when all the trunks were locked, he
counterordered their journey on the plea of urgent business. Then he had
suddenly decided to start just when the trip seemed shelved. Thereupon the old
lady told them how Georges in the same way had twice announced his arrival
without arriving and had finally cropped up at Les Fondettes the day before
yesterday, when she was no longer expecting him. They had come down into the
garden, and the two men, walking beside the ladies, were listening to them in
consequential silence.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Never mind,&rdquo; said Mme Hugon, kissing her son&rsquo;s sunny locks,
&ldquo;Zizi is a very good boy to come and bury himself in the country with his
mother. He&rsquo;s a dear Zizi not to forget me!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
In the afternoon she expressed some anxiety, for Georges, directly after
leaving the table, had complained of a heavy feeling in his head and now seemed
in for an atrocious sick headache. Toward four o&rsquo;clock he said he would
go upstairs to bed: it was the only remedy. After sleeping till tomorrow
morning he would be perfectly himself again. His mother was bent on putting him
to bed herself, but as she left the room he ran and locked the door, explaining
that he was shutting himself in so that no one should come and disturb him.
Then caressingly he shouted, &ldquo;Good night till tomorrow, little
Mother!&rdquo; and promised to take a nap. But he did not go to bed again and
with flushed cheeks and bright eyes noiselessly put on his clothes. Then he sat
on a chair and waited. When the dinner bell rang he listened for Count Muffat,
who was on his way to the dining room, and ten minutes later, when he was
certain that no one would see him, he slipped from the window to the ground
with the assistance of a rain pipe. His bedroom was situated on the first floor
and looked out upon the rear of the house. He threw himself among some bushes
and got out of the park and then galloped across the fields with empty stomach
and heart beating with excitement. Night was closing in, and a small fine rain
was beginning to fall.
</p>

<p>
It was the very evening that Nana was due at La Mignotte. Ever since in the
preceding May Steiner had bought her this country place she had from time to
time been so filled with the desire of taking possession that she had wept hot
tears about, but on each of these occasions Bordenave had refused to give her
even the shortest leave and had deferred her holiday till September on the plea
that he did not intend putting an understudy in her place, even for one
evening, now that the exhibition was on. Toward the close of August he spoke of
October. Nana was furious and declared that she would be at La Mignotte in the
middle of September. Nay, in order to dare Bordenave, she even invited a crowd
of guests in his very presence. One afternoon in her rooms, as Muffat, whose
advances she still adroitly resisted, was beseeching her with tremulous emotion
to yield to his entreaties, she at length promised to be kind, but not in
Paris, and to him, too, she named the middle of September. Then on the twelfth
she was seized by a desire to be off forthwith with Zoé as her sole companion.
It might be that Bordenave had got wind of her intentions and was about to
discover some means of detaining her. She was delighted at the notion of
putting him in a fix, and she sent him a doctor&rsquo;s certificate. When once
the idea had entered her head of being the first to get to La Mignotte and of
living there two days without anybody knowing anything about it, she rushed Zoé
through the operation of packing and finally pushed her into a cab, where in a
sudden burst of extreme contrition she kissed her and begged her pardon. It was
only when they got to the station refreshment room that she thought of writing
Steiner of her movements. She begged him to wait till the day after tomorrow
before rejoining her if he wanted to find her quite bright and fresh. And then,
suddenly conceiving another project, she wrote a second letter, in which she
besought her aunt to bring little Louis to her at once. It would do Baby so
much good! And how happy they would be together in the shade of the trees! In
the railway carriage between Paris and Orleans she spoke of nothing else; her
eyes were full of tears; she had an unexpected attack of maternal tenderness
and mingled together flowers, birds and child in her every sentence.
</p>

<p>
La Mignotte was more than three leagues away from the station, and Nana lost a
good hour over the hire of a carriage, a huge, dilapidated calash, which
rumbled slowly along to an accompaniment of rattling old iron. She had at once
taken possession of the coachman, a little taciturn old man whom she
overwhelmed with questions. Had he often passed by La Mignotte? It was behind
this hill then? There ought to be lots of trees there, eh? And the house could
one see it at a distance? The little old man answered with a succession of
grunts. Down in the calash Nana was almost dancing with impatience, while Zoé,
in her annoyance at having left Paris in such a hurry, sat stiffly sulking
beside her. The horse suddenly stopped short, and the young woman thought they
had reached their destination. She put her head out of the carriage door and
asked:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Are we there, eh?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
By way of answer the driver whipped up his horse, which was in the act of
painfully climbing a hill. Nana gazed ecstatically at the vast plain beneath
the gray sky where great clouds were banked up.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, do look, Zoé! There&rsquo;s greenery! Now, is that all wheat? Good
lord, how pretty it is!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;One can quite see that Madame doesn&rsquo;t come from the
country,&rdquo; was the servant&rsquo;s prim and tardy rejoinder. &ldquo;As for
me, I knew the country only too well when I was with my dentist. He had a house
at Bougival. No, it&rsquo;s cold, too, this evening. It&rsquo;s damp in these
parts.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They were driving under the shadow of a wood, and Nana sniffed up the scent of
the leaves as a young dog might. All of a sudden at a turn of the road she
caught sight of the corner of a house among the trees. Perhaps it was there!
And with that she began a conversation with the driver, who continued shaking
his head by way of saying no. Then as they drove down the other side of the
hill he contented himself by holding out his whip and muttering,
&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis down there.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She got up and stretched herself almost bodily out of the carriage door.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Where is it? Where is it?&rdquo; she cried with pale cheeks, but as yet
she saw nothing.
</p>

<p>
At last she caught sight of a bit of wall. And then followed a succession of
little cries and jumps, the ecstatic behavior of a woman overcome by a new and
vivid sensation.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I see it! I see it, Zoé! Look out at the other side. Oh, there&rsquo;s a
terrace with brick ornaments on the roof! And there&rsquo;s a hothouse down
there! But the place is immense. Oh, how happy I am! Do look, Zoé! Now, do
look!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The carriage had by this time pulled up before the park gates. A side door was
opened, and the gardener, a tall, dry fellow, made his appearance, cap in hand.
Nana made an effort to regain her dignity, for the driver seemed now to be
suppressing a laugh behind his dry, speechless lips. She refrained from setting
off at a run and listened to the gardener, who was a very talkative fellow. He
begged Madame to excuse the disorder in which she found everything, seeing that
he had only received Madame&rsquo;s letter that very morning. But despite all
his efforts, she flew off at a tangent and walked so quickly that Zoé could
scarcely follow her. At the end of the avenue she paused for a moment in order
to take the house in at a glance. It was a great pavilion-like building in the
Italian manner, and it was flanked by a smaller construction, which a rich
Englishman, after two years&rsquo; residence in Naples, had caused to be
erected and had forthwith become disgusted with.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll take Madame over the house,&rdquo; said the gardener.
</p>

<p>
But she had outrun him entirely, and she shouted back that he was not to put
himself out and that she would go over the house by herself. She preferred
doing that, she said. And without removing her hat she dashed into the
different rooms, calling to Zoé as she did so, shouting her impressions from
one end of each corridor to the other and filling the empty house, which for
long months had been uninhabited, with exclamations and bursts of laughter. In
the first place, there was the hall. It was a little damp, but that
didn&rsquo;t matter; one wasn&rsquo;t going to sleep in it. Then came the
drawing room, quite the thing, the drawing room, with its windows opening on
the lawn. Only the red upholsteries there were hideous; she would alter all
that. As to the dining room-well, it was a lovely dining room, eh? What big
blowouts you might give in Paris if you had a dining room as large as that! As
she was going upstairs to the first floor it occurred to her that she had not
seen the kitchen, and she went down again and indulged in ecstatic
exclamations. Zoé ought to admire the beautiful dimensions of the sink and the
width of the hearth, where you might have roasted a sheep! When she had gone
upstairs again her bedroom especially enchanted her. It had been hung with
delicate rose-colored Louis XVI cretonne by an Orleans upholsterer. Dear me,
yes! One ought to sleep jolly sound in such a room as that; why, it was a real
best bedroom! Then came four or five guest chambers and then some splendid
garrets, which would be extremely convenient for trunks and boxes. Zoé looked
very gruff and cast a frigid glance into each of the rooms as she lingered in
Madame&rsquo;s wake. She saw Nana disappearing up the steep garret ladder and
said, &ldquo;Thanks, I haven&rsquo;t the least wish to break my legs.&rdquo;
But the sound of a voice reached her from far away; indeed, it seemed to come
whistling down a chimney.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Zoé, Zoé, where are you? Come up, do! You&rsquo;ve no idea! It&rsquo;s
like fairyland!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Zoé went up, grumbling. On the roof she found her mistress leaning against the
brickwork balustrade and gazing at the valley which spread out into the
silence. The horizon was immeasurably wide, but it was now covered by masses of
gray vapor, and a fierce wind was driving fine rain before it. Nana had to hold
her hat on with both hands to keep it from being blown away while her
petticoats streamed out behind her, flapping like a flag.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Not if I know it!&rdquo; said Zoé, drawing her head in at once.
&ldquo;Madame will be blown away. What beastly weather!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Madame did not hear what she said. With her head over the balustrade she was
gazing at the grounds beneath. They consisted of seven or eight acres of land
enclosed within a wall. Then the view of the kitchen garden entirely engrossed
her attention. She darted back, jostling the lady&rsquo;s maid at the top of
the stairs and bursting out:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s full of cabbages! Oh, such woppers! And lettuces and sorrel
and onions and everything! Come along, make haste!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The rain was falling more heavily now, and she opened her white silk sunshade
and ran down the garden walks.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Madame will catch cold,&rdquo; cried Zoé, who had stayed quietly behind
under the awning over the garden door.
</p>

<p>
But Madame wanted to see things, and at each new discovery there was a burst of
wonderment.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Zoé, here&rsquo;s spinach! Do come. Oh, look at the artichokes! They are
funny. So they grow in the ground, do they? Now, what can that be? I
don&rsquo;t know it. Do come, Zoé, perhaps you know.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The lady&rsquo;s maid never budged an inch. Madame must really be raving mad.
For now the rain was coming down in torrents, and the little white silk
sunshade was already dark with it. Nor did it shelter Madame, whose skirts were
wringing wet. But that didn&rsquo;t put her out in the smallest degree, and in
the pouring rain she visited the kitchen garden and the orchard, stopping in
front of every fruit tree and bending over every bed of vegetables. Then she
ran and looked down the well and lifted up a frame to see what was underneath
it and was lost in the contemplation of a huge pumpkin. She wanted to go along
every single garden walk and to take immediate possession of all the things she
had been wont to dream of in the old days, when she was a slipshod work-girl on
the Paris pavements. The rain redoubled, but she never heeded it and was only
miserable at the thought that the daylight was fading. She could not see
clearly now and touched things with her fingers to find out what they were.
Suddenly in the twilight she caught sight of a bed of strawberries, and all
that was childish in her awoke.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Strawberries! Strawberries! There are some here; I can feel them. A
plate, Zoé! Come and pick strawberries.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And dropping her sunshade, Nana crouched down in the mire under the full force
of the downpour. With drenched hands she began gathering the fruit among the
leaves. But Zoé in the meantime brought no plate, and when the young woman rose
to her feet again she was frightened. She thought she had seen a shadow close
to her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s some beast!&rdquo; she screamed.
</p>

<p>
But she stood rooted to the path in utter amazement. It was a man, and she
recognized him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Gracious me, it&rsquo;s Baby! What ARE you doing there, baby?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;&rsquo;Gad, I&rsquo;ve come&mdash;that&rsquo;s all!&rdquo; replied
Georges.
</p>

<p>
Her head swam.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You knew I&rsquo;d come through the gardener telling you? Oh, that poor
child! Why, he&rsquo;s soaking!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, I&rsquo;ll explain that to you! The rain caught me on my way here,
and then, as I didn&rsquo;t wish to go upstream as far as Gumières, I crossed
the Choue and fell into a blessed hole.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana forgot the strawberries forthwith. She was trembling and full of pity.
That poor dear Zizi in a hole full of water! And she drew him with her in the
direction of the house and spoke of making up a roaring fire.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You know,&rdquo; he murmured, stopping her among the shadows, &ldquo;I
was in hiding because I was afraid of being scolded, like in Paris, when I come
and see you and you&rsquo;re not expecting me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She made no reply but burst out laughing and gave him a kiss on the forehead.
Up till today she had always treated him like a naughty urchin, never taking
his declarations seriously and amusing herself at his expense as though he were
a little man of no consequence whatever. There was much ado to install him in
the house. She absolutely insisted on the fire being lit in her bedroom, as
being the most comfortable place for his reception. Georges had not surprised
Zoé, who was used to all kinds of encounters, but the gardener, who brought the
wood upstairs, was greatly nonplused at sight of this dripping gentleman to
whom he was certain he had not opened the front door. He was, however,
dismissed, as he was no longer wanted.
</p>

<p>
A lamp lit up the room, and the fire burned with a great bright flame.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;He&rsquo;ll never get dry, and he&rsquo;ll catch cold,&rdquo; said Nana,
seeing Georges beginning to shiver.
</p>

<p>
And there were no men&rsquo;s trousers in her house! She was on the point of
calling the gardener back when an idea struck her. Zoé, who was unpacking the
trunks in the dressing room, brought her mistress a change of underwear,
consisting of a shift and some petticoats with a dressing jacket.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, that&rsquo;s first rate!&rdquo; cried the young woman. &ldquo;Zizi
can put &rsquo;em all on. You&rsquo;re not angry with me, eh? When your clothes
are dry you can put them on again, and then off with you, as fast as fast can
be, so as not to have a scolding from your mamma. Make haste! I&rsquo;m going
to change my things, too, in the dressing room.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Ten minutes afterward, when she reappeared in a tea gown, she clasped her hands
in a perfect ecstasy.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, the darling! How sweet he looks dressed like a little woman!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He had simply slipped on a long nightgown with an insertion front, a pair of
worked drawers and the dressing jacket, which was a long cambric garment
trimmed with lace. Thus attired and with his delicate young arms showing and
his bright damp hair falling almost to his shoulders, he looked just like a
girl.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why, he&rsquo;s as slim as I am!&rdquo; said Nana, putting her arm round
his waist. &ldquo;Zoé, just come here and see how it suits him. It&rsquo;s made
for him, eh? All except the bodice part, which is too large. He hasn&rsquo;t
got as much as I have, poor, dear Zizi!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, to be sure, I&rsquo;m a bit wanting there,&rdquo; murmured Georges
with a smile.
</p>

<p>
All three grew very merry about it. Nana had set to work buttoning the dressing
jacket from top to bottom so as to make him quite decent. Then she turned him
round as though he were a doll, gave him little thumps, made the skirt stand
well out behind. After which she asked him questions. Was he comfortable? Did
he feel warm? Zounds, yes, he was comfortable! Nothing fitted more closely and
warmly than a woman&rsquo;s shift; had he been able, he would always have worn
one. He moved round and about therein, delighted with the fine linen and the
soft touch of that unmanly garment, in the folds of which he thought he
discovered some of Nana&rsquo;s own warm life.
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile Zoé had taken the soaked clothes down to the kitchen in order to dry
them as quickly as possible in front of a vine-branch fire. Then Georges, as he
lounged in an easy chair, ventured to make a confession.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I say, are you going to feed this evening? I&rsquo;m dying of hunger. I
haven&rsquo;t dined.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana was vexed. The great silly thing to go sloping off from Mamma&rsquo;s with
an empty stomach, just to chuck himself into a hole full of water! But she was
as hungry as a hunter too. They certainly must feed! Only they would have to
eat what they could get. Whereupon a round table was rolled up in front of the
fire, and the queerest of dinners was improvised thereon. Zoé ran down to the
gardener&rsquo;s, he having cooked a mess of cabbage soup in case Madame should
not dine at Orleans before her arrival. Madame, indeed, had forgotten to tell
him what he was to get ready in the letter she had sent him. Fortunately the
cellar was well furnished. Accordingly they had cabbage soup, followed by a
piece of bacon. Then Nana rummaged in her handbag and found quite a heap of
provisions which she had taken the precaution of stuffing into it. There was a
Strasbourg paté, for instance, and a bag of sweet-meats and some oranges. So
they both ate away like ogres and, while they satisfied their healthy young
appetites, treated one another with easy good fellowship. Nana kept calling
Georges &ldquo;dear old girl,&rdquo; a form of address which struck her as at
once tender and familiar. At dessert, in order not to give Zoé any more
trouble, they used the same spoon turn and turn about while demolishing a pot
of preserves they had discovered at the top of a cupboard.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, you dear old girl!&rdquo; said Nana, pushing back the round table.
&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t made such a good dinner these ten years past!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Yet it was growing late, and she wanted to send her boy off for fear he should
be suspected of all sorts of things. But he kept declaring that he had plenty
of time to spare. For the matter of that, his clothes were not drying well, and
Zoé averred that it would take an hour longer at least, and as she was dropping
with sleep after the fatigues of the journey, they sent her off to bed. After
which they were alone in the silent house.
</p>

<p>
It was a very charming evening. The fire was dying out amid glowing embers, and
in the great blue room, where Zoé had made up the bed before going upstairs,
the air felt a little oppressive. Nana, overcome by the heavy warmth, got up to
open the window for a few minutes, and as she did so she uttered a little cry.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Great heavens, how beautiful it is! Look, dear old girl!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Georges had come up, and as though the window bar had not been sufficiently
wide, he put his arm round Nana&rsquo;s waist and rested his head against her
shoulder. The weather had undergone a brisk change: the skies were clearing,
and a full moon lit up the country with its golden disk of light. A sovereign
quiet reigned over the valley. It seemed wider and larger as it opened on the
immense distances of the plain, where the trees loomed like little shadowy
islands amid a shining and waveless lake. And Nana grew tenderhearted, felt
herself a child again. Most surely she had dreamed of nights like this at an
epoch which she could not recall. Since leaving the train every object of
sensation&mdash;the wide countryside, the green things with their pungent
scents, the house, the vegetables&mdash;had stirred her to such a degree that
now it seemed to her as if she had left Paris twenty years ago.
Yesterday&rsquo;s existence was far, far away, and she was full of sensations
of which she had no previous experience. Georges, meanwhile, was giving her
neck little coaxing kisses, and this again added to her sweet unrest. With
hesitating hand she pushed him from her, as though he were a child whose
affectionate advances were fatiguing, and once more she told him that he ought
to take his departure. He did not gainsay her. All in good time&mdash;he would
go all in good time!
</p>

<p>
But a bird raised its song and again was silent. It was a robin in an elder
tree below the window.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Wait one moment,&rdquo; whispered Georges; &ldquo;the lamp&rsquo;s
frightening him. I&rsquo;ll put it out.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And when he came back and took her waist again he added:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll relight it in a minute.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then as she listened to the robin and the boy pressed against her side, Nana
remembered. Ah yes, it was in novels that she had got to know all this! In
other days she would have given her heart to have a full moon and robins and a
lad dying of love for her. Great God, she could have cried, so good and
charming did it all seem to her! Beyond a doubt she had been born to live
honestly! So she pushed Georges away again, and he grew yet bolder.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, let me be. I don&rsquo;t care about it. It would be very wicked at
your age. Now listen&mdash;I&rsquo;ll always be your mamma.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
A sudden feeling of shame overcame her. She was blushing exceedingly, and yet
not a soul could see her. The room behind them was full of black night while
the country stretched before them in silence and lifeless solitude. Never had
she known such a sense of shame before. Little by little she felt her power of
resistance ebbing away, and that despite her embarrassed efforts to the
contrary. That disguise of his, that woman&rsquo;s shift and that dressing
jacket set her laughing again. It was as though a girl friend were teasing her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s not right; it&rsquo;s not right!&rdquo; she stammered
after a last effort.
</p>

<p>
And with that, in face of the lovely night, she sank like a young virgin into
the arms of this mere child. The house slept.
</p>

<p>
Next morning at Les Fondettes, when the bell rang for lunch, the dining-room
table was no longer too big for the company. Fauchery and Daguenet had been
driven up together in one carriage, and after them another had arrived with the
Count de Vandeuvres, who had followed by the next train. Georges was the last
to come downstairs. He was looking a little pale, and his eyes were sunken, but
in answer to questions he said that he was much better, though he was still
somewhat shaken by the violence of the attack. Mme Hugon looked into his eyes
with an anxious smile and adjusted his hair which had been carelessly combed
that morning, but he drew back as though embarrassed by this tender little
action. During the meal she chaffed Vandeuvres very pleasantly and declared
that she had expected him for five years past.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, here you are at last! How have you managed it?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Vandeuvres took her remarks with equal pleasantry. He told her that he had lost
a fabulous sum of money at the club yesterday and thereupon had come away with
the intention of ending up in the country.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;&rsquo;Pon my word, yes, if only you can find me an heiress in these
rustic parts! There must be delightful women hereabouts.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The old lady rendered equal thanks to Daguenet and Fauchery for having been so
good as to accept her son&rsquo;s invitation, and then to her great and joyful
surprise she saw the Marquis de Chouard enter the room. A third carriage had
brought him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dear me, you&rsquo;ve made this your trysting place today!&rdquo; she
cried. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve passed word round! But what&rsquo;s happening? For
years I&rsquo;ve never succeeded in bringing you all together, and now you all
drop in at once. Oh, I certainly don&rsquo;t complain.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Another place was laid. Fauchery found himself next the Countess Sabine, whose
liveliness and gaiety surprised him when he remembered her drooping, languid
state in the austere Rue Miromesnil drawing room. Daguenet, on the other hand,
who was seated on Estelle&rsquo;s left, seemed slightly put out by his
propinquity to that tall, silent girl. The angularity of her elbows was
disagreeable to him. Muffat and Chouard had exchanged a sly glance while
Vandeuvres continued joking about his coming marriage.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Talking of ladies,&rdquo; Mme Hugon ended by saying, &ldquo;I have a new
neighbor whom you probably know.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she mentioned Nana. Vandeuvres affected the liveliest astonishment.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, that is strange! Nana&rsquo;s property near here!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Fauchery and Daguenet indulged in a similar demonstration while the Marquis de
Chouard discussed the breast of a chicken without appearing to comprehend their
meaning. Not one of the men had smiled.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; continued the old lady, &ldquo;and the person in
question arrived at La Mignotte yesterday evening, as I was saying she would. I
got my information from the gardener this morning.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At these words the gentlemen could not conceal their very real surprise. They
all looked up. Eh? What? Nana had come down! But they were only expecting her
next day; they were privately under the impression that they would arrive
before her! Georges alone sat looking at his glass with drooped eyelids and a
tired expression. Ever since the beginning of lunch he had seemed to be
sleeping with open eyes and a vague smile on his lips.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Are you still in pain, my Zizi?&rdquo; asked his mother, who had been
gazing at him throughout the meal.
</p>

<p>
He started and blushed as he said that he was very well now, but the worn-out
insatiate expression of a girl who has danced too much did not fade from his
face.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter with your neck?&rdquo; resumed Mme Hugon in an
alarmed tone. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s all red.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He was embarrassed and stammered. He did not know&mdash;he had nothing the
matter with his neck. Then drawing his shirt collar up:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah yes, some insect stung me there!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The Marquis de Chouard had cast a sidelong glance at the little red place.
Muffat, too, looked at Georges. The company was finishing lunch and planning
various excursions. Fauchery was growing increasingly excited with the Countess
Sabine&rsquo;s laughter. As he was passing her a dish of fruit their hands
touched, and for one second she looked at him with eyes so full of dark meaning
that he once more thought of the secret which had been communicated to him one
evening after an uproarious dinner. Then, too, she was no longer the same
woman. Something was more pronounced than of old, and her gray foulard gown
which fitted loosely over her shoulders added a touch of license to her
delicate, high-strung elegance.
</p>

<p>
When they rose from the table Daguenet remained behind with Fauchery in order
to impart to him the following crude witticism about Estelle: &ldquo;A nice
broomstick that to shove into a man&rsquo;s hands!&rdquo; Nevertheless, he grew
serious when the journalist told him the amount she was worth in the way of
dowry.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Four hundred thousand francs.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And the mother?&rdquo; queried Fauchery. &ldquo;She&rsquo;s all right,
eh?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, SHE&rsquo;LL work the oracle! But it&rsquo;s no go, my dear
man!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Bah! How are we to know? We must wait and see.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
It was impossible to go out that day, for the rain was still falling in heavy
showers. Georges had made haste to disappear from the scene and had
double-locked his door. These gentlemen avoided mutual explanations, though
they were none of them deceived as to the reasons which had brought them
together. Vandeuvres, who had had a very bad time at play, had really conceived
the notion of lying fallow for a season, and he was counting on Nana&rsquo;s
presence in the neighborhood as a safeguard against excessive boredom. Fauchery
had taken advantage of the holidays granted him by Rose, who just then was
extremely busy. He was thinking of discussing a second notice with Nana, in
case country air should render them reciprocally affectionate. Daguenet, who
had been just a little sulky with her since Steiner had come upon the scene,
was dreaming of resuming the old connection or at least of snatching some
delightful opportunities if occasion offered. As to the Marquis de Chouard, he
was watching for times and seasons. But among all those men who were busy
following in the tracks of Venus&mdash;a Venus with the rouge scarce washed
from her cheeks&mdash;Muffat was at once the most ardent and the most tortured
by the novel sensations of desire and fear and anger warring in his anguished
members. A formal promise had been made him; Nana was awaiting him. Why then
had she taken her departure two days sooner than was expected?
</p>

<p>
He resolved to betake himself to La Mignotte after dinner that same evening. At
night as the count was leaving the park Georges fled forth after him. He left
him to follow the road to Gumières, crossed the Choue, rushed into Nana&rsquo;s
presence, breathless, furious and with tears in his eyes. Ah yes, he understood
everything! That old fellow now on his way to her was coming to keep an
appointment! Nana was dumfounded by this ebullition of jealousy, and, greatly
moved by the way things were turning out, she took him in her arms and
comforted him to the best of her ability. Oh no, he was quite beside the mark;
she was expecting no one. If the gentleman came it would not be her fault. What
a great ninny that Zizi was to be taking on so about nothing at all! By her
child&rsquo;s soul she swore she loved nobody except her own Georges. And with
that she kissed him and wiped away his tears.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now just listen! You&rsquo;ll see that it&rsquo;s all for your
sake,&rdquo; she went on when he had grown somewhat calmer. &ldquo;Steiner has
arrived&mdash;he&rsquo;s up above there now. You know, duckie, I can&rsquo;t
turn HIM out of doors.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, I know; I&rsquo;m not talking of HIM,&rdquo; whispered the boy.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Very well then, I&rsquo;ve stuck him into the room at the end. I said I
was out of sorts. He&rsquo;s unpacking his trunk. Since nobody&rsquo;s seen
you, be quick and run up and hide in my room and wait for me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Georges sprang at her and threw his arms round her neck. It was true after all!
She loved him a little! So they would put the lamp out as they did yesterday
and be in the dark till daytime! Then as the front-door bell sounded he quietly
slipped away. Upstairs in the bedroom he at once took off his shoes so as not
to make any noise and straightway crouched down behind a curtain and waited
soberly.
</p>

<p>
Nana welcomed Count Muffat, who, though still shaken with passion, was now
somewhat embarrassed. She had pledged her word to him and would even have liked
to keep it since he struck her as a serious, practicable lover. But truly, who
could have foreseen all that happened yesterday? There was the voyage and the
house she had never set eyes on before and the arrival of the drenched little
lover! How sweet it had all seemed to her, and how delightful it would be to
continue in it! So much the worse for the gentleman! For three months past she
had been keeping him dangling after her while she affected conventionality in
order the further to inflame him. Well, well! He would have to continue
dangling, and if he didn&rsquo;t like that he could go! She would sooner have
thrown up everything than have played false to Georges.
</p>

<p>
The count had seated himself with all the ceremonious politeness becoming a
country caller. Only his hands were trembling slightly. Lust, which
Nana&rsquo;s skillful tactics daily exasperated, had at last wrought terrible
havoc in that sanguine, uncontaminated nature. The grave man, the chamberlain
who was wont to tread the state apartments at the Tuileries with slow and
dignified step, was now nightly driven to plunge his teeth into his bolster,
while with sobs of exasperation he pictured to himself a sensual shape which
never changed. But this time he was determined to make an end of the torture.
Coming along the highroad in the deep quiet of the gloaming, he had meditated a
fierce course of action. And the moment he had finished his opening remarks he
tried to take hold of Nana with both hands.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, no! Take care!&rdquo; she said simply. She was not vexed; nay, she
even smiled.
</p>

<p>
He caught her again, clenching his teeth as he did so. Then as she struggled to
get free he coarsely and crudely reminded her that he had come to stay the
night. Though much embarrassed at this, Nana did not cease to smile. She took
his hands and spoke very familiarly in order to soften her refusal.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come now, darling, do be quiet! Honor bright, I can&rsquo;t:
Steiner&rsquo;s upstairs.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But he was beside himself. Never yet had she seen a man in such a state. She
grew frightened and put her hand over his mouth in order to stifle his cries.
Then in lowered tones she besought him to be quiet and to let her alone.
Steiner was coming downstairs. Things were getting stupid, to be sure! When
Steiner entered the room he heard Nana remarking:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I adore the country.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She was lounging comfortably back in her deep easy chair, and she turned round
and interrupted herself.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s Monsieur le Comte Muffat, darling. He saw a light here while
he was strolling past, and he came in to bid us welcome.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The two men clasped hands. Muffat, with his face in shadow, stood silent for a
moment or two. Steiner seemed sulky. Then they chatted about Paris: business
there was at a standstill; abominable things had been happening on
&rsquo;change. When a quarter of an hour had elapsed Muffat took his departure,
and, as the young woman was seeing him to the door, he tried without success to
make an assignation for the following night. Steiner went up to bed almost
directly afterward, grumbling, as he did so, at the everlasting little ailments
that seemed to afflict the genus courtesan. The two old boys had been packed
off at last! When she was able to rejoin him Nana found Georges still hiding
exemplarily behind the curtain. The room was dark. He pulled her down onto the
floor as she sat near him, and together they began playfully rolling on the
ground, stopping now and again and smothering their laughter with kisses
whenever they struck their bare feet against some piece of furniture. Far away,
on the road to Gumières, Count Muffat walked slowly home and, hat in hand,
bathed his burning forehead in the freshness and silence of the night.
</p>

<p>
During the days that followed Nana found life adorable. In the lad&rsquo;s arms
she was once more a girl of fifteen, and under the caressing influence of this
renewed childhood love&rsquo;s white flower once more blossomed forth in a
nature which had grown hackneyed and disgusted in the service of the other sex.
She would experience sudden fits of shame, sudden vivid emotions, which left
her trembling. She wanted to laugh and to cry, and she was beset by nervous,
maidenly feelings, mingled with warm desires that made her blush again. Never
yet had she felt anything comparable to this. The country filled her with
tender thoughts. As a little girl she had long wished to dwell in a meadow,
tending a goat, because one day on the talus of the fortifications she had seen
a goat bleating at the end of its tether. Now this estate, this stretch of land
belonging to her, simply swelled her heart to bursting, so utterly had her old
ambition been surpassed. Once again she tasted the novel sensations experienced
by chits of girls, and at night when she went upstairs, dizzy with her day in
the open air and intoxicated by the scent of green leaves, and rejoined her
Zizi behind the curtain, she fancied herself a schoolgirl enjoying a holiday
escapade. It was an amour, she thought, with a young cousin to whom she was
going to be married. And so she trembled at the slightest noise and dread lest
parents should hear her, while making the delicious experiments and suffering
the voluptuous terrors attendant on a girl&rsquo;s first slip from the path of
virtue.
</p>

<p>
Nana in those days was subject to the fancies a sentimental girl will indulge
in. She would gaze at the moon for hours. One night she had a mind to go down
into the garden with Georges when all the household was asleep. When there they
strolled under the trees, their arms round each other&rsquo;s waists, and
finally went and laid down in the grass, where the dew soaked them through and
through. On another occasion, after a long silence up in the bedroom, she fell
sobbing on the lad&rsquo;s neck, declaring in broken accents that she was
afraid of dying. She would often croon a favorite ballad of Mme Lerat&rsquo;s,
which was full of flowers and birds. The song would melt her to tears, and she
would break off in order to clasp Georges in a passionate embrace and to
extract from him vows of undying affection. In short she was extremely silly,
as she herself would admit when they both became jolly good fellows again and
sat up smoking cigarettes on the edge of the bed, dangling their bare legs over
it the while and tapping their heels against its wooden side.
</p>

<p>
But what utterly melted the young woman&rsquo;s heart was Louiset&rsquo;s
arrival. She had an access of maternal affection which was as violent as a mad
fit. She would carry off her boy into the sunshine outside to watch him kicking
about; she would dress him like a little prince and roll with him in the grass.
The moment he arrived she decided that he was to sleep near her, in the room
next hers, where Mme Lerat, whom the country greatly affected, used to begin
snoring the moment her head touched the pillow. Louiset did not hurt
Zizi&rsquo;s position in the least. On the contrary, Nana said that she had now
two children, and she treated them with the same wayward tenderness. At night,
more than ten times running, she would leave Zizi to go and see if Louiset were
breathing properly, but on her return she would re-embrace her Zizi and lavish
on him the caresses that had been destined for the child. She played at being
Mamma while he wickedly enjoyed being dandled in the arms of the great wench
and allowed himself to be rocked to and fro like a baby that is being sent to
sleep. It was all so delightful, and Nana was so charmed with her present
existence, that she seriously proposed to him never to leave the country. They
would send all the other people away, and he, she and the child would live
alone. And with that they would make a thousand plans till daybreak and never
once hear Mme Lerat as she snored vigorously after the fatigues of a day spent
in picking country flowers.
</p>

<p>
This charming existence lasted nearly a week. Count Muffat used to come every
evening and go away again with disordered face and burning hands. One evening
he was not even received, as Steiner had been obliged to run up to Paris. He
was told that Madame was not well. Nana grew daily more disgusted at the notion
of deceiving Georges. He was such an innocent lad, and he had such faith in
her! She would have looked on herself as the lowest of the low had she played
him false. Besides, it would have sickened her to do so! Zoé, who took her part
in this affair in mute disdain, believed that Madame was growing senseless.
</p>

<p>
On the sixth day a band of visitors suddenly blundered into Nana&rsquo;s idyl.
She had, indeed, invited a whole swarm of people under the belief that none of
them would come. And so one fine afternoon she was vastly astonished and
annoyed to see an omnibus full of people pulling up outside the gate of La
Mignotte.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s us!&rdquo; cried Mignon, getting down first from the
conveyance and extracting then his sons Henri and Charles.
</p>

<p>
Labordette thereupon appeared and began handing out an interminable file of
ladies&mdash;Lucy Stewart, Caroline Hequet, Tatan Nene, Maria Blond. Nana was
in hopes that they would end there, when La Faloise sprang from the step in
order to receive Gaga and her daughter Amelie in his trembling arms. That
brought the number up to eleven people. Their installation proved a laborious
undertaking. There were five spare rooms at La Mignotte, one of which was
already occupied by Mme Lerat and Louiset. The largest was devoted to the Gaga
and La Faloise establishment, and it was decided that Amelie should sleep on a
truckle bed in the dressing room at the side. Mignon and his two sons had the
third room. Labordette the fourth. There thus remained one room which was
transformed into a dormitory with four beds in it for Lucy, Caroline, Tatan and
Maria. As to Steiner, he would sleep on the divan in the drawing room. At the
end of an hour, when everyone was duly settled, Nana, who had begun by being
furious, grew enchanted at the thought of playing hostess on a grand scale. The
ladies complimented her on La Mignotte. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a stunning property,
my dear!&rdquo; And then, too, they brought her quite a whiff of Parisian air,
and talking all together with bursts of laughter and exclamation and emphatic
little gestures, they gave her all the petty gossip of the week just past. By
the by, and how about Bordenave? What had he said about her prank? Oh, nothing
much! After bawling about having her brought back by the police, he had simply
put somebody else in her place at night. Little Violaine was the understudy,
and she had even obtained a very pretty success as the Blonde Venus. Which
piece of news made Nana rather serious.
</p>

<p>
It was only four o&rsquo;clock in the afternoon, and there was some talk of
taking a stroll around.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, I haven&rsquo;t told you,&rdquo; said Nana, &ldquo;I was just off to
get up potatoes when you arrived.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Thereupon they all wanted to go and dig potatoes without even changing their
dresses first. It was quite a party. The gardener and two helpers were already
in the potato field at the end of the grounds. The ladies knelt down and began
fumbling in the mold with their beringed fingers, shouting gaily whenever they
discovered a potato of exceptional size. It struck them as so amusing! But
Tatan Nene was in a state of triumph! So many were the potatoes she had
gathered in her youth that she forgot herself entirely and gave the others much
good advice, treating them like geese the while. The gentlemen toiled less
strenuously. Mignon looked every inch the good citizen and father and made his
stay in the country an occasion for completing his boys&rsquo; education.
Indeed, he spoke to them of Parmentier!
</p>

<p>
Dinner that evening was wildly hilarious. The company ate ravenously. Nana, in
a state of great elevation, had a warm disagreement with her butler, an
individual who had been in service at the bishop&rsquo;s palace in Orleans. The
ladies smoked over their coffee. An earsplitting noise of merrymaking issued
from the open windows and died out far away under the serene evening sky while
peasants, belated in the lanes, turned and looked at the flaring rooms.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s most tiresome that you&rsquo;re going back the day after
tomorrow,&rdquo; said Nana. &ldquo;But never mind, we&rsquo;ll get up an
excursion all the same!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They decided to go on the morrow, Sunday, and visit the ruins of the old Abbey
of Chamont, which were some seven kilometers distant. Five carriages would come
out from Orleans, take up the company after lunch and bring them back to dinner
at La Mignotte at about seven. It would be delightful.
</p>

<p>
That evening, as his wont was, Count Muffat mounted the hill to ring at the
outer gate. But the brightly lit windows and the shouts of laughter astonished
him. When, however, he recognized Mignon&rsquo;s voice, he understood it all
and went off, raging at this new obstacle, driven to extremities, bent on some
violent act. Georges passed through a little door of which he had the key,
slipped along the staircase walls and went quietly up into Nana&rsquo;s room.
Only he had to wait for her till past midnight. She appeared at last in a high
state of intoxication and more maternal even than on the previous nights.
Whenever she had drunk anything she became so amorous as to be absurd.
Accordingly she now insisted on his accompanying her to the Abbey of Chamont.
But he stood out against this; he was afraid of being seen. If he were to be
seen driving with her there would be an atrocious scandal. But she burst into
tears and evinced the noisy despair of a slighted woman. And he thereupon
consoled her and formally promised to be one of the party.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;So you do love me very much,&rdquo; she blurted out. &ldquo;Say you love
me very much. Oh, my darling old bear, if I were to die would you feel it very
much? Confess!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At Les Fondettes the near neighborhood of Nana had utterly disorganized the
party. Every morning during lunch good Mme Hugon returned to the subject
despite herself, told her guests the news the gardener had brought her and gave
evidence of the absorbing curiosity with which notorious courtesans are able to
inspire even the worthiest old ladies. Tolerant though she was, she was
revolted and maddened by a vague presentiment of coming ill, which frightened
her in the evenings as thoroughly as if a wild beast had escaped from a
menagerie and were known to be lurking in the countryside.
</p>

<p>
She began trying to pick a little quarrel with her guests, whom she each and
all accused of prowling round La Mignotte. Count Vandeuvres had been seen
laughing on the highroad with a golden-haired lady, but he defended himself
against the accusation; he denied that it was Nana, the fact being that Lucy
had been with him and had told him how she had just turned her third prince out
of doors. The Marquis de Chouard used also to go out every day, but his excuse
was doctor&rsquo;s orders. Toward Daguenet and Fauchery Mme Hugon behaved
unjustly too. The former especially never left Les Fondettes, for he had given
up the idea of renewing the old connection and was busy paying the most
respectful attentions to Estelle. Fauchery also stayed with the Muffat ladies.
On one occasion only he had met Mignon with an armful of flowers, putting his
sons through a course of botanical instruction in a by-path. The two men had
shaken hands and given each other the news about Rose. She was perfectly well
and happy; they had both received a letter from her that morning in which she
besought them to profit by the fresh country air for some days longer. Among
all her guests the old lady spared only Count Muffat and Georges. The count,
who said he had serious business in Orleans, could certainly not be running
after the bad woman, and as to Georges, the poor child was at last causing her
grave anxiety, seeing that every evening he was seized with atrocious sick
headaches which kept him to his bed in broad daylight.
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile Fauchery had become the Countess Sabine&rsquo;s faithful attendant in
the absence during each afternoon of Count Muffat. Whenever they went to the
end of the park he carried her campstool and her sunshade. Besides, he amused
her with the original witticisms peculiar to a second-rate journalist, and in
so doing he prompted her to one of those sudden intimacies which are allowable
in the country. She had apparently consented to it from the first, for she had
grown quite a girl again in the society of a young man whose noisy humor seemed
unlikely to compromise her. But now and again, when for a second or two they
found themselves alone behind the shrubs, their eyes would meet; they would
pause amid their laughter, grow suddenly serious and view one another darkly,
as though they had fathomed and divined their inmost hearts.
</p>

<p>
On Friday a fresh place had to be laid at lunch time. M. Theophile Venot, whom
Mme Hugon remembered to have invited at the Muffats&rsquo; last winter, had
just arrived. He sat stooping humbly forward and behaved with much good nature,
as became a man of no account, nor did he seem to notice the anxious deference
with which he was treated. When he had succeeded in getting the company to
forget his presence he sat nibbling small lumps of sugar during dessert,
looking sharply up at Daguenet as the latter handed Estelle strawberries and
listening to Fauchery, who was making the countess very merry over one of his
anecdotes. Whenever anyone looked at HIM he smiled in his quiet way. When the
guests rose from table he took the count&rsquo;s arm and drew him into the
park. He was known to have exercised great influence over the latter ever since
the death of his mother. Indeed, singular stories were told about the kind of
dominion which the ex-lawyer enjoyed in that household. Fauchery, whom his
arrival doubtless embarrassed, began explaining to Georges and Daguenet the
origin of the man&rsquo;s wealth. It was a big lawsuit with the management of
which the Jesuits had entrusted him in days gone by. In his opinion the worthy
man was a terrible fellow despite his gentle, plump face and at this time of
day had his finger in all the intrigues of the priesthood. The two young men
had begun joking at this, for they thought the little old gentleman had an
idiotic expression. The idea of an unknown Venot, a gigantic Venot, acting for
the whole body of the clergy, struck them in the light of a comical invention.
But they were silenced when, still leaning on the old man&rsquo;s arm, Count
Muffat reappeared with blanched cheeks and eyes reddened as if by recent
weeping.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I bet they&rsquo;ve been chatting about hell,&rdquo; muttered Fauchery
in a bantering tone.
</p>

<p>
The Countess Sabine overheard the remark. She turned her head slowly, and their
eyes met in that long gaze with which they were accustomed to sound one another
prudently before venturing once for all.
</p>

<p>
After the breakfast it was the guests&rsquo; custom to betake themselves to a
little flower garden on a terrace overlooking the plain. This Sunday afternoon
was exquisitely mild. There had been signs of rain toward ten in the morning,
but the sky, without ceasing to be covered, had, as it were, melted into milky
fog, which now hung like a cloud of luminous dust in the golden sunlight. Soon
Mme Hugon proposed that they should step down through a little doorway below
the terrace and take a walk on foot in the direction of Gumières and as far as
the Choue. She was fond of walking and, considering her threescore years, was
very active. Besides, all her guests declared that there was no need to drive.
So in a somewhat straggling order they reached the wooden bridge over the
river. Fauchery and Daguenet headed the column with the Muffat ladies and were
followed by the count and the marquis, walking on either side of Mme Hugon,
while Vandeuvres, looking fashionable and out of his element on the highroad,
marched in the rear, smoking a cigar. M. Venot, now slackening, now hastening
his pace, passed smilingly from group to group, as though bent on losing no
scrap of conversation.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;To think of poor dear Georges at Orleans!&rdquo; said Mme Hugon.
&ldquo;He was anxious to consult old Doctor Tavernier, who never goes out now,
on the subject of his sick headaches. Yes, you were not up, as he went off
before seven o&rsquo;clock. But it&rsquo;ll be a change for him all the
same.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She broke off, exclaiming:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why, what&rsquo;s making them stop on the bridge?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The fact was the ladies and Fauchery and Daguenet were standing stock-still on
the crown of the bridge. They seemed to be hesitating as though some obstacle
or other rendered them uneasy and yet the way lay clear before them.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Go on!&rdquo; cried the count.
</p>

<p>
They never moved and seemed to be watching the approach of something which the
rest had not yet observed. Indeed the road wound considerably and was bordered
by a thick screen of poplar trees. Nevertheless, a dull sound began to grow
momentarily louder, and soon there was a noise of wheels, mingled with shouts
of laughter and the cracking of whips. Then suddenly five carriages came into
view, driving one behind the other. They were crowded to bursting, and bright
with a galaxy of white, blue and pink costumes.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; said Mme Hugon in some surprise.
</p>

<p>
Then her instinct told her, and she felt indignant at such an untoward invasion
of her road.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, that woman!&rdquo; she murmured. &ldquo;Walk on, pray walk on.
Don&rsquo;t appear to notice.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But it was too late. The five carriages which were taking Nana and her circle
to the ruins of Chamont rolled on to the narrow wooden bridge. Fauchery,
Daguenet and the Muffat ladies were forced to step backward, while Mme Hugon
and the others had also to stop in Indian file along the roadside. It was a
superb ride past! The laughter in the carriages had ceased, and faces were
turned with an expression of curiosity. The rival parties took stock of each
other amid a silence broken only by the measured trot of the horses. In the
first carriage Maria Blond and Tatan Nene were lolling backward like a pair of
duchesses, their skirts swelling forth over the wheels, and as they passed they
cast disdainful glances at the honest women who were walking afoot. Then came
Gaga, filling up a whole seat and half smothering La Faloise beside her so that
little but his small anxious face was visible. Next followed Caroline Hequet
with Labordette, Lucy Stewart with Mignon and his boys and at the close of all
Nana in a victoria with Steiner and on a bracket seat in front of her that
poor, darling Zizi, with his knees jammed against her own.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the last of them, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo; the countess
placidly asked Fauchery, pretending at the same time not to recognize Nana.
</p>

<p>
The wheel of the victoria came near grazing her, but she did not step back. The
two women had exchanged a deeply significant glance. It was, in fact, one of
those momentary scrutinies which are at once complete and definite. As to the
men, they behaved unexceptionably. Fauchery and Daguenet looked icy and
recognized no one. The marquis, more nervous than they and afraid of some
farcical ebullition on the part of the ladies, had plucked a blade of grass and
was rolling it between his fingers. Only Vandeuvres, who had stayed somewhat
apart from the rest of the company, winked imperceptibly at Lucy, who smiled at
him as she passed.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Be careful!&rdquo; M. Venot had whispered as he stood behind Count
Muffat.
</p>

<p>
The latter in extreme agitation gazed after this illusive vision of Nana while
his wife turned slowly round and scrutinized him. Then he cast his eyes on the
ground as though to escape the sound of galloping hoofs which were sweeping
away both his senses and his heart. He could have cried aloud in his agony,
for, seeing Georges among Nana&rsquo;s skirts, he understood it all now. A mere
child! He was brokenhearted at the thought that she should have preferred a
mere child to him! Steiner was his equal, but that child!
</p>

<p>
Mme Hugon, in the meantime, had not at once recognized Georges. Crossing the
bridge, he was fain to jump into the river, but Nana&rsquo;s knees restrained
him. Then white as a sheet and icy cold, he sat rigidly up in his place and
looked at no one. It was just possible no one would notice him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, my God!&rdquo; said the old lady suddenly. &ldquo;Georges is with
her!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The carriages had passed quite through the uncomfortable crowd of people who
recognized and yet gave no sign of recognition. The short critical encounter
seemed to have been going on for ages. And now the wheels whirled away the
carriageloads of girls more gaily than ever. Toward the fair open country they
went, amid the buffetings of the fresh air of heaven. Bright-colored fabrics
fluttered in the wind, and the merry laughter burst forth anew as the voyagers
began jesting and glancing back at the respectable folks halting with looks of
annoyance at the roadside. Turning round, Nana could see the walking party
hesitating and then returning the way they had come without crossing the
bridge. Mme Hugon was leaning silently on Count Muffat&rsquo;s arm, and so sad
was her look that no one dared comfort her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I say, did you see Fauchery, dear?&rdquo; Nana shouted to Lucy, who was
leaning out of the carriage in front. &ldquo;What a brute he was! He shall pay
out for that. And Paul, too, a fellow I&rsquo;ve been so kind to! Not a sign!
They&rsquo;re polite, I&rsquo;m sure.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with that she gave Steiner a terrible dressing, he having ventured to
suggest that the gentlemen&rsquo;s attitude had been quite as it should be. So
then they weren&rsquo;t even worth a bow? The first blackguard that came by
might insult them? Thanks! He was the right sort, too, he was! It
couldn&rsquo;t be better! One ought always to bow to a woman.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s the tall one?&rdquo; asked Lucy at random, shouting through
the noise of the wheels.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the Countess Muffat,&rdquo; answered Steiner.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;There now! I suspected as much,&rdquo; said Nana. &ldquo;Now, my dear
fellow, it&rsquo;s all very well her being a countess, for she&rsquo;s no
better than she should be. Yes, yes, she&rsquo;s no better that she should be.
You know, I&rsquo;ve got an eye for such things, I have! And now I know your
countess as well as if I had been at the making of her! I&rsquo;ll bet you that
she&rsquo;s the mistress of that viper Fauchery! I tell you, she&rsquo;s his
mistress! Between women you guess that sort of thing at once!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Steiner shrugged his shoulders. Since the previous day his irritation had been
hourly increasing. He had received letters which necessitated his leaving the
following morning, added to which he did not much appreciate coming down to the
country in order to sleep on the drawing-room divan.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And this poor baby boy!&rdquo; Nana continued, melting suddenly at sight
of Georges&rsquo;s pale face as he still sat rigid and breathless in front of
her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;D&rsquo;you think Mamma recognized me?&rdquo; he stammered at last.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, most surely she did! Why, she cried out! But it&rsquo;s my fault. He
didn&rsquo;t want to come with us; I forced him to. Now listen, Zizi, would you
like me to write to your mamma? She looks such a kind, decent sort of lady!
I&rsquo;ll tell her that I never saw you before and that it was Steiner who
brought you with him for the first time today.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, no, don&rsquo;t write,&rdquo; said Georges in great anxiety.
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll explain it all myself. Besides, if they bother me about it I
shan&rsquo;t go home again.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But he continued plunged in thought, racking his brains for excuses against his
return home in the evening. The five carriages were rolling through a flat
country along an interminable straight road bordered by fine trees. The country
was bathed in a silvery-gray atmosphere. The ladies still continued shouting
remarks from carriage to carriage behind the backs of the drivers, who chuckled
over their extraordinary fares. Occasionally one of them would rise to her feet
to look at the landscape and, supporting herself on her neighbor&rsquo;s
shoulder, would grow extremely excited till a sudden jolt brought her down to
the seat again. Caroline Hequet in the meantime was having a warm discussion
with Labordette. Both of them were agreed that Nana would be selling her
country house before three months were out, and Caroline was urging Labordette
to buy it back for her for as little as it was likely to fetch. In front of
them La Faloise, who was very amorous and could not get at Gaga&rsquo;s
apoplectic neck, was imprinting kisses on her spine through her dress, the
strained fabric of which was nigh splitting, while Amelie, perching stiffly on
the bracket seat, was bidding them be quiet, for she was horrified to be
sitting idly by, watching her mother being kissed. In the next carriage Mignon,
in order to astonish Lucy, was making his sons recite a fable by La Fontaine.
Henri was prodigious at this exercise; he could spout you one without pause or
hesitation. But Maria Blond, at the head of the procession, was beginning to
feel extremely bored. She was tired of hoaxing that blockhead of a Tatan Nene
with a story to the effect that the Parisian dairywomen were wont to fabricate
eggs with a mixture of paste and saffron. The distance was too great: were they
never going to get to their destination? And the question was transmitted from
carriage to carriage and finally reached Nana, who, after questioning her
driver, got up and shouted:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;We&rsquo;ve not got a quarter of an hour more to go. You see that church
behind the trees down there?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then she continued:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do you know, it appears the owner of the Château de Chamont is an old
lady of Napoleon&rsquo;s time? Oh, SHE was a merry one! At least, so Joseph
told me, and he heard it from the servants at the bishop&rsquo;s palace.
There&rsquo;s no one like it nowadays, and for the matter of that, she&rsquo;s
become goody-goody.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What&rsquo;s her name?&rdquo; asked Lucy.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Madame d&rsquo;Anglars.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Irma d&rsquo;Anglars&mdash;I knew her!&rdquo; cried Gaga.
</p>

<p>
Admiring exclamations burst from the line of carriages and were borne down the
wind as the horses quickened their trot. Heads were stretched out in
Gaga&rsquo;s direction; Maria Blond and Tatan Nene turned round and knelt on
the seat while they leaned over the carriage hood, and the air was full of
questions and cutting remarks, tempered by a certain obscure admiration. Gaga
had known her! The idea filled them all with respect for that far-off past.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dear me, I was young then,&rdquo; continued Gaga. &ldquo;But never mind,
I remember it all. I saw her pass. They said she was disgusting in her own
house, but, driving in her carriage, she WAS just smart! And the stunning tales
about her! Dirty doings and money flung about like one o&rsquo;clock! I
don&rsquo;t wonder at all that she&rsquo;s got a fine place. Why, she used to
clean out a man&rsquo;s pockets as soon as look at him. Irma d&rsquo;Anglars
still in the land of the living! Why, my little pets, she must be near
ninety.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At this the ladies became suddenly serious. Ninety years old! The deuce, there
wasn&rsquo;t one of them, as Lucy loudly declared, who would live to that age.
They were all done for. Besides, Nana said she didn&rsquo;t want to make old
bones; it wouldn&rsquo;t be amusing. They were drawing near their destination,
and the conversation was interrupted by the cracking of whips as the drivers
put their horses to their best paces. Yet amid all the noise Lucy continued
talking and, suddenly changing the subject, urged Nana to come to town with
them all to-morrow. The exhibition was soon to close, and the ladies must
really return to Paris, where the season was surpassing their expectations. But
Nana was obstinate. She loathed Paris; she wouldn&rsquo;t set foot there yet!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Eh, darling, we&rsquo;ll stay?&rdquo; she said, giving Georges&rsquo;s
knees a squeeze, as though Steiner were of no account.
</p>

<p>
The carriages had pulled up abruptly, and in some surprise the company got out
on some waste ground at the bottom of a small hill. With his whip one of the
drivers had to point them out the ruins of the old Abbey of Chamont where they
lay hidden among trees. It was a great sell! The ladies voted them silly. Why,
they were only a heap of old stones with briers growing over them and part of a
tumble-down tower. It really wasn&rsquo;t worth coming a couple of leagues to
see that! Then the driver pointed out to them the countryseat, the park of
which stretched away from the abbey, and he advised them to take a little path
and follow the walls surrounding it. They would thus make the tour of the place
while the carriages would go and await them in the village square. It was a
delightful walk, and the company agreed to the proposition.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Lord love me, Irma knows how to take care of herself!&rdquo; said Gaga,
halting before a gate at the corner of the park wall abutting on the highroad.
</p>

<p>
All of them stood silently gazing at the enormous bush which stopped up the
gateway. Then following the little path, they skirted the park wall, looking up
from time to time to admire the trees, whose lofty branches stretched out over
them and formed a dense vault of greenery. After three minutes or so they found
themselves in front of a second gate. Through this a wide lawn was visible,
over which two venerable oaks cast dark masses of shadow. Three minutes farther
on yet another gate afforded them an extensive view of a great avenue, a
perfect corridor of shadow, at the end of which a bright spot of sunlight
gleamed like a star. They stood in silent, wondering admiration, and then
little by little exclamations burst from their lips. They had been trying hard
to joke about it all with a touch of envy at heart, but this decidedly and
immeasurably impressed them. What a genius that Irma was! A sight like this
gave you a rattling notion of the woman! The trees stretched away and away, and
there were endlessly recurrent patches of ivy along the wall with glimpses of
lofty roofs and screens of poplars interspersed with dense masses of elms and
aspens. Was there no end to it then? The ladies would have liked to catch sight
of the mansion house, for they were weary of circling on and on, weary of
seeing nothing but leafy recesses through every opening they came to. They took
the rails of the gate in their hands and pressed their faces against the
ironwork. And thus excluded and isolated, a feeling of respect began to
overcome them as they thought of the castle lost to view in surrounding
immensity. Soon, being quite unused to walking, they grew tired. And the wall
did not leave off; at every turn of the small deserted path the same range of
gray stones stretched ahead of them. Some of them began to despair of ever
getting to the end of it and began talking of returning. But the more their
long walk fatigued them, the more respectful they became, for at each
successive step they were increasingly impressed by the tranquil, lordly
dignity of the domain.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s getting silly, this is!&rdquo; said Caroline Hequet, grinding
her teeth.
</p>

<p>
Nana silenced her with a shrug. For some moments past she had been rather pale
and extremely serious and had not spoken a single word. Suddenly the path gave
a final turn; the wall ended, and as they came out on the village square the
mansion house stood before them on the farther side of its grand outer court.
All stopped to admire the proud sweep of the wide steps, the twenty frontage
windows, the arrangement of the three wings, which were built of brick framed
by courses of stone. Henri IV had erewhile inhabited this historic mansion, and
his room, with its great bed hung with Genoa velvet, was still preserved there.
Breathless with admiration, Nana gave a little childish sigh.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Great God!&rdquo; she whispered very quietly to herself.
</p>

<p>
But the party were deeply moved when Gaga suddenly announced that Irma herself
was standing yonder in front of the church. She recognized her perfectly. She
was as upright as of old, the hoary campaigner, and that despite her age, and
she still had those eyes which flashed when she moved in that proud way of
hers! Vespers were just over, and for a second or two Madame stood in the
church porch. She was dressed in a dark brown silk and looked very simple and
very tall, her venerable face reminding one of some old marquise who had
survived the horrors of the Great Revolution. In her right hand a huge Book of
Hours shone in the sunlight, and very slowly she crossed the square, followed
some fifteen paces off by a footman in livery. The church was emptying, and all
the inhabitants of Chamont bowed before her with extreme respect. An old man
even kissed her hand, and a woman wanted to fall on her knees. Truly this was a
potent queen, full of years and honors. She mounted her flight of steps and
vanished from view.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what one attains to when one has methodical habits!&rdquo;
said Mignon with an air of conviction, looking at his sons and improving the
occasion.
</p>

<p>
Then everybody said his say. Labordette thought her extraordinarily well
preserved. Maria Blond let slip a foul expression and vexed Lucy, who declared
that one ought to honor gray hairs. All the women, to sum up, agreed that she
was a perfect marvel. Then the company got into their conveyances again. From
Chamont all the way to La Mignotte Nana remained silent. She had twice turned
round to look back at the house, and now, lulled by the sound of the wheels,
she forgot that Steiner was at her side and that Georges was in front of her. A
vision had come up out of the twilight, and the great lady seemed still to be
sweeping by with all the majesty of a potent queen, full of years and of
honors.
</p>

<p>
That evening Georges re-entered Les Fondettes in time for dinner. Nana, who had
grown increasingly absent-minded and singular in point of manner, had sent him
to ask his mamma&rsquo;s forgiveness. It was his plain duty, she remarked
severely, growing suddenly solicitous for the decencies of family life. She
even made him swear not to return for the night; she was tired, and in showing
proper obedience he was doing no more than his duty. Much bored by this moral
discourse, Georges appeared in his mother&rsquo;s presence with heavy heart and
downcast head.
</p>

<p>
Fortunately for him his brother Philippe, a great merry devil of a military
man, had arrived during the day, a fact which greatly curtailed the scene he
was dreading. Mme Hugon was content to look at him with eyes full of tears
while Philippe, who had been put in possession of the facts, threatened to go
and drag him home by the scruff of the neck if ever he went back into that
woman&rsquo;s society. Somewhat comforted, Georges began slyly planning how to
make his escape toward two o&rsquo;clock next day in order to arrange about
future meetings with Nana.
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless, at dinnertime the house party at Les Fondettes seemed not a
little embarrassed. Vandeuvres had given notice of departure, for he was
anxious to take Lucy back to Paris with him. He was amused at the idea of
carrying off this girl whom he had known for ten years yet never desired. The
Marquis de Chouard bent over his plate and meditated on Gaga&rsquo;s young
lady. He could well remember dandling Lili on his knee. What a way children had
of shooting up! This little thing was becoming extremely plump! But Count
Muffat especially was silent and absorbed. His cheeks glowed, and he had given
Georges one long look. Dinner over, he went upstairs, intending to shut himself
in his bedroom, his pretext being a slight feverish attack. M. Venot had rushed
after him, and upstairs in the bedroom a scene ensued. The count threw himself
upon the bed and strove to stifle a fit of nervous sobbing in the folds of the
pillow while M. Venot, in a soft voice, called him brother and advised him to
implore heaven for mercy. But he heard nothing: there was a rattle in his
throat. Suddenly he sprang off the bed and stammered:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I am going there. I can&rsquo;t resist any longer.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said the old man, &ldquo;I go with you.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
As they left the house two shadows were vanishing into the dark depths of a
garden walk, for every evening now Fauchery and the Countess Sabine left
Daguenet to help Estelle make tea. Once on the highroad the count walked so
rapidly that his companion had to run in order to follow him. Though utterly
out of breath, the latter never ceased showering on him the most conclusive
arguments against the temptations of the flesh. But the other never opened his
mouth as he hurried away into the night. Arrived in front of La Mignotte, he
said simply:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t resist any longer. Go!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;God&rsquo;s will be done then!&rdquo; muttered M. Venot. &ldquo;He uses
every method to assure His final triumph. Your sin will become His
weapon.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At La Mignotte there was much wrangling during the evening meal. Nana had found
a letter from Bordenave awaiting her, in which he advised rest, just as though
he were anxious to be rid of her. Little Violaine, he said, was being encored
twice nightly. But when Mignon continued urging her to come away with them on
the morrow Nana grew exasperated and declared that she did not intend taking
advice from anybody. In other ways, too, her behavior at table was ridiculously
stuck up. Mme Lerat having made some sharp little speech or other, she loudly
announced that, God willing, she wasn&rsquo;t going to let anyone&mdash;no, not
even her own aunt&mdash;make improper remarks in her presence. After which she
dreed her guests with honorable sentiments. She seemed to be suffering from a
fit of stupid right-mindedness, and she treated them all to projects of
religious education for Louiset and to a complete scheme of regeneration for
herself. When the company began laughing she gave vent to profound opinions,
nodding her head like a grocer&rsquo;s wife who knows what she is saying.
Nothing but order could lead to fortune! And so far as she was concerned, she
had no wish to die like a beggar! She set the ladies&rsquo; teeth on edge. They
burst out in protest. Could anyone have been converting Nana? No, it was
impossible! But she sat quite still and with absent looks once more plunged
into dreamland, where the vision of an extremely wealthy and greatly courted
Nana rose up before her.
</p>

<p>
The household were going upstairs to bed when Muffat put in an appearance. It
was Labordette who caught sight of him in the garden. He understood it all at
once and did him a service, for he got Steiner out of the way and, taking his
hand, led him along the dark corridor as far as Nana&rsquo;s bedroom. In
affairs of this kind Labordette was wont to display the most perfect tact and
cleverness. Indeed, he seemed delighted to be making other people happy. Nana
showed no surprise; she was only somewhat annoyed by the excessive heat of
Muffat&rsquo;s pursuit. Life was a serious affair, was it not? Love was too
silly: it led to nothing. Besides, she had her scruples in view of Zizi&rsquo;s
tender age. Indeed, she had scarcely behaved quite fairly toward him. Dear me,
yes, she was choosing the proper course again in taking up with an old fellow.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Zoé,&rdquo; she said to the lady&rsquo;s maid, who was enchanted at the
thought of leaving the country, &ldquo;pack the trunks when you get up
tomorrow. We are going back to Paris.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she went to bed with Muffat but experienced no pleasure.
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"></a> CHAPTER VII</h2>

<p>
One December evening three months afterward Count Muffat was strolling in the
Passage des Panoramas. The evening was very mild, and owing to a passing
shower, the passage had just become crowded with people. There was a perfect
mob of them, and they thronged slowly and laboriously along between the shops
on either side. Under the windows, white with reflected light, the pavement was
violently illuminated. A perfect stream of brilliancy emanated from white
globes, red lanterns, blue transparencies, lines of gas jets, gigantic watches
and fans, outlined in flame and burning in the open. And the motley displays in
the shops, the gold ornaments of the jeweler&rsquo;s, the glass ornaments of
the confectioner&rsquo;s, the light-colored silks of the modiste&rsquo;s,
seemed to shine again in the crude light of the reflectors behind the clear
plate-glass windows, while among the bright-colored, disorderly array of shop
signs a huge purple glove loomed in the distance like a bleeding hand which had
been severed from an arm and fastened to a yellow cuff.
</p>

<p>
Count Muffat had slowly returned as far as the boulevard. He glanced out at the
roadway and then came sauntering back along the shopwindows. The damp and
heated atmosphere filled the narrow passage with a slight luminous mist. Along
the flagstones, which had been wet by the drip-drop of umbrellas, the footsteps
of the crowd rang continually, but there was no sound of voices. Passers-by
elbowed him at every turn and cast inquiring looks at his silent face, which
the gaslight rendered pale. And to escape these curious manifestations the
count posted himself in front of a stationer&rsquo;s, where with profound
attention contemplated an array of paperweights in the form of glass bowls
containing floating landscapes and flowers.
</p>

<p>
He was conscious of nothing: he was thinking of Nana. Why had she lied to him
again? That morning she had written and told him not to trouble about her in
the evening, her excuse being that Louiset was ill and that she was going to
pass the night at her aunt&rsquo;s in order to nurse him. But he had felt
suspicious and had called at her house, where he learned from the porter that
Madame had just gone off to her theater. He was astonished at this, for she was
not playing in the new piece. Why then should she have told him this falsehood,
and what could she be doing at the Variétés that evening? Hustled by a
passer-by, the count unconsciously left the paperweights and found himself in
front of a glass case full of toys, where he grew absorbed over an array of
pocketbooks and cigar cases, all of which had the same blue swallow stamped on
one corner. Nana was most certainly not the same woman! In the early days after
his return from the country she used to drive him wild with delight, as with
pussycat caresses she kissed him all round his face and whiskers and vowed that
he was her own dear pet and the only little man she adored. He was no longer
afraid of Georges, whom his mother kept down at Les Fondettes. There was only
fat Steiner to reckon with, and he believed he was really ousting him, but he
did not dare provoke an explanation on his score. He knew he was once more in
an extraordinary financial scrape and on the verge of being declared bankrupt
on &rsquo;change, so much so that he was clinging fiercely to the shareholders
in the Landes Salt Pits and striving to sweat a final subscription out of them.
Whenever he met him at Nana&rsquo;s she would explain reasonably enough that
she did not wish to turn him out of doors like a dog after all he had spent on
her. Besides, for the last three months he had been living in such a whirl of
sensual excitement that, beyond the need of possessing her, he had felt no very
distinct impressions. His was a tardy awakening of the fleshly instinct, a
childish greed of enjoyment, which left no room for either vanity or jealousy.
Only one definite feeling could affect him now, and that was Nana&rsquo;s
decreasing kindness. She no longer kissed him on the beard! It made him
anxious, and as became a man quite ignorant of womankind, he began asking
himself what possible cause of offense he could have given her. Besides, he was
under the impression that he was satisfying all her desires. And so he harked
back again and again to the letter he had received that morning with its tissue
of falsehoods, invented for the extremely simple purpose of passing an evening
at her own theater. The crowd had pushed him forward again, and he had crossed
the passage and was puzzling his brain in front of the entrance to a
restaurant, his eyes fixed on some plucked larks and on a huge salmon laid out
inside the window.
</p>

<p>
At length he seemed to tear himself away from this spectacle. He shook himself,
looked up and noticed that it was close on nine o&rsquo;clock. Nana would soon
be coming out, and he would make her tell the truth. And with that he walked on
and recalled to memory the evenings he once passed in that region in the days
when he used to meet her at the door of the theater.
</p>

<p>
He knew all the shops, and in the gas-laden air he recognized their different
scents, such, for instance, as the strong savor of Russia leather, the perfume
of vanilla emanating from a chocolate dealer&rsquo;s basement, the savor of
musk blown in whiffs from the open doors of the perfumers. But he did not dare
linger under the gaze of the pale shopwomen, who looked placidly at him as
though they knew him by sight. For one instant he seemed to be studying the
line of little round windows above the shops, as though he had never noticed
them before among the medley of signs. Then once again he went up to the
boulevard and stood still a minute or two. A fine rain was now falling, and the
cold feel of it on his hands calmed him. He thought of his wife who was staying
in a country house near Macon, where her friend Mme de Chezelles had been
ailing a good deal since the autumn. The carriages in the roadway were rolling
through a stream of mud. The country, he thought, must be detestable in such
vile weather. But suddenly he became anxious and re-entered the hot, close
passage down which he strode among the strolling people. A thought struck him:
if Nana were suspicious of his presence there she would be off along the
Galerie Montmartre.
</p>

<p>
After that the count kept a sharp lookout at the very door of the theater,
though he did not like this passage end, where he was afraid of being
recognized. It was at the corner between the Galerie des Variétés and the
Galerie Saint-Marc, an equivocal corner full of obscure little shops. Of these
last one was a shoemaker&rsquo;s, where customers never seemed to enter. Then
there were two or three upholsterers&rsquo;, deep in dust, and a smoky, sleepy
reading room and library, the shaded lamps in which cast a green and slumberous
light all the evening through. There was never anyone in this corner save
well-dressed, patient gentlemen, who prowled about the wreckage peculiar to a
stage door, where drunken sceneshifters and ragged chorus girls congregate. In
front of the theater a single gas jet in a ground-glass globe lit up the
doorway. For a moment or two Muffat thought of questioning Mme Bron; then he
grew afraid lest Nana should get wind of his presence and escape by way of the
boulevard. So he went on the march again and determined to wait till he was
turned out at the closing of the gates, an event which had happened on two
previous occasions. The thought of returning home to his solitary bed simply
wrung his heart with anguish. Every time that golden-haired girls and men in
dirty linen came out and stared at him he returned to his post in front of the
reading room, where, looking in between two advertisements posted on a
windowpane, he was always greeted by the same sight. It was a little old man,
sitting stiff and solitary at the vast table and holding a green newspaper in
his green hands under the green light of one of the lamps. But shortly before
ten o&rsquo;clock another gentleman, a tall, good-looking, fair man with
well-fitting gloves, was also walking up and down in front of the stage door.
Thereupon at each successive turn the pair treated each other to a suspicious
sidelong glance. The count walked to the corner of the two galleries, which was
adorned with a high mirror, and when he saw himself therein, looking grave and
elegant, he was both ashamed and nervous.
</p>

<p>
Ten o&rsquo;clock struck, and suddenly it occurred to Muffat that it would be
very easy to find out whether Nana were in her dressing room or not. He went up
the three steps, crossed the little yellow-painted lobby and slipped into the
court by a door which simply shut with a latch. At that hour of the night the
narrow, damp well of a court, with its pestiferous water closets, its fountain,
its back view of the kitchen stove and the collection of plants with which the
portress used to litter the place, was drenched in dark mist; but the two
walls, rising pierced with windows on either hand, were flaming with light,
since the property room and the firemen&rsquo;s office were situated on the
ground floor, with the managerial bureau on the left, and on the right and
upstairs the dressing rooms of the company. The mouths of furnaces seemed to be
opening on the outer darkness from top to bottom of this well. The count had at
once marked the light in the windows of the dressing room on the first floor,
and as a man who is comforted and happy, he forgot where he was and stood
gazing upward amid the foul mud and faint decaying smell peculiar to the
premises of this antiquated Parisian building. Big drops were dripping from a
broken waterspout, and a ray of gaslight slipped from Mme Bron&rsquo;s window
and cast a yellow glare over a patch of moss-clad pavement, over the base of a
wall which had been rotted by water from a sink, over a whole cornerful of
nameless filth amid which old pails and broken crocks lay in fine confusion
round a spindling tree growing mildewed in its pot. A window fastening creaked,
and the count fled.
</p>

<p>
Nana was certainly going to come down. He returned to his post in front of the
reading room; among its slumbering shadows, which seemed only broken by the
glimmer of a night light, the little old man still sat motionless, his side
face sharply outlined against his newspaper. Then Muffat walked again and this
time took a more prolonged turn and, crossing the large gallery, followed the
Galerie des Variétés as far as that of Feydeau. The last mentioned was cold and
deserted and buried in melancholy shadow. He returned from it, passed by the
theater, turned the corner of the Galerie Saint-Marc and ventured as far as the
Galerie Montmartre, where a sugar-chopping machine in front of a grocer&rsquo;s
interested him awhile. But when he was taking his third turn he was seized with
such dread lest Nana should escape behind his back that he lost all
self-respect. Thereupon he stationed himself beside the fair gentleman in front
of the very theater. Both exchanged a glance of fraternal humility with which
was mingled a touch of distrust, for it was possible they might yet turn out to
be rivals. Some sceneshifters who came out smoking their pipes between the acts
brushed rudely against them, but neither one nor the other ventured to
complain. Three big wenches with untidy hair and dirty gowns appeared on the
doorstep. They were munching apples and spitting out the cores, but the two men
bowed their heads and patiently braved their impudent looks and rough speeches,
though they were hustled and, as it were, soiled by these trollops, who amused
themselves by pushing each other down upon them.
</p>

<p>
At that very moment Nana descended the three steps. She grew very pale when she
noticed Muffat.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s you!&rdquo; she stammered.
</p>

<p>
The sniggering extra ladies were quite frightened when they recognized her, and
they formed in line and stood up, looking as stiff and serious as servants whom
their mistress has caught behaving badly. The tall fair gentleman had moved
away; he was at once reassured and sad at heart.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, give me your arm,&rdquo; Nana continued impatiently.
</p>

<p>
They walked quietly off. The count had been getting ready to question her and
now found nothing to say.
</p>

<p>
It was she who in rapid tones told a story to the effect that she had been at
her aunt&rsquo;s as late as eight o&rsquo;clock, when, seeing Louiset very much
better, she had conceived the idea of going down to the theater for a few
minutes.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;On some important business?&rdquo; he queried.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, a new piece,&rdquo; she replied after some slight hesitation.
&ldquo;They wanted my advice.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He knew that she was not speaking the truth, but the warm touch of her arm as
it leaned firmly on his own, left him powerless. He felt neither anger nor
rancor after his long, long wait; his one thought was to keep her where she was
now that he had got hold of her. Tomorrow, and not before, he would try and
find out what she had come to her dressing room after. But Nana still appeared
to hesitate; she was manifestly a prey to the sort of secret anguish that
besets people when they are trying to regain lost ground and to initiate a plan
of action. Accordingly, as they turned the corner of the Galerie des Variétés,
she stopped in front of the show in a fan seller&rsquo;s window.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I say, that&rsquo;s pretty,&rdquo; she whispered; &ldquo;I mean that
mother-of-pearl mount with the feathers.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then, indifferently:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;So you&rsquo;re seeing me home?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; he said, with some surprise, &ldquo;since your
child&rsquo;s better.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She was sorry she had told him that story. Perhaps Louiset was passing through
another crisis! She talked of returning to the Batignolles. But when he offered
to accompany her she did not insist on going. For a second or two she was
possessed with the kind of white-hot fury which a woman experiences when she
feels herself entrapped and must, nevertheless, behave prettily. But in the end
she grew resigned and determined to gain time. If only she could get rid of the
count toward midnight everything would happen as she wished.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, it&rsquo;s true; you&rsquo;re a bachelor tonight,&rdquo; she
murmured. &ldquo;Your wife doesn&rsquo;t return till tomorrow, eh?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied Muffat. It embarrassed him somewhat to hear her
talking familiarly about the countess.
</p>

<p>
But she pressed him further, asking at what time the train was due and wanting
to know whether he were going to the station to meet her. She had begun to walk
more slowly than ever, as though the shops interested her very much.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now do look!&rdquo; she said, pausing anew before a jeweler&rsquo;s
window, &ldquo;what a funny bracelet!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She adored the Passage des Panoramas. The tinsel of the ARTICLE DE PARIS, the
false jewelry, the gilded zinc, the cardboard made to look like leather, had
been the passion of her early youth. It remained, and when she passed the
shop-windows she could not tear herself away from them. It was the same with
her today as when she was a ragged, slouching child who fell into reveries in
front of the chocolate maker&rsquo;s sweet-stuff shows or stood listening to a
musical box in a neighboring shop or fell into supreme ecstasies over cheap,
vulgarly designed knickknacks, such as nutshell workboxes, ragpickers&rsquo;
baskets for holding toothpicks, Vendome columns and Luxor obelisks on which
thermometers were mounted. But that evening she was too much agitated and
looked at things without seeing them. When all was said and done, it bored her
to think she was not free. An obscure revolt raged within her, and amid it all
she felt a wild desire to do something foolish. It was a great thing gained,
forsooth, to be mistress of men of position! She had been devouring the
prince&rsquo;s substance and Steiner&rsquo;s, too, with her childish caprices,
and yet she had no notion where her money went. Even at this time of day her
flat in the Boulevard Haussmann was not entirely furnished. The drawing room
alone was finished, and with its red satin upholsteries and excess of
ornamentation and furniture it struck a decidedly false note. Her creditors,
moreover, would now take to tormenting her more than ever before whenever she
had no money on hand, a fact which caused her constant surprise, seeing that
she was wont to quote her self as a model of economy. For a month past that
thief Steiner had been scarcely able to pay up his thousand francs on the
occasions when she threatened to kick him out of doors in case he failed to
bring them. As to Muffat, he was an idiot: he had no notion as to what it was
usual to give, and she could not, therefore, grow angry with him on the score
of miserliness. Oh, how gladly she would have turned all these folks off had
she not repeated to herself a score of times daily a whole string of economical
maxims!
</p>

<p>
One ought to be sensible, Zoé kept saying every morning, and Nana herself was
constantly haunted by the queenly vision seen at Chamont. It had now become an
almost religious memory with her, and through dint of being ceaselessly
recalled it grew even more grandiose. And for these reasons, though trembling
with repressed indignation, she now hung submissively on the count&rsquo;s arm
as they went from window to window among the fast-diminishing crowd. The
pavement was drying outside, and a cool wind blew along the gallery, swept the
close hot air up beneath the glass that imprisoned it and shook the colored
lanterns and the lines of gas jets and the giant fan which was flaring away
like a set piece in an illumination. At the door of the restaurant a waiter was
putting out the gas, while the motionless attendants in the empty, glaring
shops looked as though they had dropped off to sleep with their eyes open.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, what a duck!&rdquo; continued Nana, retracing her steps as far as
the last of the shops in order to go into ecstasies over a porcelain greyhound
standing with raised forepaw in front of a nest hidden among roses.
</p>

<p>
At length they quitted the passage, but she refused the offer of a cab. It was
very pleasant out she said; besides, they were in no hurry, and it would be
charming to return home on foot. When they were in front of the Café Anglais
she had a sudden longing to eat oysters. Indeed, she said that owing to
Louiset&rsquo;s illness she had tasted nothing since morning. Muffat dared not
oppose her. Yet as he did not in those days wish to be seen about with her he
asked for a private supper room and hurried to it along the corridors. She
followed him with the air of a woman familiar with the house, and they were on
the point of entering a private room, the door of which a waiter held open,
when from a neighboring saloon, whence issued a perfect tempest of shouts and
laughter, a man rapidly emerged. It was Daguenet.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By Jove, it&rsquo;s Nana!&rdquo; he cried.
</p>

<p>
The count had briskly disappeared into the private room, leaving the door ajar
behind him. But Daguenet winked behind his round shoulders and added in
chaffing tones:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The deuce, but you&rsquo;re doing nicely! You catch &rsquo;em in the
Tuileries nowadays!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana smiled and laid a finger on her lips to beg him to be silent. She could
see he was very much exalted, and yet she was glad to have met him, for she
still felt tenderly toward him, and that despite the nasty way he had cut her
when in the company of fashionable ladies.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What are you doing now?&rdquo; she asked amicably.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Becoming respectable. Yes indeed, I&rsquo;m thinking of getting
married.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She shrugged her shoulders with a pitying air. But he jokingly continued to the
effect that to be only just gaining enough on &rsquo;change to buy ladies
bouquets could scarcely be called an income, provided you wanted to look
respectable too! His three hundred thousand francs had only lasted him eighteen
months! He wanted to be practical, and he was going to marry a girl with a huge
dowry and end off as a PREFET, like his father before him! Nana still smiled
incredulously. She nodded in the direction of the saloon: &ldquo;Who are you
with in there?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, a whole gang,&rdquo; he said, forgetting all about his projects
under the influence of returning intoxication. &ldquo;Just think! Léa is
telling us about her trip in Egypt. Oh, it&rsquo;s screaming! There&rsquo;s a
bathing story&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And he told the story while Nana lingered complaisantly. They had ended by
leaning up against the wall in the corridor, facing one another. Gas jets were
flaring under the low ceiling, and a vague smell of cookery hung about the
folds of the hangings. Now and again, in order to hear each other&rsquo;s
voices when the din in the saloon became louder than ever, they had to lean
well forward. Every few seconds, however, a waiter with an armful of dishes
found his passage barred and disturbed them. But they did not cease their talk
for that; on the contrary, they stood close up to the walls and, amid the
uproar of the supper party and the jostlings of the waiters, chatted as quietly
as if they were by their own firesides.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Just look at that,&rdquo; whispered the young man, pointing to the door
of the private room through which Muffat had vanished.
</p>

<p>
Both looked. The door was quivering slightly; a breath of air seemed to be
disturbing it, and at last, very, very slowly and without the least sound, it
was shut to. They exchanged a silent chuckle. The count must be looking
charmingly happy all alone in there!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By the by,&rdquo; she asked, &ldquo;have you read Fauchery&rsquo;s
article about me?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, &lsquo;The Golden Fly,&rsquo;&rdquo; replied Daguenet; &ldquo;I
didn&rsquo;t mention it to you as I was afraid of paining you.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Paining me&mdash;why? His article&rsquo;s a very long one.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She was flattered to think that the Figaro should concern itself about her
person. But failing the explanations of her hairdresser Francis, who had
brought her the paper, she would not have understood that it was she who was in
question. Daguenet scrutinized her slyly, sneering in his chaffing way. Well,
well, since she was pleased, everybody else ought to be.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By your leave!&rdquo; shouted a waiter, holding a dish of iced cheese in
both hands as he separated them.
</p>

<p>
Nana had stepped toward the little saloon where Muffat was waiting.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, good-by!&rdquo; continued Daguenet. &ldquo;Go and find your
cuckold again.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But she halted afresh.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why d&rsquo;you call him cuckold?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Because he is a cuckold, by Jove!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She came and leaned against the wall again; she was profoundly interested.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; she said simply.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What, d&rsquo;you mean to say you didn&rsquo;t know that? Why, my dear
girl, his wife&rsquo;s Fauchery&rsquo;s mistress. It probably began in the
country. Some time ago, when I was coming here, Fauchery left me, and I suspect
he&rsquo;s got an assignation with her at his place tonight. They&rsquo;ve made
up a story about a journey, I fancy.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Overcome with surprise, Nana remained voiceless.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I suspected it,&rdquo; she said at last, slapping her leg. &ldquo;I
guessed it by merely looking at her on the highroad that day. To think of its
being possible for an honest woman to deceive her husband, and with that
blackguard Fauchery too! He&rsquo;ll teach her some pretty things!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, it isn&rsquo;t her trial trip,&rdquo; muttered Daguenet wickedly.
&ldquo;Perhaps she knows as much about it as he does.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At this Nana gave vent to an indignant exclamation.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Indeed she does! What a nice world! It&rsquo;s too foul!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By your leave!&rdquo; shouted a waiter, laden with bottles, as he
separated them.
</p>

<p>
Daguenet drew her forward again and held her hand for a second or two. He
adopted his crystalline tone of voice, the voice with notes as sweet as those
of a harmonica, which had gained him his success among the ladies of
Nana&rsquo;s type.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Good-by, darling! You know I love you always.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She disengaged her hand from his, and while a thunder of shouts and bravos,
which made the door in the saloon tremble again, almost drowned her words she
smilingly remarked:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s over between us, stupid! But that doesn&rsquo;t matter. Do
come up one of these days, and we&rsquo;ll have a chat.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then she became serious again and in the outraged tones of a respectable woman:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;So he&rsquo;s a cuckold, is he?&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Well, that IS a
nuisance, dear boy. They&rsquo;ve always sickened me, cuckolds have.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
When at length she went into the private room she noticed that Muffat was
sitting resignedly on a narrow divan with pale face and twitching hands. He did
not reproach her at all, and she, greatly moved, was divided between feelings
of pity and of contempt. The poor man! To think of his being so unworthily
cheated by a vile wife! She had a good mind to throw her arms round his neck
and comfort him. But it was only fair all the same! He was a fool with women,
and this would teach him a lesson! Nevertheless, pity overcame her. She did not
get rid of him as she had determined to do after the oysters had been
discussed. They scarcely stayed a quarter of an hour in the Café Anglais, and
together they went into the house in the Boulevard Haussmann. It was then
eleven. Before midnight she would have easily have discovered some means of
getting rid of him kindly.
</p>

<p>
In the anteroom, however, she took the precaution of giving Zoé an order.
&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll look out for him, and you&rsquo;ll tell him not to make a
noise if the other man&rsquo;s still with me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;But where shall I put him, madame?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Keep him in the kitchen. It&rsquo;s more safe.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
In the room inside Muffat was already taking off his overcoat. A big fire was
burning on the hearth. It was the same room as of old, with its rosewood
furniture and its hangings and chair coverings of figured damask with the large
blue flowers on a gray background. On two occasions Nana had thought of having
it redone, the first in black velvet, the second in white satin with bows, but
directly Steiner consented she demanded the money that these changes would cost
simply with a view to pillaging him. She had, indeed, only indulged in a tiger
skin rug for the hearth and a cut-glass hanging lamp.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not sleepy; I&rsquo;m not going to bed,&rdquo; she said the
moment they were shut in together.
</p>

<p>
The count obeyed her submissively, as became a man no longer afraid of being
seen. His one care now was to avoid vexing her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;As you will,&rdquo; he murmured.
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless, he took his boots off, too, before seating himself in front of
the fire. One of Nana&rsquo;s pleasures consisted in undressing herself in
front of the mirror on her wardrobe door, which reflected her whole height. She
would let everything slip off her in turn and then would stand perfectly naked
and gaze and gaze in complete oblivion of all around her. Passion for her own
body, ecstasy over her satin skin and the supple contours of her shape, would
keep her serious, attentive and absorbed in the love of herself. The
hairdresser frequently found her standing thus and would enter without her once
turning to look at him. Muffat used to grow angry then, but he only succeeded
in astonishing her. What was coming over the man? She was doing it to please
herself, not other people.
</p>

<p>
That particular evening she wanted to have a better view of herself, and she
lit the six candles attached to the frame of the mirror. But while letting her
shift slip down she paused. She had been preoccupied for some moments past, and
a question was on her lips.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You haven&rsquo;t read the Figaro article, have you? The paper&rsquo;s
on the table.&rdquo; Daguenet&rsquo;s laugh had recurred to her recollections,
and she was harassed by a doubt. If that Fauchery had slandered her she would
be revenged.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;They say that it&rsquo;s about me,&rdquo; she continued, affecting
indifference. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s your notion, eh, darling?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And letting go her shift and waiting till Muffat should have done reading, she
stood naked. Muffat was reading slowly Fauchery&rsquo;s article entitled
&ldquo;The Golden Fly,&rdquo; describing the life of a harlot descended from
four or five generations of drunkards and tainted in her blood by a cumulative
inheritance of misery and drink, which in her case has taken the form of a
nervous exaggeration of the sexual instinct. She has shot up to womanhood in
the slums and on the pavements of Paris, and tall, handsome and as superbly
grown as a dunghill plant, she avenges the beggars and outcasts of whom she is
the ultimate product. With her the rottenness that is allowed to ferment among
the populace is carried upward and rots the aristocracy. She becomes a blind
power of nature, a leaven of destruction, and unwittingly she corrupts and
disorganizes all Paris, churning it between her snow-white thighs as milk is
monthly churned by housewives. And it was at the end of this article that the
comparison with a fly occurred, a fly of sunny hue which has flown up out of
the dung, a fly which sucks in death on the carrion tolerated by the roadside
and then buzzing, dancing and glittering like a precious stone enters the
windows of palaces and poisons the men within by merely settling on them in her
flight.
</p>

<p>
Muffat lifted his head; his eyes stared fixedly; he gazed at the fire.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; asked Nana.
</p>

<p>
But he did not answer. It seemed as though he wanted to read the article again.
A cold, shivering feeling was creeping from his scalp to his shoulders. This
article had been written anyhow. The phrases were wildly extravagant; the
unexpected epigrams and quaint collocations of words went beyond all bounds.
Yet notwithstanding this, he was struck by what he had read, for it had rudely
awakened within him much that for months past he had not cared to think about.
</p>

<p>
He looked up. Nana had grown absorbed in her ecstatic self-contemplation. She
was bending her neck and was looking attentively in the mirror at a little
brown mark above her right haunch. She was touching it with the tip of her
finger and by dint of bending backward was making it stand out more clearly
than ever. Situated where it was, it doubtless struck her as both quaint and
pretty. After that she studied other parts of her body with an amused
expression and much of the vicious curiosity of a child. The sight of herself
always astonished her, and she would look as surprised and ecstatic as a young
girl who has discovered her puberty. Slowly, slowly, she spread out her arms in
order to give full value to her figure, which suggested the torso of a plump
Venus. She bent herself this way and that and examined herself before and
behind, stooping to look at the side view of her bosom and at the sweeping
contours of her thighs. And she ended with a strange amusement which consisted
of swinging to right and left, her knees apart and her body swaying from the
waist with the perpetual jogging, twitching movements peculiar to an oriental
dancer in the danse du ventre.
</p>

<p>
Muffat sat looking at her. She frightened him. The newspaper had dropped from
his hand. For a moment he saw her as she was, and he despised himself. Yes, it
was just that; she had corrupted his life; he already felt himself tainted to
his very marrow by impurities hitherto undreamed of. Everything was now
destined to rot within him, and in the twinkling of an eye he understood what
this evil entailed. He saw the ruin brought about by this kind of
&ldquo;leaven&rdquo;&mdash;himself poisoned, his family destroyed, a bit of the
social fabric cracking and crumbling. And unable to take his eyes from the
sight, he sat looking fixedly at her, striving to inspire himself with loathing
for her nakedness.
</p>

<p>
Nana no longer moved. With an arm behind her neck, one hand clasped in the
other, and her elbows far apart, she was throwing back her head so that he
could see a foreshortened reflection of her half-closed eyes, her parted lips,
her face clothed with amorous laughter. Her masses of yellow hair were
unknotted behind, and they covered her back with the fell of a lioness.
</p>

<p>
Bending back thus, she displayed her solid Amazonian waist and firm bosom,
where strong muscles moved under the satin texture of the skin. A delicate
line, to which the shoulder and the thigh added their slight undulations, ran
from one of her elbows to her foot, and Muffat&rsquo;s eyes followed this
tender profile and marked how the outlines of the fair flesh vanished in golden
gleams and how its rounded contours shone like silk in the candlelight. He
thought of his old dread of Woman, of the Beast of the Scriptures, at once lewd
and wild. Nana was all covered with fine hair; a russet made her body velvety,
while the Beast was apparent in the almost equine development of her flanks, in
the fleshy exuberances and deep hollows of her body, which lent her sex the
mystery and suggestiveness lurking in their shadows. She was, indeed, that
Golden Creature, blind as brute force, whose very odor ruined the world. Muffat
gazed and gazed as a man possessed, till at last, when he had shut his eyes in
order to escape it, the Brute reappeared in the darkness of the brain, larger,
more terrible, more suggestive in its attitude. Now, he understood, it would
remain before his eyes, in his very flesh, forever.
</p>

<p>
But Nana was gathering herself together. A little thrill of tenderness seemed
to have traversed her members. Her eyes were moist; she tried, as it were, to
make herself small, as though she could feel herself better thus. Then she
threw her head and bosom back and, melting, as it were, in one great bodily
caress, she rubbed her cheeks coaxingly, first against one shoulder, then
against the other. Her lustful mouth breathed desire over her limbs. She put
out her lips, kissed herself long in the neighborhood of her armpit and laughed
at the other Nana who also was kissing herself in the mirror.
</p>

<p>
Then Muffat gave a long sigh. This solitary pleasure exasperated him. Suddenly
all his resolutions were swept away as though by a mighty wind. In a fit of
brutal passion he caught Nana to his breast and threw her down on the carpet.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Leave me alone!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re hurting me!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He was conscious of his undoing; he recognized in her stupidity, vileness and
falsehood, and he longed to possess her, poisoned though she was.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, you&rsquo;re a fool!&rdquo; she said savagely when he let her get
up.
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless, she grew calm. He would go now. She slipped on a nightgown
trimmed with lace and came and sat down on the floor in front of the fire. It
was her favorite position. When she again questioned him about Fauchery&rsquo;s
article Muffat replied vaguely, for he wanted to avoid a scene. Besides, she
declared that she had found a weak spot in Fauchery. And with that she relapsed
into a long silence and reflected on how to dismiss the count. She would have
liked to do it in an agreeable way, for she was still a good-natured wench, and
it bored her to cause others pain, especially in the present instance where the
man was a cuckold. The mere thought of his being that had ended by rousing her
sympathies!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;So you expect your wife tomorrow morning?&rdquo; she said at last.
</p>

<p>
Muffat had stretched himself in an armchair. He looked drowsy, and his limbs
were tired. He gave a sign of assent. Nana sat gazing seriously at him with a
dull tumult in her brain. Propped on one leg, among her slightly rumpled laces
she was holding one of her bare feet between her hands and was turning it
mechanically about and about.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Have you been married long?&rdquo; she asked.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Nineteen years,&rdquo; replied the count
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah! And is your wife amiable? Do you get on comfortably together?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He was silent. Then with some embarrassment:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You know I&rsquo;ve begged you never to talk of those matters.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dear me, why&rsquo;s that?&rdquo; she cried, beginning to grow vexed
directly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure I won&rsquo;t eat your wife if I DO talk about
her. Dear boy, why, every woman&rsquo;s worth&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But she stopped for fear of saying too much. She contented herself by assuming
a superior expression, since she considered herself extremely kind. The poor
fellow, he needed delicate handling! Besides, she had been struck by a
laughable notion, and she smiled as she looked him carefully over.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I say,&rdquo; she continued, &ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t told you the story
about you that Fauchery&rsquo;s circulating. There&rsquo;s a viper, if you
like! I don&rsquo;t bear him any ill will, because his article may be all
right, but he&rsquo;s a regular viper all the same.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And laughing more gaily than ever, she let go her foot and, crawling along the
floor, came and propped herself against the count&rsquo;s knees.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now just fancy, he swears you were still like a babe when you married
your wife. You were still like that, eh? Is it true, eh?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Her eyes pressed for an answer, and she raised her hands to his shoulders and
began shaking him in order to extract the desired confession.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Without doubt,&rdquo; he at last made answer gravely.
</p>

<p>
Thereupon she again sank down at his feet. She was shaking with uproarious
laughter, and she stuttered and dealt him little slaps.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, it&rsquo;s too funny! There&rsquo;s no one like you; you&rsquo;re a
marvel. But, my poor pet, you must just have been stupid! When a man
doesn&rsquo;t know&mdash;oh, it is so comical! Good heavens, I should have
liked to have seen you! And it came off well, did it? Now tell me something
about it! Oh, do, do tell me!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She overwhelmed him with questions, forgetting nothing and requiring the
veriest details. And she laughed such sudden merry peals which doubled her up
with mirth, and her chemise slipped and got turned down to such an extent, and
her skin looked so golden in the light of the big fire, that little by little
the count described to her his bridal night. He no longer felt at all awkward.
He himself began to be amused at last as he spoke. Only he kept choosing his
phrases, for he still had a certain sense of modesty. The young woman, now
thoroughly interested, asked him about the countess. According to his account,
she had a marvelous figure but was a regular iceberg for all that.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, get along with you!&rdquo; he muttered indolently. &ldquo;You have
no cause to be jealous.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana had ceased laughing, and she now resumed her former position and, with her
back to the fire, brought her knees up under her chin with her clasped hands.
Then in a serious tone she declared:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It doesn&rsquo;t pay, dear boy, to look like a ninny with one&rsquo;s
wife the first night.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why?&rdquo; queried the astonished count.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Because,&rdquo; she replied slowly, assuming a doctorial expression.
</p>

<p>
And with that she looked as if she were delivering a lecture and shook her head
at him. In the end, however, she condescended to explain herself more lucidly.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, look here! I know how it all happens. Yes, dearie, women
don&rsquo;t like a man to be foolish. They don&rsquo;t say anything because
there&rsquo;s such a thing as modesty, you know, but you may be sure they think
about it for a jolly long time to come. And sooner or later, when a man&rsquo;s
been an ignoramus, they go and make other arrangements. That&rsquo;s it, my
pet.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He did not seem to understand. Whereupon she grew more definite still. She
became maternal and taught him his lesson out of sheer goodness of heart, as a
friend might do. Since she had discovered him to be a cuckold the information
had weighed on her spirits; she was madly anxious to discuss his position with
him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Good heavens! I&rsquo;m talking of things that don&rsquo;t concern me.
I&rsquo;ve said what I have because everybody ought to be happy. We&rsquo;re
having a chat, eh? Well then, you&rsquo;re to answer me as straight as you
can.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But she stopped to change her position, for she was burning herself.
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s jolly hot, eh? My back&rsquo;s roasted. Wait a second.
I&rsquo;ll cook my tummy a bit. That&rsquo;s what&rsquo;s good for the
aches!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And when she had turned round with her breast to the fire and her feet tucked
under her:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Let me see,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;you don&rsquo;t sleep with your wife
any longer?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, I swear to you I don&rsquo;t,&rdquo; said Muffat, dreading a scene.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And you believe she&rsquo;s really a stick?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He bowed his head in the affirmative.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And that&rsquo;s why you love me? Answer me! I shan&rsquo;t be
angry.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He repeated the same movement.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Very well then,&rdquo; she concluded. &ldquo;I suspected as much! Oh,
the poor pet. Do you know my aunt Lerat? When she comes get her to tell you the
story about the fruiterer who lives opposite her. Just fancy that
man&mdash;Damn it, how hot this fire is! I must turn round. I&rsquo;m going to
roast my left side now.&rdquo; And as she presented her side to the blaze a
droll idea struck her, and like a good-tempered thing, she made fun of herself
for she was delighted to see that she was looking so plump and pink in the
light of the coal fire.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I look like a goose, eh? Yes, that&rsquo;s it! I&rsquo;m a goose on the
spit, and I&rsquo;m turning, turning and cooking in my own juice, eh?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she was once more indulging in a merry fit of laughter when a sound of
voices and slamming doors became audible. Muffat was surprised, and he
questioned her with a look. She grew serious, and an anxious expression came
over her face. It must be Zoé&rsquo;s cat, a cursed beast that broke
everything. It was half-past twelve o&rsquo;clock. How long was she going to
bother herself in her cuckold&rsquo;s behalf? Now that the other man had come
she ought to get him out of the way, and that quickly.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What were you saying?&rdquo; asked the count complaisantly, for he was
charmed to see her so kind to him.
</p>

<p>
But in her desire to be rid of him she suddenly changed her mood, became brutal
and did not take care what she was saying.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh yes! The fruiterer and his wife. Well, my dear fellow, they never
once touched one another! Not the least bit! She was very keen on it, you
understand, but he, the ninny, didn&rsquo;t know it. He was so green that he
thought her a stick, and so he went elsewhere and took up with streetwalkers,
who treated him to all sorts of nastiness, while she, on her part, made up for
it beautifully with fellows who were a lot slyer than her greenhorn of a
husband. And things always turn out that way through people not understanding
one another. I know it, I do!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Muffat was growing pale. At last he was beginning to understand her allusions,
and he wanted to make her keep silence. But she was in full swing.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, hold your tongue, will you? If you weren&rsquo;t brutes you would be
as nice with your wives as you are with us, and if your wives weren&rsquo;t
geese they would take as much pains to keep you as we do to get you.
That&rsquo;s the way to behave. Yes, my duck, you can put that in your pipe and
smoke it.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do not talk of honest women,&rdquo; he said in a hard voice. &ldquo;You
do not know them.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At that Nana rose to her knees.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know them! Why, they aren&rsquo;t even clean, your honest
women aren&rsquo;t! They aren&rsquo;t even clean! I defy you to find me one who
would dare show herself as I am doing. Oh, you make me laugh with your honest
women. Don&rsquo;t drive me to it; don&rsquo;t oblige me to tell you things I
may regret afterward.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The count, by way of answer, mumbled something insulting. Nana became quite
pale in her turn. For some seconds she looked at him without speaking. Then in
her decisive way:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What would you do if your wife were deceiving you?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He made a threatening gesture.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, and if I were to?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, you,&rdquo; he muttered with a shrug of his shoulders.
</p>

<p>
Nana was certainly not spiteful. Since the beginning of the conversation she
had been strongly tempted to throw his cuckold&rsquo;s reputation in his teeth,
but she had resisted. She would have liked to confess him quietly on the
subject, but he had begun to exasperate her at last. The matter ought to stop
now.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, then, my dearie,&rdquo; she continued, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know
what you&rsquo;re getting at with me. For two hours past you&rsquo;ve been
worrying my life out. Now do just go and find your wife, for she&rsquo;s at it
with Fauchery. Yes, it&rsquo;s quite correct; they&rsquo;re in the Rue
Taitbout, at the corner of the Rue de Provence. You see, I&rsquo;m giving you
the address.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then triumphantly, as she saw Muffat stagger to his feet like an ox under the
hammer:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;If honest women must meddle in our affairs and take our sweethearts from
us&mdash;Oh, you bet they&rsquo;re a nice lot, those honest women!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But she was unable to proceed. With a terrible push he had cast her full length
on the floor and, lifting his heel, he seemed on the point of crushing in her
head in order to silence her. For the twinkling of an eye she felt sickening
dread. Blinded with rage, he had begun beating about the room like a maniac.
Then his choking silence and the struggle with which he was shaken melted her
to tears. She felt a mortal regret and, rolling herself up in front of the fire
so as to roast her right side, she undertook the task of comforting him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I take my oath, darling, I thought you knew it all. Otherwise I
shouldn&rsquo;t have spoken; you may be sure. But perhaps it isn&rsquo;t true.
I don&rsquo;t say anything for certain. I&rsquo;ve been told it, and people are
talking about it, but what does that prove? Oh, get along! You&rsquo;re very
silly to grow riled about it. If I were a man I shouldn&rsquo;t care a rush for
the women! All the women are alike, you see, high or low; they&rsquo;re all
rowdy and the rest of it.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
In a fit of self-abnegation she was severe on womankind, for she wished thus to
lessen the cruelty of her blow. But he did not listen to her or hear what she
said. With fumbling movements he had put on his boots and his overcoat. For a
moment longer he raved round, and then in a final outburst, finding himself
near the door, he rushed from the room. Nana was very much annoyed.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, well! A prosperous trip to you!&rdquo; she continued aloud, though
she was now alone. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s polite, too, that fellow is, when
he&rsquo;s spoken to! And I had to defend myself at that! Well, I was the first
to get back my temper and I made plenty of excuses, I&rsquo;m thinking!
Besides, he had been getting on my nerves!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless, she was not happy and sat scratching her legs with both hands.
Then she took high ground:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Tut, tut, it isn&rsquo;t my fault if he is a cuckold!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And toasted on every side and as hot as a roast bird, she went and buried
herself under the bedclothes after ringing for Zoé to usher in the other man,
who was waiting in the kitchen.
</p>

<p>
Once outside, Muffat began walking at a furious pace. A fresh shower had just
fallen, and he kept slipping on the greasy pavement. When he looked
mechanically up into the sky he saw ragged, soot-colored clouds scudding in
front of the moon. At this hour of the night passers-by were becoming few and
far between in the Boulevard Haussmann. He skirted the enclosures round the
opera house in his search for darkness, and as he went along he kept mumbling
inconsequent phrases. That girl had been lying. She had invented her story out
of sheer stupidity and cruelty. He ought to have crushed her head when he had
it under his heel. After all was said and done, the business was too shameful.
Never would he see her; never would he touch her again, or if he did he would
be miserably weak. And with that he breathed hard, as though he were free once
more. Oh, that naked, cruel monster, roasting away like any goose and slavering
over everything that he had respected for forty years back. The moon had come
out, and the empty street was bathed in white light. He felt afraid, and he
burst into a great fit of sobbing, for he had grown suddenly hopeless and
maddened as though he had sunk into a fathomless void.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My God!&rdquo; he stuttered out. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s finished!
There&rsquo;s nothing left now!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Along the boulevards belated people were hurrying. He tried hard to be calm,
and as the story told him by that courtesan kept recurring to his burning
consciousness, he wanted to reason the matter out. The countess was coming up
from Mme de Chezelles&rsquo;s country house tomorrow morning. Yet nothing, in
fact, could have prevented her from returning to Paris the night before and
passing it with that man. He now began recalling to mind certain details of
their stay at Les Fondettes. One evening, for instance, he had surprised Sabine
in the shade of some trees, when she was so much agitated as to be unable to
answer his questions. The man had been present; why should she not be with him
now? The more he thought about it the more possible the whole story became, and
he ended by thinking it natural and even inevitable. While he was in his shirt
sleeves in the house of a harlot his wife was undressing in her lover&rsquo;s
room. Nothing could be simpler or more logical! Reasoning in this way, he
forced himself to keep cool. He felt as if there were a great downward movement
in the direction of fleshly madness, a movement which, as it grew, was
overcoming the whole world round about him. Warm images pursued him in
imagination. A naked Nana suddenly evoked a naked Sabine. At this vision, which
seemed to bring them together in shameless relationship and under the influence
of the same lusts, he literally stumbled, and in the road a cab nearly ran over
him. Some women who had come out of a cafe jostled him amid loud laughter. Then
a fit of weeping once more overcame him, despite all his efforts to the
contrary, and, not wishing to shed tears in the presence of others, he plunged
into a dark and empty street. It was the Rue Rossini, and along its silent
length he wept like a child.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s over with us,&rdquo; he said in hollow tones.
&ldquo;There&rsquo;s nothing left us now, nothing left us now!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He wept so violently that he had to lean up against a door as he buried his
face in his wet hands. A noise of footsteps drove him away. He felt a shame and
a fear which made him fly before people&rsquo;s faces with the restless step of
a bird of darkness. When passers-by met him on the pavement he did his best to
look and walk in a leisurely way, for he fancied they were reading his secret
in the very swing of his shoulders. He had followed the Rue de la Grange
Bateliere as far as the Rue du Faubourg Montmartre, where the brilliant
lamplight surprised him, and he retraced his steps. For nearly an hour he
traversed the district thus, choosing always the darkest corners. Doubtless
there was some goal whither his steps were patiently, instinctively, leading
him through a labyrinth of endless turnings. At length he lifted his eyes up it
a street corner. He had reached his destination, the point where the Rue
Taitbout and the Rue de la Provence met. He had taken an hour amid his painful
mental sufferings to arrive at a place he could have reached in five minutes.
One morning a month ago he remembered going up to Fauchery&rsquo;s rooms to
thank him for a notice of a ball at the Tuileries, in which the journalist had
mentioned him. The flat was between the ground floor and the first story and
had a row of small square windows which were half hidden by the colossal
signboard belonging to a shop. The last window on the left was bisected by a
brilliant band of lamplight coming from between the half-closed curtains. And
he remained absorbed and expectant, with his gaze fixed on this shining streak.
</p>

<p>
The moon had disappeared in an inky sky, whence an icy drizzle was falling. Two
o&rsquo;clock struck at the Trinite. The Rue de Provence and the Rue Taitbout
lay in shadow, bestarred at intervals by bright splashes of light from the gas
lamps, which in the distance were merged in yellow mist. Muffat did not move
from where he was standing. That was the room. He remembered it now: it had
hangings of red &ldquo;andrinople,&rdquo; and a Louis XIII bed stood at one end
of it. The lamp must be standing on the chimney piece to the right. Without
doubt they had gone to bed, for no shadows passed across the window, and the
bright streak gleamed as motionless as the light of a night lamp. With his eyes
still uplifted he began forming a plan; he would ring the bell, go upstairs
despite the porter&rsquo;s remonstrances, break the doors in with a push of his
shoulder and fall upon them in the very bed without giving them time to unlace
their arms. For one moment the thought that he had no weapon upon him gave him
pause, but directly afterward he decided to throttle them. He returned to the
consideration of his project, and he perfected it while waiting for some sign,
some indication, which should bring certainty with it.
</p>

<p>
Had a woman&rsquo;s shadow only shown itself at that moment he would have rung.
But the thought that perhaps he was deceiving himself froze him. How could he
be certain? Doubts began to return. His wife could not be with that man. It was
monstrous and impossible. Nevertheless, he stayed where he was and was
gradually overcome by a species of torpor which merged into sheer feebleness
while he waited long, and the fixity of his gaze induced hallucinations.
</p>

<p>
A shower was falling. Two policemen were approaching, and he was forced to
leave the doorway where he had taken shelter. When these were lost to view in
the Rue de Provence he returned to his post, wet and shivering. The luminous
streak still traversed the window, and this time he was going away for good
when a shadow crossed it. It moved so quickly that he thought he had deceived
himself. But first one and then another black thing followed quickly after it,
and there was a regular commotion in the room. Riveted anew to the pavement, he
experienced an intolerable burning sensation in his inside as he waited to find
out the meaning of it all. Outlines of arms and legs flitted after one another,
and an enormous hand traveled about with the silhouette of a water jug. He
distinguished nothing clearly, but he thought he recognized a woman&rsquo;s
headdress. And he disputed the point with himself; it might well have been
Sabine&rsquo;s hair, only the neck did not seem sufficiently slim. At that hour
of the night he had lost the power of recognition and of action. In this
terrible agony of uncertainty his inside caused him such acute suffering that
he pressed against the door in order to calm himself, shivering like a man in
rags, as he did so. Then seeing that despite everything he could not turn his
eyes away from the window, his anger changed into a fit of moralizing. He
fancied himself a deputy; he was haranguing an assembly, loudly denouncing
debauchery, prophesying national ruin. And he reconstructed Fauchery&rsquo;s
article on the poisoned fly, and he came before the house and declared that
morals such as these, which could only be paralleled in the days of the later
Roman Empire, rendered society an impossibility; that did him good. But the
shadows had meanwhile disappeared. Doubtless they had gone to bed again, and,
still watching, he continued waiting where he was.
</p>

<p>
Three o&rsquo;clock struck, then four, but he could not take his departure.
When showers fell he buried himself in a corner of the doorway, his legs
splashed with wet. Nobody passed by now, and occasionally his eyes would close,
as though scorched by the streak of light, which he kept watching obstinately,
fixedly, with idiotic persistence. On two subsequent occasions the shadows
flitted about, repeating the same gestures and agitating the silhouette of the
same gigantic jug, and twice quiet was re-established, and the night lamp again
glowed discreetly out. These shadows only increased his uncertainty. Then, too,
a sudden idea soothed his brain while it postponed the decisive moment. After
all, he had only to wait for the woman when she left the house. He could quite
easily recognize Sabine. Nothing could be simpler, and there would be no
scandal, and he would be sure of things one way or the other. It was only
necessary to stay where he was. Among all the confused feelings which had been
agitating him he now merely felt a dull need of certain knowledge. But sheer
weariness and vacancy began lulling him to sleep under his doorway, and by way
of distraction he tried to reckon up how long he would have to wait. Sabine was
to be at the station toward nine o&rsquo;clock; that meant about four hours and
a half more. He was very patient; he would even have been content not to move
again, and he found a certain charm in fancying that his night vigil would last
through eternity.
</p>

<p>
Suddenly the streak of light was gone. This extremely simple event was to him
an unforeseen catastrophe, at once troublesome and disagreeable. Evidently they
had just put the lamp out and were going to sleep. It was reasonable enough at
that hour, but he was irritated thereat, for now the darkened window ceased to
interest him. He watched it for a quarter of an hour longer and then grew tired
and, leaving the doorway, took a turn upon the pavement. Until five
o&rsquo;clock he walked to and fro, looking upward from time to time. The
window seemed a dead thing, and now and then he asked himself if he had not
dreamed that shadows had been dancing up there behind the panes. An intolerable
sense of fatigue weighed him down, a dull, heavy feeling, under the influence
of which he forgot what he was waiting for at that particular street corner. He
kept stumbling on the pavement and starting into wakefulness with the icy
shudder of a man who does not know where he is. Nothing seemed to justify the
painful anxiety he was inflicting on himself. Since those people were
asleep&mdash;well then, let them sleep! What good could it do mixing in their
affairs? It was very dark; no one would ever know anything about this
night&rsquo;s doings. And with that every sentiment within him, down to
curiosity itself, took flight before the longing to have done with it all and
to find relief somewhere. The cold was increasing, and the street was becoming
insufferable. Twice he walked away and slowly returned, dragging one foot
behind the other, only to walk farther away next time. It was all over; nothing
was left him now, and so he went down the whole length of the boulevard and did
not return.
</p>

<p>
His was a melancholy progress through the streets. He walked slowly, never
changing his pace and simply keeping along the walls of the houses.
</p>

<p>
His boot heels re-echoed, and he saw nothing but his shadow moving at his side.
As he neared each successive gaslight it grew taller and immediately afterward
diminished. But this lulled him and occupied him mechanically. He never knew
afterward where he had been; it seemed as if he had dragged himself round and
round in a circle for hours. One reminiscence only was very distinctly retained
by him. Without his being able to explain how it came about he found himself
with his face pressed close against the gate at the end of the Passage des
Panoramas and his two hands grasping the bars. He did not shake them but, his
whole heart swelling with emotion, he simply tried to look into the passage.
But he could make nothing out clearly, for shadows flooded the whole length of
the deserted gallery, and the wind, blowing hard down the Rue Saint-Marc,
puffed in his face with the damp breath of a cellar. For a time he tried
doggedly to see into the place, and then, awakening from his dream, he was
filled with astonishment and asked himself what he could possibly be seeking
for at that hour and in that position, for he had pressed against the railings
so fiercely that they had left their mark on his face. Then he went on tramp
once more. He was hopeless, and his heart was full of infinite sorrow, for he
felt, amid all those shadows, that he was evermore betrayed and alone.
</p>

<p>
Day broke at last. It was the murky dawn that follows winter nights and looks
so melancholy from muddy Paris pavements. Muffat had returned into the wide
streets, which were then in course of construction on either side of the new
opera house. Soaked by the rain and cut up by cart wheels, the chalky soil had
become a lake of liquid mire. But he never looked to see where he was stepping
and walked on and on, slipping and regaining his footing as he went. The
awakening of Paris, with its gangs of sweepers and early workmen trooping to
their destinations, added to his troubles as day brightened. People stared at
him in surprise as he went by with scared look and soaked hat and muddy
clothes. For a long while he sought refuge against palings and among
scaffoldings, his desolate brain haunted by the single remaining thought that
he was very miserable.
</p>

<p>
Then he thought of God. The sudden idea of divine help, of superhuman
consolation, surprised him, as though it were something unforeseen and
extraordinary. The image of M. Venot was evoked thereby, and he saw his little
plump face and ruined teeth. Assuredly M. Venot, whom for months he had been
avoiding and thereby rendering miserable, would be delighted were he to go and
knock at his door and fall weeping into his arms. In the old days God had been
always so merciful toward him. At the least sorrow, the slightest obstacle on
the path of life, he had been wont to enter a church, where, kneeling down, he
would humble his littleness in the presence of Omnipotence. And he had been
used to go forth thence, fortified by prayer, fully prepared to give up the
good things of this world, possessed by the single yearning for eternal
salvation. But at present he only practiced by fits and starts, when the terror
of hell came upon him. All kinds of weak inclinations had overcome him, and the
thought of Nana disturbed his devotions. And now the thought of God astonished
him. Why had he not thought of God before, in the hour of that terrible agony
when his feeble humanity was breaking up in ruin?
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile with slow and painful steps he sought for a church. But he had lost
his bearings; the early hour had changed the face of the streets. Soon,
however, as he turned the corner of the Rue de la Chaussée-d&rsquo;Antin, he
noticed a tower looming vaguely in the fog at the end of the Trinite Church.
The white statues overlooking the bare garden seemed like so many chilly
Venuses among the yellow foliage of a park. Under the porch he stood and panted
a little, for the ascent of the wide steps had tired him. Then he went in. The
church was very cold, for its heating apparatus had been fireless since the
previous evening, and its lofty, vaulted aisles were full of a fine damp vapor
which had come filtering through the windows. The aisles were deep in shadow;
not a soul was in the church, and the only sound audible amid the unlovely
darkness was that made by the old shoes of some verger or other who was
dragging himself about in sulky semiwakefulness. Muffat, however, after
knocking forlornly against an untidy collection of chairs, sank on his knees
with bursting heart and propped himself against the rails in front of a little
chapel close by a font. He clasped his hands and began searching within himself
for suitable prayers, while his whole being yearned toward a transport. But
only his lips kept stammering empty words; his heart and brain were far away,
and with them he returned to the outer world and began his long, unresting
march through the streets, as though lashed forward by implacable necessity.
And he kept repeating, &ldquo;O my God, come to my assistance! O my God,
abandon not Thy creature, who delivers himself up to Thy justice! O my God, I
adore Thee: Thou wilt not leave me to perish under the buffetings of mine
enemies!&rdquo; Nothing answered: the shadows and the cold weighed upon him,
and the noise of the old shoes continued in the distance and prevented him
praying. Nothing, indeed, save that tiresome noise was audible in the deserted
church, where the matutinal sweeping was unknown before the early masses had
somewhat warmed the air of the place. After that he rose to his feet with the
help of a chair, his knees cracking under him as he did so. God was not yet
there. And why should he weep in M. Venot&rsquo;s arms? The man could do
nothing.
</p>

<p>
And then mechanically he returned to Nana&rsquo;s house. Outside he slipped,
and he felt the tears welling to his eyes again, but he was not angry with his
lot&mdash;he was only feeble and ill. Yes, he was too tired; the rain had wet
him too much; he was nipped with cold, but the idea of going back to his great
dark house in the Rue Miromesnil froze his heart. The house door at
Nana&rsquo;s was not open as yet, and he had to wait till the porter made his
appearance. He smiled as he went upstairs, for he already felt penetrated by
the soft warmth of that cozy retreat, where he would be able to stretch his
limbs and go to sleep.
</p>

<p>
When Zoé opened the door to him she gave a start of most uneasy astonishment.
Madame had been taken ill with an atrocious sick headache, and she hadn&rsquo;t
closed her eyes all night. Still, she could quite go and see whether Madame had
gone to sleep for good. And with that she slipped into the bedroom while he
sank back into one of the armchairs in the drawing room. But almost at that
very moment Nana appeared. She had jumped out of bed and had scarce had time to
slip on a petticoat. Her feet were bare, her hair in wild disorder, her
nightgown all crumpled.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What! You here again?&rdquo; she cried with a red flush on her cheeks.
</p>

<p>
Up she rushed, stung by sudden indignation, in order herself to thrust him out
of doors. But when she saw him in such sorry plight&mdash;nay, so utterly done
for&mdash;she felt infinite pity.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, you are a pretty sight, my dear fellow!&rdquo; she continued more
gently. &ldquo;But what&rsquo;s the matter? You&rsquo;ve spotted them, eh? And
it&rsquo;s given you the hump?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He did not answer; he looked like a broken-down animal. Nevertheless, she came
to the conclusion that he still lacked proofs, and to hearten him up the said:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You see now? I was on the wrong tack. Your wife&rsquo;s an honest woman,
on my word of honor! And now, my little friend, you must go home to bed. You
want it badly.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He did not stir.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now then, be off! I can&rsquo;t keep you here. But perhaps you
won&rsquo;t presume to stay at such a time as this?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, let&rsquo;s go to bed,&rdquo; he stammered.
</p>

<p>
She repressed a violent gesture, for her patience was deserting her. Was the
man going crazy?
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come, be off!&rdquo; she repeated.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But she flared up in exasperation, in utter rebellion.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s sickening! Don&rsquo;t you understand I&rsquo;m jolly tired
of your company? Go and find your wife, who&rsquo;s making a cuckold of you.
Yes, she&rsquo;s making a cuckold of you. I say so&mdash;yes, I do now. There,
you&rsquo;ve got the sack! Will you leave me or will you not?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Muffat&rsquo;s eyes filled with tears. He clasped his hands together.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, let&rsquo;s go to bed!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At this Nana suddenly lost all control over herself and was choked by nervous
sobs. She was being taken advantage of when all was said and done! What had
these stories to do with her? She certainly had used all manner of delicate
methods in order to teach him his lesson gently. And now he was for making her
pay the damages! No, thank you! She was kindhearted, but not to that extent.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The devil, but I&rsquo;ve had enough of this!&rdquo; she swore, bringing
her fist down on the furniture. &ldquo;Yes, yes, I wanted to be
faithful&mdash;it was all I could do to be that! Yet if I spoke the word I
could be rich tomorrow, my dear fellow!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He looked up in surprise. Never once had he thought of the monetary question.
If she only expressed a desire he would realize it at once; his whole fortune
was at her service.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, it&rsquo;s too late now,&rdquo; she replied furiously. &ldquo;I like
men who give without being asked. No, if you were to offer me a million for a
single interview I should say no! It&rsquo;s over between us; I&rsquo;ve got
other fish to fry there! So be off or I shan&rsquo;t answer for the
consequences. I shall do something dreadful!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She advanced threateningly toward him, and while she was raving, as became a
good courtesan who, though driven to desperation, was yet firmly convinced of
her rights and her superiority over tiresome, honest folks, the door opened
suddenly and Steiner presented himself. That proved the finishing touch. She
shrieked aloud:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, I never. Here&rsquo;s the other one!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Bewildered by her piercing outcry, Steiner stopped short. Muffat&rsquo;s
unexpected presence annoyed him, for he feared an explanation and had been
doing his best to avoid it these three months past. With blinking eyes he stood
first on one leg, then on the other, looking embarrassed the while and avoiding
the count&rsquo;s gaze. He was out of breath, and as became a man who had
rushed across Paris with good news, only to find himself involved in unforeseen
trouble, his face was flushed and distorted.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Que veux-tu, toi?&rdquo; asked Nana roughly, using the second person
singular in open mockery of the count.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What&mdash;what do I&mdash;&rdquo; he stammered. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve got
it for you&mdash;you know what.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Eh?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He hesitated. The day before yesterday she had given him to understand that if
he could not find her a thousand francs to pay a bill with she would not
receive him any more. For two days he had been loafing about the town in quest
of the money and had at last made the sum up that very morning.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The thousand francs!&rdquo; he ended by declaring as he drew an envelope
from his pocket.
</p>

<p>
Nana had not remembered.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The thousand francs!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;D&rsquo;you think
I&rsquo;m begging alms? Now look here, that&rsquo;s what I value your thousand
francs at!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And snatching the envelope, she threw it full in his face. As became a prudent
Hebrew, he picked it up slowly and painfully and then looked at the young woman
with a dull expression of face. Muffat and he exchanged a despairing glance,
while she put her arms akimbo in order to shout more loudly than before.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come now, will you soon have done insulting me? I&rsquo;m glad
you&rsquo;ve come, too, dear boy, because now you see the clearance&rsquo;ll be
quite complete. Now then, gee up! Out you go!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then as they did not hurry in the least, for they were paralyzed:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;D&rsquo;you mean to say I&rsquo;m acting like a fool, eh? It&rsquo;s
likely enough! But you&rsquo;ve bored me too much! And, hang it all, I&rsquo;ve
had enough of swelldom! If I die of what I&rsquo;m doing&mdash;well, it&rsquo;s
my fancy!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They sought to calm her; they begged her to listen to reason.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now then, once, twice, thrice! Won&rsquo;t you go? Very well! Look
there! I&rsquo;ve got company.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with a brisk movement she flung wide the bedroom door. Whereupon in the
middle of the tumbled bed the two men caught sight of Fontan. He had not
expected to be shown off in this situation; nevertheless, he took things very
easily, for he was used to sudden surprises on the stage. Indeed, after the
first shock he even hit upon a grimace calculated to tide him honorably over
his difficulty; he &ldquo;turned rabbit,&rdquo; as he phrased it, and stuck out
his lips and wrinkled up his nose, so as completely to transform the lower half
of his face. His base, satyrlike head seemed to exude incontinence. It was this
man Fontan then whom Nana had been to fetch at the Varieties every day for a
week past, for she was smitten with that fierce sort of passion which the
grimacing ugliness of a low comedian is wont to inspire in the genus courtesan.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;There!&rdquo; she said, pointing him out with tragic gesture.
</p>

<p>
Muffat, who hitherto had pocketed everything, rebelled at this affront.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Bitch!&rdquo; he stammered.
</p>

<p>
But Nana, who was once more in the bedroom, came back in order to have the last
word.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;How am I a bitch? What about your wife?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she was off and, slamming the door with a bang, she noisily pushed to the
bolt. Left alone, the two men gazed at one another in silence. Zoé had just
come into the room, but she did not drive them out. Nay, she spoke to them in
the most sensible manner. As became a woman with a head on her shoulders, she
decided that Madame&rsquo;s conduct was rather too much of a good thing. But
she defended her, nonetheless: this union with the play actor couldn&rsquo;t
last; the madness must be allowed to pass off! The two men retired without
uttering a sound. On the pavement outside they shook hands silently, as though
swayed by a mutual sense of fraternity. Then they turned their backs on one
another and went crawling off in opposite directions.
</p>

<p>
When at last Muffat entered his town house in the Rue Miromesnil his wife was
just arriving. The two met on the great staircase, whose walls exhaled an icy
chill. They lifted up their eyes and beheld one another. The count still wore
his muddy clothes, and his pale, bewildered face betrayed the prodigal
returning from his debauch. The countess looked as though she were utterly
fagged out by a night in the train. She was dropping with sleep, but her hair
had been brushed anyhow, and her eyes were deeply sunken.
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"></a> CHAPTER VIII</h2>

<p>
We are in a little set of lodgings on the fourth floor in the Rue Veron at
Montmartre. Nana and Fontan have invited a few friends to cut their
Twelfth-Night cake with them. They are giving their housewarming, though they
have been only three days settled.
</p>

<p>
They had no fixed intention of keeping house together, but the whole thing had
come about suddenly in the first glow of the honeymoon. After her grand blowup,
when she had turned the count and the banker so vigorously out of doors, Nana
felt the world crumbling about her feet. She estimated the situation at a
glance; the creditors would swoop down on her anteroom, would mix themselves up
with her love affairs and threaten to sell her little all unless she continued
to act sensibly. Then, too, there would be no end of disputes and carking
anxieties if she attempted to save her furniture from their clutches. And so
she preferred giving up everything. Besides, the flat in the Boulevard
Haussmann was plaguing her to death. It was so stupid with its great gilded
rooms! In her access of tenderness for Fontan she began dreaming of a pretty
little bright chamber. Indeed, she returned to the old ideals of the florist
days, when her highest ambition was to have a rosewood cupboard with a
plate-glass door and a bed hung with blue &ldquo;reps.&rdquo; In the course of
two days she sold what she could smuggle out of the house in the way of
knickknacks and jewelry and then disappeared, taking with her ten thousand
francs and never even warning the porter&rsquo;s wife. It was a plunge into the
dark, a merry spree; never a trace was left behind. In this way she would
prevent the men from coming dangling after her. Fontain was very nice. He did
not say no to anything but just let her do as she liked. Nay, he even displayed
an admirable spirit of comradeship. He had, on his part, nearly seven thousand
francs, and despite the fact that people accused him of stinginess, he
consented to add them to the young woman&rsquo;s ten thousand. The sum struck
them as a solid foundation on which to begin housekeeping. And so they started
away, drawing from their common hoard, in order to hire and furnish the two
rooms in the Rue Veron, and sharing everything together like old friends. In
the early days it was really delicious.
</p>

<p>
On Twelfth Night Mme Lerat and Louiset were the first to arrive. As Fontan had
not yet come home, the old lady ventured to give expression to her fears, for
she trembled to see her niece renouncing the chance of wealth.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, Aunt, I love him so dearly!&rdquo; cried Nana, pressing her hands to
her heart with the prettiest of gestures.
</p>

<p>
This phrase produced an extraordinary effect on Mme Lerat, and tears came into
her eyes.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;That&rsquo;s true,&rdquo; she said with an air of conviction.
&ldquo;Love before all things!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with that she went into raptures over the prettiness of the rooms. Nana
took her to see the bedroom, the parlor and the very kitchen. Gracious
goodness, it wasn&rsquo;t a vast place, but then, they had painted it afresh
and put up new wallpapers. Besides, the sun shone merrily into it during the
daytime.
</p>

<p>
Thereupon Mme Lerat detained the young woman in the bedroom, while Louiset
installed himself behind the charwoman in the kitchen in order to watch a
chicken being roasted. If, said Mme Lerat, she permitted herself to say what
was in her mind, it was because Zoé had just been at her house. Zoé had stayed
courageously in the breach because she was devoted to her mistress. Madame
would pay her later on; she was in no anxiety about that! And amid the breakup
of the Boulevard Haussmann establishment it was she who showed the creditors a
bold front; it was she who conducted a dignified retreat, saving what she could
from the wreck and telling everyone that her mistress was traveling. She never
once gave them her address. Nay, through fear of being followed, she even
deprived herself of the pleasure of calling on Madame. Nevertheless, that same
morning she had run round to Mme Lerat&rsquo;s because matters were taking a
new turn. The evening before creditors in the persons of the upholsterer, the
charcoal merchant and the laundress had put in an appearance and had offered to
give Madame an extension of time. Nay, they had even proposed to advance Madame
a very considerable amount if only Madame would return to her flat and conduct
herself like a sensible person. The aunt repeated Zoé&rsquo;s words. Without
doubt there was a gentleman behind it all.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll never consent!&rdquo; declared Nana in great disgust.
&ldquo;Ah, they&rsquo;re a pretty lot those tradesmen! Do they think I&rsquo;m
to be sold so that they can get their bills paid? Why, look here, I&rsquo;d
rather die of hunger than deceive Fontan.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what I said,&rdquo; averred Mme Lerat. &ldquo;&lsquo;My
niece,&rsquo; I said, &lsquo;is too noble-hearted!&rsquo;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana, however, was much vexed to learn that La Mignotte was being sold and that
Labordette was buying it for Caroline Hequet at an absurdly low price. It made
her angry with that clique. Oh, they were a regular cheap lot, in spite of
their airs and graces! Yes, by Jove, she was worth more than the whole lot of
them!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;They can have their little joke out,&rdquo; she concluded, &ldquo;but
money will never give them true happiness! Besides, you know, Aunt, I
don&rsquo;t even know now whether all that set are alive or not. I&rsquo;m much
too happy.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At that very moment Mme Maloir entered, wearing one of those hats of which she
alone understood the shape. It was delightful meeting again. Mme Maloir
explained that magnificence frightened her and that NOW, from time to time, she
would come back for her game of bezique. A second visit was paid to the
different rooms in the lodgings, and in the kitchen Nana talked of economy in
the presence of the charwoman, who was basting the fowl, and said that a
servant would have cost too much and that she was herself desirous of looking
after things. Louiset was gazing beatifically at the roasting process.
</p>

<p>
But presently there was a loud outburst of voices. Fontan had come in with Bosc
and Prullière, and the company could now sit down to table. The soup had been
already served when Nana for the third time showed off the lodgings.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, dear children, how comfortable you are here!&rdquo; Bosc kept
repeating, simply for the sake of pleasing the chums who were standing the
dinner. At bottom the subject of the &ldquo;nook,&rdquo; as he called it,
nowise touched him.
</p>

<p>
In the bedroom he harped still more vigorously on the amiable note. Ordinarily
he was wont to treat women like cattle, and the idea of a man bothering himself
about one of the dirty brutes excited within him the only angry feelings of
which, in his comprehensive, drunken disdain of the universe, he was still
capable.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, ah, the villains,&rdquo; he continued with a wink,
&ldquo;they&rsquo;ve done this on the sly. Well, you were certainly right. It
will be charming, and, by heaven, we&rsquo;ll come and see you!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But when Louiset arrived on the scene astride upon a broomstick, Prullière
chuckled spitefully and remarked:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, I never! You&rsquo;ve got a baby already?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
This struck everybody as very droll, and Mme Lerat and Mme Maloir shook with
laughter. Nana, far from being vexed, laughed tenderly and said that
unfortunately this was not the case. She would very much have liked it, both
for the little one&rsquo;s sake and for her own, but perhaps one would arrive
all the same. Fontan, in his role of honest citizen, took Louiset in his arms
and began playing with him and lisping.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Never mind! It loves its daddy! Call me &lsquo;Papa,&rsquo; you little
blackguard!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Papa, Papa!&rdquo; stammered the child.
</p>

<p>
The company overwhelmed him with caresses, but Bosc was bored and talked of
sitting down to table. That was the only serious business in life. Nana asked
her guests&rsquo; permission to put Louiset&rsquo;s chair next her own. The
dinner was very merry, but Bosc suffered from the near neighborhood of the
child, from whom he had to defend his plate. Mme Lerat bored him too. She was
in a melting mood and kept whispering to him all sorts of mysterious things
about gentlemen of the first fashion who were still running after Nana. Twice
he had to push away her knee, for she was positively invading him in her
gushing, tearful mood. Prullière behaved with great incivility toward Mme
Maloir and did not once help her to anything. He was entirely taken up with
Nana and looked annoyed at seeing her with Fontan. Besides, the turtle doves
were kissing so excessively as to be becoming positive bores. Contrary to all
known rules, they had elected to sit side by side.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Devil take it! Why don&rsquo;t you eat? You&rsquo;ve got plenty of time
ahead of you!&rdquo; Bosc kept repeating with his mouth full. &ldquo;Wait till
we are gone!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But Nana could not restrain herself. She was in a perfect ecstasy of love. Her
face was as full of blushes as an innocent young girl&rsquo;s, and her looks
and her laughter seemed to overflow with tenderness. Gazing on Fontan, she
overwhelmed him with pet names&mdash;&ldquo;my doggie, my old bear, my
kitten&rdquo;&mdash;and whenever he passed her the water or the salt she bent
forward and kissed him at random on lips, eyes, nose or ear. Then if she met
with reproof she would return to the attack with the cleverest maneuvers and
with infinite submissiveness and the supple cunning of a beaten cat would catch
hold of his hand when no one was looking, in order to kiss it again. It seemed
she must be touching something belonging to him. As to Fontan, he gave himself
airs and let himself be adored with the utmost condescension. His great nose
sniffed with entirely sensual content; his goat face, with its quaint,
monstrous ugliness, positively glowed in the sunlight of devoted adoration
lavished upon him by that superb woman who was so fair and so plump of limb.
Occasionally he gave a kiss in return, as became a man who is having all the
enjoyment and is yet willing to behave prettily.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, you&rsquo;re growing maddening!&rdquo; cried Prullière. &ldquo;Get
away from her, you fellow there!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And he dismissed Fontan and changed covers, in order to take his place at
Nana&rsquo;s side. The company shouted and applauded at this and gave vent to
some stiffish epigrammatic witticisms. Fontan counterfeited despair and assumed
the quaint expression of Vulcan crying for Venus. Straightway Prullière became
very gallant, but Nana, whose foot he was groping for under the table, caught
him a slap to make him keep quiet. No, no, she was certainly not going to
become his mistress. A month ago she had begun to take a fancy to him because
of his good looks, but now she detested him. If he pinched her again under
pretense of picking up her napkin, she would throw her glass in his face!
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless, the evening passed off well. The company had naturally begun
talking about the Variétés. Wasn&rsquo;t that cad of a Bordenave going to go
off the hooks after all? His nasty diseases kept reappearing and causing him
such suffering that you couldn&rsquo;t come within six yards of him nowadays.
The day before during rehearsal he had been incessantly yelling at Simonne.
There was a fellow whom the theatrical people wouldn&rsquo;t shed many tears
over. Nana announced that if he were to ask her to take another part she would
jolly well send him to the rightabout. Moreover, she began talking of leaving
the stage; the theater was not to compare with her home. Fontan, who was not in
the present piece or in that which was then being rehearsed, also talked big
about the joy of being entirely at liberty and of passing his evenings with his
feet on the fender in the society of his little pet. And at this the rest
exclaimed delightedly, treating their entertainers as lucky people and
pretending to envy their felicity.
</p>

<p>
The Twelfth-Night cake had been cut and handed round. The bean had fallen to
the lot of Mme Lerat, who popped it into Bosc&rsquo;s glass. Whereupon there
were shouts of &ldquo;The king drinks! The king drinks!&rdquo; Nana took
advantage of this outburst of merriment and went and put her arms round
Fontan&rsquo;s neck again, kissing him and whispering in his ear. But
Prullière, laughing angrily, as became a pretty man, declared that they were
not playing the game. Louiset, meanwhile, slept soundly on two chairs. It was
nearing one o&rsquo;clock when the company separated, shouting au revoir as
they went downstairs.
</p>

<p>
For three weeks the existence of the pair of lovers was really charming. Nana
fancied she was returning to those early days when her first silk dress had
caused her infinite delight. She went out little and affected a life of
solitude and simplicity. One morning early, when she had gone down to buy fish
IN PROPRIA PERSONA in La Rouchefoucauld Market, she was vastly surprised to
meet her old hair dresser Francis face to face. His getup was as scrupulously
careful as ever: he wore the finest linen, and his frock coat was beyond
reproach; in fact, Nana felt ashamed that he should see her in the street with
a dressing jacket and disordered hair and down-at-heel shoes. But he had the
tact, if possible, to intensify his politeness toward her. He did not permit
himself a single inquiry and affected to believe that Madame was at present on
her travels. Ah, but Madame had rendered many persons unhappy when she decided
to travel! All the world had suffered loss. The young woman, however, ended by
asking him questions, for a sudden fit of curiosity had made her forget her
previous embarrassment. Seeing that the crowd was jostling them, she pushed him
into a doorway and, still holding her little basket in one hand, stood chatting
in front of him. What were people saying about her high jinks? Good heavens!
The ladies to whom he went said this and that and all sorts of things. In fact,
she had made a great noise and was enjoying a real boom: And Steiner? M.
Steiner was in a very bad way, would make an ugly finish if he couldn&rsquo;t
hit on some new commercial operation. And Daguenet? Oh, HE was getting on
swimmingly. M. Daguenet was settling down. Nana, under the exciting influence
of various recollections, was just opening her mouth with a view to a further
examination when she felt it would be awkward to utter Muffat&rsquo;s name.
Thereupon Francis smiled and spoke instead of her. As to Monsieur le Comte, it
was all a great pity, so sad had been his sufferings since Madame&rsquo;s
departure.
</p>

<p>
He had been like a soul in pain&mdash;you might have met him wherever Madame
was likely to be found. At last M. Mignon had come across him and had taken him
home to his own place. This piece of news caused Nana to laugh a good deal. But
her laughter was not of the easiest kind.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, he&rsquo;s with Rose now,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Well then, you
must know, Francis, I&rsquo;ve done with him! Oh, the canting thing! It&rsquo;s
learned some pretty habits&mdash;can&rsquo;t even go fasting for a week now!
And to think that he used to swear he wouldn&rsquo;t have any woman after
me!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She was raging inwardly.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My leavings, if you please!&rdquo; she continued. &ldquo;A pretty
Johnnie for Rose to go and treat herself to! Oh, I understand it all now: she
wanted to have her revenge because I got that brute of a Steiner away from her.
Ain&rsquo;t it sly to get a man to come to her when I&rsquo;ve chucked him out
of doors?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;M. Mignon doesn&rsquo;t tell that tale,&rdquo; said the hairdresser.
&ldquo;According to his account, it was Monsieur le Comte who chucked you out.
Yes, and in a pretty disgusting way too&mdash;with a kick on the bottom!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana became suddenly very pale.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Eh, what?&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;With a kick on my bottom? He&rsquo;s
going too far, he is! Look here, my little friend, it was I who threw him
downstairs, the cuckold, for he is a cuckold, I must inform you. His countess
is making him one with every man she meets&mdash;yes, even with that
good-for-nothing of a Fauchery. And that Mignon, who goes loafing about the
pavement in behalf of his harridan of a wife, whom nobody wants because
she&rsquo;s so lean! What a foul lot! What a foul lot!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She was choking, and she paused for breath
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, that&rsquo;s what they say, is it? Very well, my little Francis,
I&rsquo;ll go and look &rsquo;em up, I will. Shall you and I go to them at
once? Yes, I&rsquo;ll go, and we&rsquo;ll see whether they will have the cheek
to go telling about kicks on the bottom. Kick&rsquo;s! I never took one from
anybody! And nobody&rsquo;s ever going to strike me&mdash;d&rsquo;ye
see?&mdash;for I&rsquo;d smash the man who laid a finger on me!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless, the storm subsided at last. After all, they might jolly well what
they liked! She looked upon them as so much filth underfoot! It would have
soiled her to bother about people like that. She had a conscience of her own,
she had! And Francis, seeing her thus giving herself away, what with her
housewife&rsquo;s costume and all, became familiar and, at parting, made so
bold as to give her some good advice. It was wrong of her to be sacrificing
everything for the sake of an infatuation; such infatuations ruined existence.
She listened to him with bowed head while he spoke to her with a pained
expression, as became a connoisseur who could not bear to see so fine a girl
making such a hash of things.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, that&rsquo;s my affair,&rdquo; she said at last &ldquo;Thanks all
the same, dear boy.&rdquo; She shook his hand, which despite his perfect dress
was always a little greasy, and then went off to buy her fish. During the day
that story about the kick on the bottom occupied her thoughts. She even spoke
about it to Fontan and again posed as a sturdy woman who was not going to stand
the slightest flick from anybody. Fontan, as became a philosophic spirit,
declared that all men of fashion were beasts whom it was one&rsquo;s duty to
despise. And from that moment forth Nana was full of very real disdain.
</p>

<p>
That same evening they went to the Bouffes-Parisiens Theatre to see a little
woman of Fontan&rsquo;s acquaintance make her debut in a part of some ten
lines. It was close on one o&rsquo;clock when they once more trudged up the
heights of Montmartre. They had purchased a cake, a &ldquo;mocha,&rdquo; in the
Rue de la Chaussée-d&rsquo;Antin, and they ate it in bed, seeing that the night
was not warm and it was not worth while lighting a fire. Sitting up side by
side, with the bedclothes pulled up in front and the pillows piled up behind,
they supped and talked about the little woman. Nana thought her plain and
lacking in style. Fontan, lying on his stomach, passed up the pieces of cake
which had been put between the candle and the matches on the edge of the night
table. But they ended by quarreling.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, just to think of it!&rdquo; cried Nana. &ldquo;She&rsquo;s got eyes
like gimlet holes, and her hair&rsquo;s the color of tow.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Hold your tongue, do!&rdquo; said Fontan. &ldquo;She has a superb head
of hair and such fire in her looks! It&rsquo;s lovely the way you women always
tear each other to pieces!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He looked annoyed.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come now, we&rsquo;ve had enough of it!&rdquo; he said at last in savage
tones. &ldquo;You know I don&rsquo;t like being bored. Let&rsquo;s go to sleep,
or things&rsquo;ll take a nasty turn.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And he blew out the candle, but Nana was furious and went on talking. She was
not going to be spoken to in that voice; she was accustomed to being treated
with respect! As he did not vouchsafe any further answer, she was silenced, but
she could not go to sleep and lay tossing to and fro.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Great God, have you done moving about?&rdquo; cried he suddenly, giving
a brisk jump upward.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t my fault if there are crumbs in the bed,&rdquo; she said
curtly.
</p>

<p>
In fact, there were crumbs in the bed. She felt them down to her middle; she
was everywhere devoured by them. One single crumb was scorching her and making
her scratch herself till she bled. Besides, when one eats a cake isn&rsquo;t it
usual to shake out the bedclothes afterward? Fontan, white with rage, had relit
the candle, and they both got up and, barefooted and in their night dresses,
they turned down the clothes and swept up the crumbs on the sheet with their
hands. Fontan went to bed again, shivering, and told her to go to the devil
when she advised him to wipe the soles of his feet carefully. And in the end
she came back to her old position, but scarce had she stretched herself out
than she danced again. There were fresh crumbs in the bed!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By Jove, it was sure to happen!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve
brought them back again under your feet. I can&rsquo;t go on like this! No, I
tell you, I can&rsquo;t go on like this!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with that she was on the point of stepping over him in order to jump out of
bed again, when Fontan in his longing for sleep grew desperate and dealt her a
ringing box on the ear. The blow was so smart that Nana suddenly found herself
lying down again with her head on the pillow.
</p>

<p>
She lay half stunned.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; she ejaculated simply, sighing a child&rsquo;s big sigh.
</p>

<p>
For a second or two he threatened her with a second slap, asking her at the
same time if she meant to move again. Then he put out the light, settled
himself squarely on his back and in a trice was snoring. But she buried her
face in the pillow and began sobbing quietly to herself. It was cowardly of him
to take advantage of his superior strength! She had experienced very real
terror all the same, so terrible had that quaint mask of Fontan&rsquo;s become.
And her anger began dwindling down as though the blow had calmed her. She began
to feel respect toward him and accordingly squeezed herself against the wall in
order to leave him as much room as possible. She even ended by going to sleep,
her cheek tingling, her eyes full of tears and feeling so deliciously depressed
and wearied and submissive that she no longer noticed the crumbs. When she woke
up in the morning she was holding Fontain in her naked arms and pressing him
tightly against her breast. He would never begin it again, eh? Never again? She
loved him too dearly. Why, it was even nice to be beaten if he struck the blow!
</p>

<p>
After that night a new life began. For a mere trifle&mdash;a yes, a
no&mdash;Fontan would deal her a blow. She grew accustomed to it and pocketed
everything. Sometimes she shed tears and threatened him, but he would pin her
up against the wall and talk of strangling her, which had the effect of
rendering her extremely obedient. As often as not, she sank down on a chair and
sobbed for five minutes on end. But afterward she would forget all about it,
grow very merry, fill the little lodgings with the sound of song and laughter
and the rapid rustle of skirts. The worst of it was that Fontan was now in the
habit of disappearing for the whole day and never returning home before
midnight, for he was going to cafes and meeting his old friends again. Nana
bore with everything. She was tremulous and caressing, her only fear being that
she might never see him again if she reproached him. But on certain days, when
she had neither Mme Maloir nor her aunt and Louiset with her, she grew mortally
dull. Thus one Sunday, when she was bargaining for some pigeons at La
Rochefoucauld Market, she was delighted to meet Satin, who, in her turn, was
busy purchasing a bunch of radishes. Since the evening when the prince had
drunk Fontan&rsquo;s champagne they had lost sight of one another.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What? It&rsquo;s you! D&rsquo;you live in our parts?&rdquo; said Satin,
astounded at seeing her in the street at that hour of the morning and in
slippers too. &ldquo;Oh, my poor, dear girl, you&rsquo;re really ruined
then!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana knitted her brows as a sign that she was to hold her tongue, for they were
surrounded by other women who wore dressing gowns and were without linen, while
their disheveled tresses were white with fluff. In the morning, when the man
picked up overnight had been newly dismissed, all the courtesans of the quarter
were wont to come marketing here, their eyes heavy with sleep, their feet in
old down-at-heel shoes and themselves full of the weariness and ill humor
entailed by a night of boredom. From the four converging streets they came down
into the market, looking still rather young in some cases and very pale and
charming in their utter unconstraint; in others, hideous and old with bloated
faces and peeling skin. The latter did not the least mind being seen thus
outside working hours, and not one of them deigned to smile when the passers-by
on the sidewalk turned round to look at them. Indeed, they were all very full
of business and wore a disdainful expression, as became good housewives for
whom men had ceased to exist. Just as Satin, for instance, was paying for her
bunch of radishes a young man, who might have been a shop-boy going late to his
work, threw her a passing greeting:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Good morning, duckie.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She straightened herself up at once and with the dignified manner becoming an
offended queen remarked:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What&rsquo;s up with that swine there?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then she fancied she recognized him. Three days ago toward midnight, as the was
coming back alone from the boulevards, she had talked to him at the corner of
the Rue Labruyère for nearly half an hour, with a view to persuading him to
come home with her. But this recollection only angered her the more.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Fancy they&rsquo;re brutes enough to shout things to you in broad
daylight!&rdquo; she continued. &ldquo;When one&rsquo;s out on business one
ought to be respectfully treated, eh?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana had ended by buying her pigeons, although she certainly had her doubts of
their freshness. After which Satin wanted to show her where she lived in the
Rue Rochefoucauld close by. And the moment they were alone Nana told her of her
passion for Fontan. Arrived in front of the house, the girl stopped with her
bundle of radishes under her arm and listened eagerly to a final detail which
the other imparted to her. Nana fibbed away and vowed that it was she who had
turned Count Muffat out of doors with a perfect hail of kicks on the posterior.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh how smart!&rdquo; Satin repeated. &ldquo;How very smart! Kicks, eh?
And he never said a word, did he? What a blooming coward! I wish I&rsquo;d been
there to see his ugly mug! My dear girl, you were quite right. A pin for the
coin! When I&rsquo;M on with a mash I starve for it! You&rsquo;ll come and see
me, eh? You promise? It&rsquo;s the left-hand door. Knock three knocks, for
there&rsquo;s a whole heap of damned squints about.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
After that whenever Nana grew too weary of life she went down and saw Satin.
She was always sure of finding her, for the girl never went out before six in
the evening. Satin occupied a couple of rooms which a chemist had furnished for
her in order to save her from the clutches of the police, but in little more
than a twelvemonth she had broken the furniture, knocked in the chairs, dirtied
the curtains, and that in a manner so furiously filthy and untidy that the
lodgings seemed as though inhabited by a pack of mad cats. On the mornings when
she grew disgusted with herself and thought about cleaning up a bit, chair
rails and strips of curtain would come off in her hands during her struggle
with superincumbent dirt. On such days the place was fouler than ever, and it
was impossible to enter it, owing to the things which had fallen down across
the doorway. At length she ended by leaving her house severely alone. When the
lamp was lit the cupboard with plate-glass doors, the clock and what remained
of the curtains still served to impose on the men. Besides, for six months past
her landlord had been threatening to evict her. Well then, for whom should she
be keeping the furniture nice? For him more than anyone else, perhaps! And so
whenever she got up in a merry mood she would shout &ldquo;Gee up!&rdquo; and
give the sides of the cupboard and the chest of drawers such a tremendous kick
that they cracked again.
</p>

<p>
Nana nearly always found her in bed. Even on the days when Satin went out to do
her marketing she felt so tired on her return upstairs that she flung herself
down on the bed and went to sleep again. During the day she dragged herself
about and dozed off on chairs. Indeed, she did not emerge from this languid
condition till the evening drew on and the gas was lit outside. Nana felt very
comfortable at Satin&rsquo;s, sitting doing nothing on the untidy bed, while
basins stood about on the floor at her feet and petticoats which had been
bemired last night hung over the backs of armchairs and stained them with mud.
They had long gossips together and were endlessly confidential, while Satin lay
on her stomach in her nightgown, waving her legs above her head and smoking
cigarettes as she listened. Sometimes on such afternoons as they had troubles
to retail they treated themselves to absinthe in order, as they termed it,
&ldquo;to forget.&rdquo; Satin did not go downstairs or put on a petticoat but
simply went and leaned over the banisters and shouted her order to the
portress&rsquo;s little girl, a chit of ten, who when she brought up the
absinthe in a glass would look furtively at the lady&rsquo;s bare legs. Every
conversation led up to one subject&mdash;the beastliness of the men. Nana was
overpowering on the subject of Fontan. She could not say a dozen words without
lapsing into endless repetitions of his sayings and his doings. But Satin, like
a good-natured girl, would listen unwearyingly to everlasting accounts of how
Nana had watched for him at the window, how they had fallen out over a burnt
dish of hash and how they had made it up in bed after hours of silent sulking.
In her desire to be always talking about these things Nana had got to tell of
every slap that he dealt her. Last week he had given her a swollen eye; nay,
the night before he had given her such a box on the ear as to throw her across
the night table, and all because he could not find his slippers. And the other
woman did not evince any astonishment but blew out cigarette smoke and only
paused a moment to remark that, for her part, she always ducked under, which
sent the gentleman pretty nearly sprawling. Both of them settled down with a
will to these anecdotes about blows; they grew supremely happy and excited over
these same idiotic doings about which they told one another a hundred times or
more, while they gave themselves up to the soft and pleasing sense of weariness
which was sure to follow the drubbings they talked of. It was the delight of
rediscussing Fontan&rsquo;s blows and of explaining his works and his ways,
down to the very manner in which he took off his boots, which brought Nana back
daily to Satin&rsquo;s place. The latter, moreover, used to end by growing
sympathetic in her turn and would cite even more violent cases, as, for
instance, that of a pastry cook who had left her for dead on the floor. Yet she
loved him, in spite of it all! Then came the days on which Nana cried and
declared that things could not go on as they were doing. Satin would escort her
back to her own door and would linger an hour out in the street to see that he
did not murder her. And the next day the two women would rejoice over the
reconciliation the whole afternoon through. Yet though they did not say so,
they preferred the days when threshings were, so to speak, in the air, for then
their comfortable indignation was all the stronger.
</p>

<p>
They became inseparable. Yet Satin never went to Nana&rsquo;s, Fontan having
announced that he would have no trollops in his house. They used to go out
together, and thus it was that Satin one day took her friend to see another
woman. This woman turned out to be that very Mme Robert who had interested Nana
and inspired her with a certain respect ever since she had refused to come to
her supper. Mme Robert lived in the Rue Mosnier, a silent, new street in the
Quartier de l&rsquo;Europe, where there were no shops, and the handsome houses
with their small, limited flats were peopled by ladies. It was five
o&rsquo;clock, and along the silent pavements in the quiet, aristocratic
shelter of the tall white houses were drawn up the broughams of stock-exchange
people and merchants, while men walked hastily about, looking up at the
windows, where women in dressing jackets seemed to be awaiting them. At first
Nana refused to go up, remarking with some constraint that she had not the
pleasure of the lady&rsquo;s acquaintance. But Satin would take no refusal. She
was only desirous of paying a civil call, for Mme Robert, whom she had met in a
restaurant the day before, had made herself extremely agreeable and had got her
to promise to come and see her. And at last Nana consented. At the top of the
stairs a little drowsy maid informed them that Madame had not come home yet,
but she ushered them into the drawing room notwithstanding and left them there.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The deuce, it&rsquo;s a smart show!&rdquo; whispered Satin. It was a
stiff, middle-class room, hung with dark-colored fabrics, and suggested the
conventional taste of a Parisian shopkeeper who has retired on his fortune.
Nana was struck and did her best to make merry about it. But Satin showed
annoyance and spoke up for Mme Robert&rsquo;s strict adherence to the
proprieties. She was always to be met in the society of elderly, grave-looking
men, on whose arms she leaned. At present she had a retired chocolate seller in
tow, a serious soul. Whenever he came to see her he was so charmed by the
solid, handsome way in which the house was arranged that he had himself
announced and addressed its mistress as &ldquo;dear child.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Look, here she is!&rdquo; continued Satin, pointing to a photograph
which stood in front of the clock. Nana scrutinized the portrait for a second
or so. It represented a very dark brunette with a longish face and lips pursed
up in a discreet smile. &ldquo;A thoroughly fashionable lady,&rdquo; one might
have said of the likeness, &ldquo;but one who is rather more reserved than the
rest.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s strange,&rdquo; murmured Nana at length, &ldquo;but
I&rsquo;ve certainly seen that face somewhere. Where, I don&rsquo;t remember.
But it can&rsquo;t have been in a pretty place&mdash;oh no, I&rsquo;m sure it
wasn&rsquo;t in a pretty place.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And turning toward her friend, she added, &ldquo;So she&rsquo;s made you
promise to come and see her? What does she want with you?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What does she want with me? &rsquo;Gad! To talk, I expect&mdash;to be
with me a bit. It&rsquo;s her politeness.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana looked steadily at Satin. &ldquo;Tut, tut,&rdquo; she said softly. After
all, it didn&rsquo;t matter to her! Yet seeing that the lady was keeping them
waiting, she declared that she would not stay longer, and accordingly they both
took their departure.
</p>

<p>
The next day Fontan informed Nana that he was not coming home to dinner, and
she went down early to find Satin with a view to treating her at a restaurant.
The choice of the restaurant involved infinite debate. Satin proposed various
brewery bars, which Nana thought detestable, and at last persuaded her to dine
at Laure&rsquo;s. This was a table d&rsquo;hôte in the Rue des Martyrs, where
the dinner cost three francs.
</p>

<p>
Tired of waiting for the dinner hour and not knowing what to do out in the
street, the pair went up to Laure&rsquo;s twenty minutes too early. The three
dining rooms there were still empty, and they sat down at a table in the very
saloon where Laure Piedefer was enthroned on a high bench behind a bar. This
Laure was a lady of some fifty summers, whose swelling contours were tightly
laced by belts and corsets. Women kept entering in quick procession, and each,
in passing, craned upward so as to overtop the saucers raised on the counter
and kissed Laure on the mouth with tender familiarity, while the monstrous
creature tried, with tears in her eyes, to divide her attentions among them in
such a way as to make no one jealous. On the other hand, the servant who waited
on the ladies was a tall, lean woman. She seemed wasted with disease, and her
eyes were ringed with dark lines and glowed with somber fire. Very rapidly the
three saloons filled up. There were some hundred customers, and they had seated
themselves wherever they could find vacant places. The majority were nearing
the age of forty: their flesh was puffy and so bloated by vice as almost to
hide the outlines of their flaccid mouths. But amid all these gross bosoms and
figures some slim, pretty girls were observable. These still wore a modest
expression despite their impudent gestures, for they were only beginners in
their art, who had started life in the ballrooms of the slums and had been
brought to Laure&rsquo;s by some customer or other. Here the tribe of bloated
women, excited by the sweet scent of their youth, jostled one another and,
while treating them to dainties, formed a perfect court round them, much as old
amorous bachelors might have done. As to the men, they were not numerous. There
were ten or fifteen of them at the outside, and if we except four tall fellows
who had come to see the sight and were cracking jokes and taking things easy,
they behaved humbly enough amid this whelming flood of petticoats.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I say, their stew&rsquo;s very good, ain&rsquo;t it?&rdquo; said Satin.
</p>

<p>
Nana nodded with much satisfaction. It was the old substantial dinner you get
in a country hotel and consisted of vol-au-vent à la financière, fowl boiled in
rice, beans with a sauce and vanilla creams, iced and flavored with burnt
sugar. The ladies made an especial onslaught on the boiled fowl and rice: their
stays seemed about to burst; they wiped their lips with slow, luxurious
movements. At first Nana had been afraid of meeting old friends who might have
asked her silly questions, but she grew calm at last, for she recognized no one
she knew among that extremely motley throng, where faded dresses and lamentable
hats contrasted strangely with handsome costumes, the wearers of which
fraternized in vice with their shabbier neighbors. She was momentarily
interested, however, at the sight of a young man with short curly hair and
insolent face who kept a whole tableful of vastly fat women breathlessly
attentive to his slightest caprice. But when the young man began to laugh his
bosom swelled.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Good lack, it&rsquo;s a woman!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She let a little cry escape as she spoke, and Satin, who was stuffing herself
with boiled fowl, lifted up her head and whispered:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh yes! I know her. A smart lot, eh? They do just fight for her.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana pouted disgustingly. She could not understand the thing as yet.
Nevertheless, she remarked in her sensible tone that there was no disputing
about tastes or colors, for you never could tell what you yourself might one
day have a liking for. So she ate her cream with an air of philosophy, though
she was perfectly well aware that Satin with her great blue virginal eyes was
throwing the neighboring tables into a state of great excitement. There was one
woman in particular, a powerful, fair-haired person who sat close to her and
made herself extremely agreeable. She seemed all aglow with affection and
pushed toward the girl so eagerly that Nana was on the point of interfering.
</p>

<p>
But at that very moment a woman who was entering the room gave her a shock of
surprise. Indeed, she had recognized Mme Robert. The latter, looking, as was
her wont, like a pretty brown mouse, nodded familiarly to the tall, lean
serving maid and came and leaned upon Laure&rsquo;s counter. Then both women
exchanged a long kiss. Nana thought such an attention on the part of a woman so
distinguished looking very amusing, the more so because Mme Robert had quite
altered her usual modest expression. On the contrary, her eye roved about the
saloon as she kept up a whispered conversation. Laure had resumed her seat and
once more settled herself down with all the majesty of an old image of Vice,
whose face has been worn and polished by the kisses of the faithful. Above the
range of loaded plates she sat enthroned in all the opulence which a
hotelkeeper enjoys after forty years of activity, and as she sat there she
swayed her bloated following of large women, in comparison with the biggest of
whom she seemed monstrous.
</p>

<p>
But Mme Robert had caught sight of Satin, and leaving Laure, she ran up and
behaved charmingly, telling her how much she regretted not having been at home
the day before. When Satin, however, who was ravished at this treatment,
insisted on finding room for her at the table, she vowed she had already dined.
She had simply come up to look about her. As she stood talking behind her new
friend&rsquo;s chair she leaned lightly on her shoulders and in a smiling,
coaxing manner remarked:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now when shall I see you? If you were free&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana unluckily failed to hear more. The conversation vexed her, and she was
dying to tell this honest lady a few home truths. But the sight of a troop of
new arrivals paralyzed her. It was composed of smart, fashionably dressed women
who were wearing their diamonds. Under the influence of perverse impulse they
had made up a party to come to Laure&rsquo;s&mdash;whom, by the by, they all
treated with great familiarity&mdash;to eat the three-franc dinner while
flashing their jewels of great price in the jealous and astonished eyes of
poor, bedraggled prostitutes. The moment they entered, talking and laughing in
their shrill, clear tones and seeming to bring sunshine with them from the
outside world, Nana turned her head rapidly away. Much to her annoyance she had
recognized Lucy Stewart and Maria Blond among them, and for nearly five
minutes, during which the ladies chatted with Laure before passing into the
saloon beyond, she kept her head down and seemed deeply occupied in rolling
bread pills on the cloth in front of her. But when at length she was able to
look round, what was her astonishment to observe the chair next to hers vacant!
Satin had vanished.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Gracious, where can she be?&rdquo; she loudly ejaculated.
</p>

<p>
The sturdy, fair woman who had been overwhelming Satin with civil attentions
laughed ill-temperedly, and when Nana, whom the laugh irritated, looked
threatening she remarked in a soft, drawling way:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s certainly not me that&rsquo;s done you this turn; it&rsquo;s
the other one!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Thereupon Nana understood that they would most likely make game of her and so
said nothing more. She even kept her seat for some moments, as she did not wish
to show how angry she felt. She could hear Lucy Stewart laughing at the end of
the next saloon, where she was treating a whole table of little women who had
come from the public balls at Montmartre and La Chapelle. It was very hot; the
servant was carrying away piles of dirty plates with a strong scent of boiled
fowl and rice, while the four gentlemen had ended by regaling quite half a
dozen couples with capital wine in the hope of making them tipsy and hearing
some pretty stiffish things. What at present most exasperated Nana was the
thought of paying for Satin&rsquo;s dinner. There was a wench for you, who
allowed herself to be amused and then made off with never a thank-you in
company with the first petticoat that came by! Without doubt it was only a
matter of three francs, but she felt it was hard lines all the same&mdash;her
way of doing it was too disgusting. Nevertheless, she paid up, throwing the six
francs at Laure, whom at the moment she despised more than the mud in the
street. In the Rue des Martyrs Nana felt her bitterness increasing. She was
certainly not going to run after Satin! It was a nice filthy business for one
to be poking one&rsquo;s nose into! But her evening was spoiled, and she walked
slowly up again toward Montmartre, raging against Mme Robert in particular.
Gracious goodness, that woman had a fine cheek to go playing the
lady&mdash;yes, the lady in the dustbin! She now felt sure she had met her at
the Papillon, a wretched public-house ball in the Rue des Poissonniers, where
men conquered her scruples for thirty sous. And to think a thing like that got
hold of important functionaries with her modest looks! And to think she refused
suppers to which one did her the honor of inviting her because, forsooth, she
was playing the virtuous game! Oh yes, she&rsquo;d get virtued! It was always
those conceited prudes who went the most fearful lengths in low corners nobody
knew anything about.
</p>

<p>
Revolving these matters, Nana at length reached her home in the Rue Veron and
was taken aback on observing a light in the window. Fontan had come home in a
sulk, for he, too, had been deserted by the friend who had been dining with
him. He listened coldly to her explanations while she trembled lest he should
strike her. It scared her to find him at home, seeing that she had not expected
him before one in the morning, and she told him a fib and confessed that she
had certainly spent six francs, but in Mme Maloir&rsquo;s society. He was not
ruffled, however, and he handed her a letter which, though addressed to her, he
had quietly opened. It was a letter from Georges, who was still a prisoner at
Les Fondettes and comforted himself weekly with the composition of glowing
pages. Nana loved to be written to, especially when the letters were full of
grand, loverlike expressions with a sprinkling of vows. She used to read them
to everybody. Fontan was familiar with the style employed by Georges and
appreciated it. But that evening she was so afraid of a scene that she affected
complete indifference, skimming through the letter with a sulky expression and
flinging it aside as soon as read. Fontan had begun beating a tattoo on a
windowpane; the thought of going to bed so early bored him, and yet he did not
know how to employ his evening. He turned briskly round:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Suppose we answer that young vagabond at once,&rdquo; he said.
</p>

<p>
It was the custom for him to write the letters in reply. He was wont to vie
with the other in point of style. Then, too, he used to be delighted when Nana,
grown enthusiastic after the letter had been read over aloud, would kiss him
with the announcement that nobody but he could &ldquo;say things like
that.&rdquo; Thus their latent affections would be stirred, and they would end
with mutual adoration.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;As you will,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll make tea, and
we&rsquo;ll go to bed after.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Thereupon Fontan installed himself at the table on which pen, ink and paper
were at the same time grandly displayed. He curved his arm; he drew a long
face.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My heart&rsquo;s own,&rdquo; he began aloud.
</p>

<p>
And for more than an hour he applied himself to his task, polishing here,
weighing a phrase there, while he sat with his head between his hands and
laughed inwardly whenever he hit upon a peculiarly tender expression. Nana had
already consumed two cups of tea in silence, when at last he read out the
letter in the level voice and with the two or three emphatic gestures peculiar
to such performances on the stage. It was five pages long, and he spoke therein
of &ldquo;the delicious hours passed at La Mignotte, those hours of which the
memory lingered like subtle perfume.&rdquo; He vowed &ldquo;eternal fidelity to
that springtide of love&rdquo; and ended by declaring that his sole wish was to
&ldquo;recommence that happy time if, indeed, happiness can recommence.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I say that out of politeness, y&rsquo;know,&rdquo; he explained.
&ldquo;The moment it becomes laughable&mdash;eh, what! I think she&rsquo;s felt
it, she has!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He glowed with triumph. But Nana was unskillful; she still suspected an
outbreak and now was mistaken enough not to fling her arms round his neck in a
burst of admiration. She thought the letter a respectable performance, nothing
more. Thereupon he was much annoyed. If his letter did not please her she might
write another! And so instead of bursting out in loverlike speeches and
exchanging kisses, as their wont was, they sat coldly facing one another at the
table. Nevertheless, she poured him out a cup of tea.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s a filthy mess,&rdquo; he cried after dipping his lips in
the mixture. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve put salt in it, you have!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana was unlucky enough to shrug her shoulders, and at that he grew furious.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Aha! Things are taking a wrong turn tonight!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with that the quarrel began. It was only ten by the clock, and this was a
way of killing time. So he lashed himself into a rage and threw in Nana&rsquo;s
teeth a whole string of insults and all kinds of accusations which followed one
another so closely that she had no time to defend herself. She was dirty; she
was stupid; she had knocked about in all sorts of low places! After that he
waxed frantic over the money question. Did he spend six francs when he dined
out? No, somebody was treating him to a dinner; otherwise he would have eaten
his ordinary meal at home. And to think of spending them on that old procuress
of a Maloir, a jade he would chuck out of the house tomorrow! Yes, by jingo,
they would get into a nice mess if he and she were to go throwing six francs
out of the window every day!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now to begin with, I want your accounts,&rdquo; he shouted.
&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s see; hand over the money! Now where do we stand?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
All his sordid avaricious instincts came to the surface. Nana was cowed and
scared, and she made haste to fetch their remaining cash out of the desk and to
bring it him. Up to that time the key had lain on this common treasury, from
which they had drawn as freely as they wished.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;How&rsquo;s this?&rdquo; he said when he had counted up the money.
&ldquo;There are scarcely seven thousand francs remaining out of seventeen
thousand, and we&rsquo;ve only been together three months. The thing&rsquo;s
impossible.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He rushed forward, gave the desk a savage shake and brought the drawer forward
in order to ransack it in the light of the lamp. But it actually contained only
six thousand eight hundred and odd francs. Thereupon the tempest burst forth.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ten thousand francs in three months!&rdquo; he yelled. &ldquo;By God!
What have you done with it all? Eh? Answer! It all goes to your jade of an
aunt, eh? Or you&rsquo;re keeping men; that&rsquo;s plain! Will you
answer?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh well, if you must get in a rage!&rdquo; said Nana. &ldquo;Why, the
calculation&rsquo;s easily made! You haven&rsquo;t allowed for the furniture;
besides, I&rsquo;ve had to buy linen. Money goes quickly when one&rsquo;s
settling in a new place.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But while requiring explanations he refused to listen to them.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, it goes a deal too quickly!&rdquo; he rejoined more calmly.
&ldquo;And look here, little girl, I&rsquo;ve had enough of this mutual
housekeeping. You know those seven thousand francs are mine. Yes, and as
I&rsquo;ve got &rsquo;em, I shall keep &rsquo;em! Hang it, the moment you
become wasteful I get anxious not to be ruined. To each man his own.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And he pocketed the money in a lordly way while Nana gazed at him, dumfounded.
He continued speaking complaisantly:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You must understand I&rsquo;m not such a fool as to keep aunts and
likewise children who don&rsquo;t belong to me. You were pleased to spend your
own money&mdash;well, that&rsquo;s your affair! But my money&mdash;no,
that&rsquo;s sacred! When in the future you cook a leg of mutton I&rsquo;ll pay
for half of it. We&rsquo;ll settle up tonight&mdash;there!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Straightway Nana rebelled. She could not help shouting:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come, I say, it&rsquo;s you who&rsquo;ve run through my ten thousand
francs. It&rsquo;s a dirty trick, I tell you!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But he did not stop to discuss matters further, for he dealt her a random box
on the ear across the table, remarking as he did so:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s have that again!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She let him have it again despite his blow. Whereupon he fell upon her and
kicked and cuffed her heartily. Soon he had reduced her to such a state that
she ended, as her wont was, by undressing and going to bed in a flood of tears.
</p>

<p>
He was out of breath and was going to bed, in his turn, when he noticed the
letter he had written to Georges lying on the table. Whereupon he folded it up
carefully and, turning toward the bed, remarked in threatening accents:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s very well written, and I&rsquo;m going to post it myself
because I don&rsquo;t like women&rsquo;s fancies. Now don&rsquo;t go moaning
any more; it puts my teeth on edge.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana, who was crying and gasping, thereupon held her breath. When he was in bed
she choked with emotion and threw herself upon his breast with a wild burst of
sobs. Their scuffles always ended thus, for she trembled at the thought of
losing him and, like a coward, wanted always to feel that he belonged entirely
to her, despite everything. Twice he pushed her magnificently away, but the
warm embrace of this woman who was begging for mercy with great, tearful eyes,
as some faithful brute might do, finally aroused desire. And he became royally
condescending without, however, lowering his dignity before any of her
advances. In fact, he let himself be caressed and taken by force, as became a
man whose forgiveness is worth the trouble of winning. Then he was seized with
anxiety, fearing that Nana was playing a part with a view to regaining
possession of the treasury key. The light had been extinguished when he felt it
necessary to reaffirm his will and pleasure.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You must know, my girl, that this is really very serious and that I keep
the money.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana, who was falling asleep with her arms round his neck, uttered a sublime
sentiment.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, you need fear nothing! I&rsquo;ll work for both of us!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But from that evening onward their life in common became more and more
difficult. From one week&rsquo;s end to the other the noise of slaps filled the
air and resembled the ticking of a clock by which they regulated their
existence. Through dint of being much beaten Nana became as pliable as fine
linen; her skin grew delicate and pink and white and so soft to the touch and
clear to the view that she may be said to have grown more good looking than
ever. Prullière, moreover, began running after her like a madman, coming in
when Fontan was away and pushing her into corners in order to snatch an
embrace. But she used to struggle out of his grasp, full of indignation and
blushing with shame. It disgusted her to think of him wanting to deceive a
friend. Prullière would thereupon begin sneering with a wrathful expression.
Why, she was growing jolly stupid nowadays! How could she take up with such an
ape? For, indeed, Fontan was a regular ape with that great swingeing nose of
his. Oh, he had an ugly mug! Besides, the man knocked her about too!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s possible I like him as he is,&rdquo; she one day made answer
in the quiet voice peculiar to a woman who confesses to an abominable taste.
</p>

<p>
Bosc contented himself by dining with them as often as possible. He shrugged
his shoulders behind Prullière&rsquo;s back&mdash;a pretty fellow, to be sure,
but a frivolous! Bosc had on more than one occasion assisted at domestic
scenes, and at dessert, when Fontan slapped Nana, he went on chewing solemnly,
for the thing struck him as being quite in the course of nature. In order to
give some return for his dinner he used always to go into ecstasies over their
happiness. He declared himself a philosopher who had given up everything, glory
included. At times Prullière and Fontan lolled back in their chairs, losing
count of time in front of the empty table, while with theatrical gestures and
intonation they discussed their former successes till two in the morning. But
he would sit by, lost in thought, finishing the brandy bottle in silence and
only occasionally emitting a little contemptuous sniff. Where was Talma&rsquo;s
tradition? Nowhere. Very well, let them leave him jolly well alone! It was too
stupid to go on as they were doing!
</p>

<p>
One evening he found Nana in tears. She took off her dressing jacket in order
to show him her back and her arms, which were black and blue. He looked at her
skin without being tempted to abuse the opportunity, as that ass of a Prullière
would have been. Then, sententiously:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My dear girl, where there are women there are sure to be ructions. It
was Napoleon who said that, I think. Wash yourself with salt water. Salt
water&rsquo;s the very thing for those little knocks. Tut, tut, you&rsquo;ll
get others as bad, but don&rsquo;t complain so long as no bones are broken.
I&rsquo;m inviting myself to dinner, you know; I&rsquo;ve spotted a leg of
mutton.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But Mme Lerat had less philosophy. Every time Nana showed her a fresh bruise on
the white skin she screamed aloud. They were killing her niece; things
couldn&rsquo;t go on as they were doing. As a matter of fact, Fontan had turned
Mme Lerat out of doors and had declared that he would not have her at his house
in the future, and ever since that day, when he returned home and she happened
to be there, she had to make off through the kitchen, which was a horrible
humiliation to her. Accordingly she never ceased inveighing against that brutal
individual. She especially blamed his ill breeding, pursing up her lips, as she
did so, like a highly respectable lady whom nobody could possibly remonstrate
with on the subject of good manners.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, you notice it at once,&rdquo; she used to tell Nana; &ldquo;he
hasn&rsquo;t the barest notion of the very smallest proprieties. His mother
must have been common! Don&rsquo;t deny it&mdash;the thing&rsquo;s obvious! I
don&rsquo;t speak on my own account, though a person of my years has a right to
respectful treatment, but YOU&mdash;how do YOU manage to put up with his bad
manners? For though I don&rsquo;t want to flatter myself, I&rsquo;ve always
taught you how to behave, and among our own people you always enjoyed the best
possible advice. We were all very well bred in our family, weren&rsquo;t we
now?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana used never to protest but would listen with bowed head.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Then, too,&rdquo; continued the aunt, &ldquo;you&rsquo;ve only known
perfect gentlemen hitherto. We were talking of that very topic with Zoé at my
place yesterday evening. She can&rsquo;t understand it any more than I can.
&lsquo;How is it,&rsquo; she said, &lsquo;that Madame, who used to have that
perfect gentleman, Monsieur le Comte, at her beck and call&rsquo;&mdash;for
between you and me, it seems you drove him silly&mdash;&lsquo;how is it that
Madame lets herself be made into mincemeat by that clown of a fellow?&rsquo; I
remarked at the time that you might put up with the beatings but that I would
never have allowed him to be lacking in proper respect. In fact, there
isn&rsquo;t a word to be said for him. I wouldn&rsquo;t have his portrait in my
room even! And you ruin yourself for such a bird as that; yes, you ruin
yourself, my darling; you toil and you moil, when there are so many others and
such rich men, too, some of them even connected with the government! Ah well,
it&rsquo;s not I who ought to be telling you this, of course! But all the same,
when next he tries any of his dirty tricks on I should cut him short with a
&lsquo;Monsieur, what d&rsquo;you take me for?&rsquo; You know how to say it in
that grand way of yours! It would downright cripple him.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Thereupon Nana burst into sobs and stammered out:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, Aunt, I love him!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The fact of the matter was that Mme Lerat was beginning to feel anxious at the
painful way her niece doled out the sparse, occasional francs destined to pay
for little Louis&rsquo;s board and lodging. Doubtless she was willing to make
sacrifices and to keep the child by her whatever might happen while waiting for
more prosperous times, but the thought that Fontan was preventing her and the
brat and its mother from swimming in a sea of gold made her so savage that she
was ready to deny the very existence of true love. Accordingly she ended up
with the following severe remarks:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now listen, some fine day when he&rsquo;s taken the skin off your back,
you&rsquo;ll come and knock at my door, and I&rsquo;ll open it to you.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Soon money began to engross Nana&rsquo;s whole attention. Fontan had caused the
seven thousand francs to vanish away. Without doubt they were quite safe;
indeed, she would never have dared ask him questions about them, for she was
wont to be blushingly diffident with that bird, as Mme Lerat called him. She
trembled lest he should think her capable of quarreling with him about
halfpence. He had certainly promised to subscribe toward their common household
expenses, and in the early days he had given out three francs every morning.
But he was as exacting as a boarder; he wanted everything for his three
francs&mdash;butter, meat, early fruit and early vegetables&mdash;and if she
ventured to make an observation, if she hinted that you could not have
everything in the market for three francs, he flew into a temper and treated
her as a useless, wasteful woman, a confounded donkey whom the tradespeople
were robbing. Moreover, he was always ready to threaten that he would take
lodgings somewhere else. At the end of a month on certain mornings he had
forgotten to deposit the three francs on the chest of drawers, and she had
ventured to ask for them in a timid, roundabout way. Whereupon there had been
such bitter disputes and he had seized every pretext to render her life so
miserable that she had found it best no longer to count upon him. Whenever,
however, he had omitted to leave behind the three one-franc pieces and found a
dinner awaiting him all the same, he grew as merry as a sandboy, kissed Nana
gallantly and waltzed with the chairs. And she was so charmed by this conduct
that she at length got to hope that nothing would be found on the chest of
drawers, despite the difficulty she experienced in making both ends meet. One
day she even returned him his three francs, telling him a tale to the effect
that she still had yesterday&rsquo;s money. As he had given her nothing then,
he hesitated for some moments, as though he dreaded a lecture. But she gazed at
him with her loving eyes and hugged him in such utter self-surrender that he
pocketed the money again with that little convulsive twitch or the fingers
peculiar to a miser when he regains possession of that which has been well-nigh
lost. From that day forth he never troubled himself about money again or
inquired whence it came. But when there were potatoes on the table he looked
intoxicated with delight and would laugh and smack his lips before her turkeys
and legs of mutton, though of course this did not prevent his dealing Nana
sundry sharp smacks, as though to keep his hand in amid all his happiness.
</p>

<p>
Nana had indeed found means to provide for all needs, and the place on certain
days overflowed with good things. Twice a week, regularly, Bosc had
indigestion. One evening as Mme Lerat was withdrawing from the scene in high
dudgeon because she had noticed a copious dinner she was not destined to eat in
process of preparation, she could not prevent herself asking brutally who paid
for it all. Nana was taken by surprise; she grew foolish and began crying.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, that&rsquo;s a pretty business,&rdquo; said the aunt, who had
divined her meaning.
</p>

<p>
Nana had resigned herself to it for the sake of enjoying peace in her own home.
Then, too, the Tricon was to blame. She had come across her in the Rue de Laval
one fine day when Fontan had gone out raging about a dish of cod. She had
accordingly consented to the proposals made her by the Tricon, who happened
just then to be in difficulty. As Fontan never came in before six
o&rsquo;clock, she made arrangements for her afternoons and used to bring back
forty francs, sixty francs, sometimes more. She might have made it a matter of
ten and fifteen louis had she been able to maintain her former position, but as
matters stood she was very glad thus to earn enough to keep the pot boiling. At
night she used to forget all her sorrows when Bosc sat there bursting with
dinner and Fontan leaned on his elbows and with an expression of lofty
superiority becoming a man who is loved for his own sake allowed her to kiss
him on the eyelids.
</p>

<p>
In due course Nana&rsquo;s very adoration of her darling, her dear old duck,
which was all the more passionately blind, seeing that now she paid for
everything, plunged her back into the muddiest depths of her calling. She
roamed the streets and loitered on the pavement in quest of a five-franc piece,
just as when she was a slipshod baggage years ago. One Sunday at La
Rochefoucauld Market she had made her peace with Satin after having flown at
her with furious reproaches about Mme Robert. But Satin had been content to
answer that when one didn&rsquo;t like a thing there was no reason why one
should want to disgust others with it. And Nana, who was by way of being
wide-minded, had accepted the philosophic view that you never can tell where
your tastes will lead you and had forgiven her. Her curiosity was even excited,
and she began questioning her about obscure vices and was astounded to be
adding to her information at her time of life and with her knowledge. She burst
out laughing and gave vent to various expressions of surprise. It struck her as
so queer, and yet she was a little shocked by it, for she was really quite the
philistine outside the pale of her own habits. So she went back to
Laure&rsquo;s and fed there when Fontan was dining out. She derived much
amusement from the stories and the amours and the jealousies which inflamed the
female customers without hindering their appetites in the slightest degree.
Nevertheless, she still was not quite in it, as she herself phrased it. The
vast Laure, meltingly maternal as ever, used often to invite her to pass a day
or two at her Asnièries Villa, a country house containing seven spare bedrooms.
But she used to refuse; she was afraid. Satin, however, swore she was mistaken
about it, that gentlemen from Paris swung you in swings and played tonneau with
you, and so she promised to come at some future time when it would be possible
for her to leave town.
</p>

<p>
At that time Nana was much tormented by circumstances and not at all festively
inclined. She needed money, and when the Tricon did not want her, which too
often happened, she had no notion where to bestow her charms. Then began a
series of wild descents upon the Parisian pavement, plunges into the baser sort
of vice, whose votaries prowl in muddy bystreets under the restless flicker of
gas lamps. Nana went back to the public-house balls in the suburbs, where she
had kicked up her heels in the early ill-shod days. She revisited the dark
corners on the outer boulevards, where when she was fifteen years old men used
to hug her while her father was looking for her in order to give her a hiding.
Both the women would speed along, visiting all the ballrooms and restaurants in
a quarter and climbing innumerable staircases which were wet with spittle and
spilled beer, or they would stroll quietly about, going up streets and planting
themselves in front of carriage gates. Satin, who had served her apprenticeship
in the Quartier Latin, used to take Nana to Bullier&rsquo;s and the public
houses in the Boulevard Saint-Michel. But the vacations were drawing on, and
the Quarter looked too starved. Eventually they always returned to the
principal boulevards, for it was there they ran the best chance of getting what
they wanted. From the heights of Montmartre to the observatory plateau they
scoured the whole town in the way we have been describing. They were out on
rainy evenings, when their boots got worn down, and on hot evenings, when their
linen clung to their skins. There were long periods of waiting and endless
periods of walking; there were jostlings and disputes and the nameless, brutal
caresses of the stray passer-by who was taken by them to some miserable
furnished room and came swearing down the greasy stairs afterward.
</p>

<p>
The summer was drawing to a close, a stormy summer of burning nights. The pair
used to start out together after dinner, toward nine o&rsquo;clock. On the
pavements of the Rue Notre Dame de la Lorette two long files of women scudded
along with tucked-up skirts and bent heads, keeping close to the shops but
never once glancing at the displays in the shopwindows as they hurried busily
down toward the boulevards. This was the hungry exodus from the Quartier Breda
which took place nightly when the street lamps had just been lit. Nana and
Satin used to skirt the church and then march off along the Rue le Peletier.
When they were some hundred yards from the Café Riche and had fairly reached
their scene of operations they would shake out the skirts of their dresses,
which up till that moment they had been holding carefully up, and begin
sweeping the pavements, regardless of dust. With much swaying of the hips they
strolled delicately along, slackening their pace when they crossed the bright
light thrown from one of the great cafes. With shoulders thrown back, shrill
and noisy laughter and many backward glances at the men who turned to look at
them, they marched about and were completely in their element. In the shadow of
night their artificially whitened faces, their rouged lips and their darkened
eyelids became as charming and suggestive as if the inmates of a make-believe
trumpery oriental bazaar had been sent forth into the open street. Till eleven
at night they sauntered gaily along among the rudely jostling crowds,
contenting themselves with an occasional &ldquo;dirty ass!&rdquo; hurled after
the clumsy people whose boot heels had torn a flounce or two from their
dresses. Little familiar salutations would pass between them and the cafe
waiters, and at times they would stop and chat in front of a small table and
accept of drinks, which they consumed with much deliberation, as became people
not sorry to sit down for a bit while waiting for the theaters to empty. But as
night advanced, if they had not made one or two trips in the direction of the
Rue la Rochefoucauld, they became abject strumpets, and their hunt for men grew
more ferocious than ever. Beneath the trees in the darkening and fast-emptying
boulevards fierce bargainings took place, accompanied by oaths and blows.
Respectable family parties&mdash;fathers, mothers and daughters&mdash;who were
used to such scenes, would pass quietly by the while without quickening their
pace. Afterward, when they had walked from the opera to the GYMNASE some
half-score times and in the deepening night men were rapidly dropping off
homeward for good and all, Nana and Satin kept to the sidewalk in the Rue du
Faubourg Montmartre. There up till two o&rsquo;clock in the morning
restaurants, bars and ham-and-beef shops were brightly lit up, while a noisy
mob of women hung obstinately round the doors of the cafes. This suburb was the
only corner of night Paris which was still alight and still alive, the only
market still open to nocturnal bargains. These last were openly struck between
group and group and from one end of the street to the other, just as in the
wide and open corridor of a disorderly house. On such evenings as the pair came
home without having had any success they used to wrangle together. The Rue
Notre Dame de la Lorette stretched dark and deserted in front of them. Here and
there the crawling shadow of a woman was discernible, for the Quarter was going
home and going home late, and poor creatures, exasperated at a night of
fruitless loitering, were unwilling to give up the chase and would still stand,
disputing in hoarse voices with any strayed reveler they could catch at the
corner of the Rue Breda or the Rue Fontaine.
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless, some windfalls came in their way now and then in the shape of
louis picked up in the society of elegant gentlemen, who slipped their
decorations into their pockets as they went upstairs with them. Satin had an
especially keen scent for these. On rainy evenings, when the dripping city
exhaled an unpleasant odor suggestive of a great untidy bed, she knew that the
soft weather and the fetid reek of the town&rsquo;s holes and corners were sure
to send the men mad. And so she watched the best dressed among them, for she
knew by their pale eyes what their state was. On such nights it was as though a
fit of fleshly madness were passing over Paris. The girl was rather nervous
certainly, for the most modish gentlemen were always the most obscene. All the
varnish would crack off a man, and the brute beast would show itself, exacting,
monstrous in lust, a past master in corruption. But besides being nervous, that
trollop of a Satin was lacking in respect. She would blurt out awful things in
front of dignified gentlemen in carriages and assure them that their coachmen
were better bred than they because they behaved respectfully toward the women
and did not half kill them with their diabolical tricks and suggestions. The
way in which smart people sprawled head over heels into all the cesspools of
vice still caused Nana some surprise, for she had a few prejudices remaining,
though Satin was rapidly destroying them.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well then,&rdquo; she used to say when talking seriously about the
matter, &ldquo;there&rsquo;s no such thing as virtue left, is there?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
From one end of the social ladder to the other everybody was on the loose! Good
gracious! Some nice things ought to be going on in Paris between nine
o&rsquo;clock in the evening and three in the morning! And with that she began
making very merry and declaring that if one could only have looked into every
room one would have seen some funny sights&mdash;the little people going it
head over ears and a good lot of swells, too, playing the swine rather harder
than the rest. Oh, she was finishing her education!
</p>

<p>
One evening when she came to call for Satin she recognized the Marquis de
Chouard. He was coming downstairs with quaking legs; his face was ashen white,
and he leaned heavily on the banisters. She pretended to be blowing her nose.
Upstairs she found Satin amid indescribable filth. No household work had been
done for a week; her bed was disgusting, and ewers and basins were standing
about in all directions. Nana expressed surprise at her knowing the marquis. Oh
yes, she knew him! He had jolly well bored her confectioner and her when they
were together. At present he used to come back now and then, but he nearly
bothered her life out, going sniffing into all the dirty corners&mdash;yes,
even into her slippers!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, dear girl, my slippers! Oh, he&rsquo;s the dirtiest old beast,
always wanting one to do things!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The sincerity of these low debauches rendered Nana especially uneasy. Seeing
the courtesans around her slowly dying of it every day, she recalled to mind
the comedy of pleasure she had taken part in when she was in the heyday of
success. Moreover, Satin inspired her with an awful fear of the police. She was
full of anecdotes about them. Formerly she had been the mistress of a
plain-clothes man, had consented to this in order to be left in peace, and on
two occasions he had prevented her from being put &ldquo;on the lists.&rdquo;
But at present she was in a great fright, for if she were to be nabbed again
there was a clear case against her. You had only to listen to her! For the sake
of perquisites the police used to take up as many women as possible. They laid
hold of everybody and quieted you with a slap if you shouted, for they were
sure of being defended in their actions and rewarded, even when they had taken
a virtuous girl among the rest. In the summer they would swoop upon the
boulevard in parties of twelve or fifteen, surround a whole long reach of
sidewalk and fish up as many as thirty women in an evening. Satin, however,
knew the likely places, and the moment she saw a plain-clothes man heaving in
sight she took to her heels, while the long lines of women on the pavements
scattered in consternation and fled through the surrounding crowd. The dread of
the law and of the magistracy was such that certain women would stand as though
paralyzed in the doorways of the cafes while the raid was sweeping the avenue
without. But Satin was even more afraid of being denounced, for her pastry cook
had proved blackguard enough to threaten to sell her when she had left him.
Yes, that was a fake by which men lived on their mistresses! Then, too, there
were the dirty women who delivered you up out of sheer treachery if you were
prettier than they! Nana listened to these recitals and felt her terrors
growing upon her. She had always trembled before the law, that unknown power,
that form of revenge practiced by men able and willing to crush her in the
certain absence of all defenders. Saint-Lazare she pictured as a grave, a dark
hole, in which they buried live women after they had cut off their hair. She
admitted that it was only necessary to leave Fontan and seek powerful
protectors. But as matters stood it was in vain that Satin talked to her of
certain lists of women&rsquo;s names, which it was the duty of the plainclothes
men to consult, and of certain photographs accompanying the lists, the
originals of which were on no account to be touched. The reassurance did not
make her tremble the less, and she still saw herself hustled and dragged along
and finally subjected to the official medical inspection. The thought of the
official armchair filled her with shame and anguish, for had she not bade it
defiance a score of times?
</p>

<p>
Now it so happened that one evening toward the close of September, as she was
walking with Satin in the Boulevard Poissonnière, the latter suddenly began
tearing along at a terrible pace. And when Nana asked her what she meant
thereby:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the plain-clothes men!&rdquo; whispered Satin. &ldquo;Off
with you! Off with you!&rdquo; A wild stampede took place amid the surging
crowd. Skirts streamed out behind and were torn. There were blows and shrieks.
A woman fell down. The crowd of bystanders stood hilariously watching this
rough police raid while the plain-clothes men rapidly narrowed their circle.
Meanwhile Nana had lost Satin. Her legs were failing her, and she would have
been taken up for a certainty had not a man caught her by the arm and led her
away in front of the angry police. It was Prullière, and he had just recognized
her. Without saying a word he turned down the Rue Rougemont with her. It was
just then quite deserted, and she was able to regain breath there, but at first
her faintness and exhaustion were such that he had to support her. She did not
even thank him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Look here,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you must recover a bit. Come up to my
rooms.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He lodged in the Rue Bergère close by. But she straightened herself up at once.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, I don&rsquo;t want to.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Thereupon he waxed coarse and rejoined:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you want to, eh? Why, everybody visits my rooms.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Because I don&rsquo;t.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
In her opinion that explained everything. She was too fond of Fontan to betray
him with one of his friends. The other people ceased to count the moment there
was no pleasure in the business, and necessity compelled her to it. In view of
her idiotic obstinacy Prullière, as became a pretty fellow whose vanity had
been wounded, did a cowardly thing.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Very well, do as you like!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Only I don&rsquo;t
side with you, my dear. You must get out of the scrape by yourself.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with that he left her. Terrors got hold of her again, and scurrying past
shops and turning white whenever a man drew nigh, she fetched an immense
compass before reaching Montmartre.
</p>

<p>
On the morrow, while still suffering from the shock of last night&rsquo;s
terrors, Nana went to her aunt&rsquo;s and at the foot of a small empty street
in the Batignolles found herself face to face with Labordette. At first they
both appeared embarrassed, for with his usual complaisance he was busy on a
secret errand. Nevertheless, he was the first to regain his self-possession and
to announce himself fortunate in meeting her. Yes, certainly, everybody was
still wondering at Nana&rsquo;s total eclipse. People were asking for her, and
old friends were pining. And with that he grew quite paternal and ended by
sermonizing.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Frankly speaking, between you and me, my dear, the thing&rsquo;s getting
stupid. One can understand a mash, but to go to that extent, to be trampled on
like that and to get nothing but knocks! Are you playing up for the
&lsquo;Virtue Prizes&rsquo; then?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She listened to him with an embarrassed expression. But when he told her about
Rose, who was triumphantly enjoying her conquest of Count Muffat, a flame came
into her eyes.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, if I wanted to&mdash;&rdquo; she muttered.
</p>

<p>
As became an obliging friend, he at once offered to act as intercessor. But she
refused his help, and he thereupon attacked her in an opposite quarter.
</p>

<p>
He informed her that Bordenave was busy mounting a play of Fauchery&rsquo;s
containing a splendid part for her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What, a play with a part!&rdquo; she cried in amazement. &ldquo;But
he&rsquo;s in it and he&rsquo;s told me nothing about it!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She did not mention Fontan by name. However, she grew calm again directly and
declared that she would never go on the stage again. Labordette doubtless
remained unconvinced, for he continued with smiling insistence.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You know, you need fear nothing with me. I get your Muffat ready for
you, and you go on the stage again, and I bring him to you like a little
dog!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No!&rdquo; she cried decisively.
</p>

<p>
And she left him. Her heroic conduct made her tenderly pitiful toward herself.
No blackguard of a man would ever have sacrificed himself like that without
trumpeting the fact abroad. Nevertheless, she was struck by one thing:
Labordette had given her exactly the same advice as Francis had given her. That
evening when Fontan came home she questioned him about Fauchery&rsquo;s piece.
The former had been back at the Variétés for two months past. Why then had he
not told her about the part?
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What part?&rdquo; he said in his ill-humored tone. &ldquo;The grand
lady&rsquo;s part, maybe? The deuce, you believe you&rsquo;ve got talent then!
Why, such a part would utterly do for you, my girl! You&rsquo;re meant for
comic business&mdash;there&rsquo;s no denying it!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She was dreadfully wounded. All that evening he kept chaffing her, calling her
Mlle Mars. But the harder he hit the more bravely she suffered, for she derived
a certain bitter satisfaction from this heroic devotion of hers, which rendered
her very great and very loving in her own eyes. Ever since she had gone with
other men in order to supply his wants her love for him had increased, and the
fatigues and disgusts encountered outside only added to the flame. He was fast
becoming a sort of pet vice for which she paid, a necessity of existence it was
impossible to do without, seeing that blows only stimulated her desires. He, on
his part, seeing what a good tame thing she had become, ended by abusing his
privileges. She was getting on his nerves, and he began to conceive so fierce a
loathing for her that he forgot to keep count of his real interests. When Bosc
made his customary remarks to him he cried out in exasperation, for which there
was no apparent cause, that he had had enough of her and of her good dinners
and that he would shortly chuck her out of doors if only for the sake of making
another woman a present of his seven thousand francs. Indeed, that was how
their liaison ended.
</p>

<p>
One evening Nana came in toward eleven o&rsquo;clock and found the door bolted.
She tapped once&mdash;there was no answer; twice&mdash;still no answer.
Meanwhile she saw light under the door, and Fontan inside did not trouble to
move. She rapped again unwearyingly; she called him and began to get annoyed.
At length Fontan&rsquo;s voice became audible; he spoke slowly and rather
unctuously and uttered but this one word.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;MERDE!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She beat on the door with her fists.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;MERDE!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She banged hard enough to smash in the woodwork.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;MERDE!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And for upward of a quarter of an hour the same foul expression buffeted her,
answering like a jeering echo to every blow wherewith she shook the door. At
length, seeing that she was not growing tired, he opened sharply, planted
himself on the threshold, folded his arms and said in the same cold, brutal
voice:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By God, have you done yet? What d&rsquo;you want? Are you going to let
us sleep in peace, eh? You can quite see I&rsquo;ve got company tonight.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He was certainly not alone, for Nana perceived the little woman from the
Bouffes with the untidy tow hair and the gimlet-hole eyes, standing enjoying
herself in her shift among the furniture she had paid for. But Fontan stepped
out on the landing. He looked terrible, and he spread out and crooked his great
fingers as if they were pincers.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Hook it or I&rsquo;ll strangle you!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Whereupon Nana burst into a nervous fit of sobbing. She was frightened and she
made off. This time it was she that was being kicked out of doors. And in her
fury the thought of Muffat suddenly occurred to her. Ah, to be sure, Fontan, of
all men, ought never to have done her such a turn!
</p>

<p>
When she was out in the street her first thought was to go and sleep with
Satin, provided the girl had no one with her. She met her in front of her
house, for she, too, had been turned out of doors by her landlord. He had just
had a padlock affixed to her door&mdash;quite illegally, of course, seeing that
she had her own furniture. She swore and talked of having him up before the
commissary of police. In the meantime, as midnight was striking, they had to
begin thinking of finding a bed. And Satin, deeming it unwise to let the
plain-clothes men into her secrets, ended by taking Nana to a woman who kept a
little hotel in the Rue de Laval. Here they were assigned a narrow room on the
first floor, the window of which opened on the courtyard. Satin remarked:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I should gladly have gone to Mme Robert&rsquo;s. There&rsquo;s always a
corner there for me. But with you it&rsquo;s out of the question. She&rsquo;s
getting absurdly jealous; she beat me the other night.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
When they had shut themselves in, Nana, who had not yet relieved her feelings,
burst into tears and again and again recounted Fontan&rsquo;s dirty behavior.
Satin listened complaisantly, comforted her, grew even more angry than she in
denunciation of the male sex.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, the pigs, the pigs! Look here, we&rsquo;ll have nothing more to do
with them!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then she helped Nana to undress with all the small, busy attentions, becoming a
humble little friend. She kept saying coaxingly:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go to bed as fast as we can, pet. We shall be better off
there! Oh, how silly you are to get crusty about things! I tell you,
they&rsquo;re dirty brutes. Don&rsquo;t think any more about &rsquo;em.
I&mdash;I love you very much. Don&rsquo;t cry, and oblige your own little
darling girl.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And once in bed, she forthwith took Nana in her arms and soothed and comforted
her. She refused to hear Fontan&rsquo;s name mentioned again, and each time it
recurred to her friend&rsquo;s lips she stopped it with a kiss. Her lips pouted
in pretty indignation; her hair lay loose about her, and her face glowed with
tenderness and childlike beauty. Little by little her soft embrace compelled
Nana to dry her tears. She was touched and replied to Satin&rsquo;s caresses.
When two o&rsquo;clock struck the candle was still burning, and a sound of
soft, smothered laughter and lovers&rsquo; talk was audible in the room.
</p>

<p>
But suddenly a loud noise came up from the lower floors of the hotel, and
Satin, with next to nothing on, got up and listened intently.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The police!&rdquo; she said, growing very pale.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, blast our bad luck! We&rsquo;re bloody well done for!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Often had she told stories about the raids on hotel made by the plainclothes
men. But that particular night neither of them had suspected anything when they
took shelter in the Rue de Laval. At the sound of the word &ldquo;police&rdquo;
Nana lost her head. She jumped out of bed and ran across the room with the
scared look of a madwoman about to jump out of the window. Luckily, however,
the little courtyard was roofed with glass, which was covered with an iron-wire
grating at the level of the girls&rsquo; bedroom. At sight of this she ceased
to hesitate; she stepped over the window prop, and with her chemise flying and
her legs bared to the night air she vanished in the gloom.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Stop! Stop!&rdquo; said Satin in a great fright. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll
kill yourself.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then as they began hammering at the door, she shut the window like a
good-natured girl and threw her friend&rsquo;s clothes down into a cupboard.
She was already resigned to her fate and comforted herself with the thought
that, after all, if she were to be put on the official list she would no longer
be so &ldquo;beastly frightened&rdquo; as of yore. So she pretended to be heavy
with sleep. She yawned; she palavered and ended by opening the door to a tall,
burly fellow with an unkempt beard, who said to her:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Show your hands! You&rsquo;ve got no needle pricks on them: you
don&rsquo;t work. Now then, dress!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;But I&rsquo;m not a dressmaker; I&rsquo;m a burnisher,&rdquo; Satin
brazenly declared.
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless, she dressed with much docility, knowing that argument was out of
the question. Cries were ringing through the hotel; a girl was clinging to
doorposts and refusing to budge an inch. Another girl, in bed with a lover, who
was answering for her legality, was acting the honest woman who had been
grossly insulted and spoke of bringing an action against the prefect of police.
For close on an hour there was a noise of heavy shoes on the stairs, of fists
hammering on doors, of shrill disputes terminating in sobs, of petticoats
rustling along the walls, of all the sounds, in fact, attendant on the sudden
awakening and scared departure of a flock of women as they were roughly packed
off by three plain-clothes men, headed by a little oily-mannered, fair-haired
commissary of police. After they had gone the hotel relapsed into deep silence.
</p>

<p>
Nobody had betrayed her; Nana was saved. Shivering and half dead with fear, she
came groping back into the room. Her bare feet were cut and bleeding, for they
had been torn by the grating. For a long while she remained sitting on the edge
of the bed, listening and listening. Toward morning, however, she went to sleep
again, and at eight o&rsquo;clock, when she woke up, she escaped from the hotel
and ran to her aunt&rsquo;s. When Mme Lerat, who happened just then to be
drinking her morning coffee with Zoé, beheld her bedraggled plight and haggard
face, she took note of the hour and at once understood the state of the case.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s come to it, eh?&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I certainly told you
that he would take the skin off your back one of these days. Well, well, come
in; you&rsquo;ll always find a kind welcome here.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Zoé had risen from her chair and was muttering with respectful familiarity:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Madame is restored to us at last. I was waiting for Madame.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But Mme Lerat insisted on Nana&rsquo;s going and kissing Louiset at once,
because, she said, the child took delight in his mother&rsquo;s nice ways.
Louiset, a sickly child with poor blood, was still asleep, and when Nana bent
over his white, scrofulous face, the memory of all she had undergone during the
last few months brought a choking lump into her throat.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, my poor little one, my poor little one!&rdquo; she gasped, bursting
into a final fit of sobbing.
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"></a> CHAPTER IX</h2>

<p>
The Petite Duchesse was being rehearsed at the Variétés. The first act had just
been carefully gone through, and the second was about to begin. Seated in old
armchairs in front of the stage, Fauchery and Bordenave were discussing various
points while the prompter, Father Cossard, a little humpbacked man perched on a
straw-bottomed chair, was turning over the pages of the manuscript, a pencil
between his lips.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, what are they waiting for?&rdquo; cried Bordenave on a sudden,
tapping the floor savagely with his heavy cane. &ldquo;Barillot, why
don&rsquo;t they begin?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s Monsieur Bosc that has disappeared,&rdquo; replied Barillot,
who was acting as second stage manager.&rsquo;
</p>

<p>
Then there arose a tempest, and everybody shouted for Bosc while Bordenave
swore.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Always the same thing, by God! It&rsquo;s all very well ringing for
&rsquo;em: they&rsquo;re always where they&rsquo;ve no business to be. And then
they grumble when they&rsquo;re kept till after four o&rsquo;clock.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But Bosc just then came in with supreme tranquillity.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Eh? What? What do they want me for? Oh, it&rsquo;s my turn! You ought to
have said so. All right! Simonne gives the cue: &lsquo;Here are the
guests,&rsquo; and I come in. Which way must I come in?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Through the door, of course,&rdquo; cried Fauchery in great
exasperation.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, but where is the door?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At this Bordenave fell upon Barillot and once more set to work swearing and
hammering the boards with his cane.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By God! I said a chair was to be put there to stand for the door, and
every day we have to get it done again. Barillot! Where&rsquo;s Barillot?
Another of &rsquo;em! Why, they&rsquo;re all going!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless, Barillot came and planted the chair down in person, mutely
weathering the storm as he did so. And the rehearsal began again. Simonne, in
her hat and furs, began moving about like a maidservant busy arranging
furniture. She paused to say:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not warm, you know, so I keep my hands in my muff.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then changing her voice, she greeted Bosc with a little cry:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;La, it&rsquo;s Monsieur le Comte. You&rsquo;re the first to come,
Monsieur le Comte, and Madame will be delighted.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Bosc had muddy trousers and a huge yellow overcoat, round the collar of which a
tremendous comforter was wound. On his head he wore an old hat, and he kept his
hands in his pockets. He did not act but dragged himself along, remarking in a
hollow voice:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t disturb your mistress, Isabelle; I want to take her by
surprise.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The rehearsal took its course. Bordenave knitted his brows. He had slipped down
low in his armchair and was listening with an air of fatigue. Fauchery was
nervous and kept shifting about in his seat. Every few minutes he itched with
the desire to interrupt, but he restrained himself. He heard a whispering in
the dark and empty house behind him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Is she there?&rdquo; he asked, leaning over toward Bordenave.
</p>

<p>
The latter nodded affirmatively. Before accepting the part of Geraldine, which
he was offering her, Nana had been anxious to see the piece, for she hesitated
to play a courtesan&rsquo;s part a second time. She, in fact, aspired to an
honest woman&rsquo;s part. Accordingly she was hiding in the shadows of a
corner box in company with Labordette, who was managing matters for her with
Bordenave. Fauchery glanced in her direction and then once more set himself to
follow the rehearsal.
</p>

<p>
Only the front of the stage was lit up. A flaring gas burner on a support,
which was fed by a pipe from the footlights, burned in front of a reflector and
cast its full brightness over the immediate foreground. It looked like a big
yellow eye glaring through the surrounding semiobscurity, where it flamed in a
doubtful, melancholy way. Cossard was holding up his manuscript against the
slender stem of this arrangement. He wanted to see more clearly, and in the
flood of light his hump was sharply outlined. As to Bordenave and Fauchery,
they were already drowned in shadow. It was only in the heart of this enormous
structure, on a few square yards of stage, that a faint glow suggested the
light cast by some lantern nailed up in a railway station. It made the actors
look like eccentric phantoms and set their shadows dancing after them. The
remainder of the stage was full of mist and suggested a house in process of
being pulled down, a church nave in utter ruin. It was littered with ladders,
with set pieces and with scenery, of which the faded painting suggested
heaped-up rubbish. Hanging high in air, the scenes had the appearance of great
ragged clouts suspended from the rafters of some vast old-clothes shop, while
above these again a ray of bright sunlight fell from a window and clove the
shadow round the flies with a bar of gold.
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile actors were chatting at the back of the stage while awaiting their
cues. Little by little they had raised their voices.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Confound it, will you be silent?&rdquo; howled Bordenave, raging up and
down in his chair. &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t hear a word. Go outside if you want to
talk; WE are at work. Barillot, if there&rsquo;s any more talking I clap on
fines all round!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They were silent for a second or two. They were sitting in a little group on a
bench and some rustic chairs in the corner of a scenic garden, which was
standing ready to be put in position as it would be used in the opening act the
same evening. In the middle of this group Fontan and Prullière were listening
to Rose Mignon, to whom the manager of the Folies-Dramatique Theatre had been
making magnificent offers. But a voice was heard shouting:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The duchess! Saint-Firmin! The duchess and Saint-Firmin are
wanted!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Only when the call was repeated did Prullière remember that he was
Saint-Firmin! Rose, who was playing the Duchess Helene, was already waiting to
go on with him while old Bosc slowly returned to his seat, dragging one foot
after the other over the sonorous and deserted boards. Clarisse offered him a
place on the bench beside her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What&rsquo;s he bawling like that for?&rdquo; she said in allusion to
Bordenave. &ldquo;Things will be getting rosy soon! A piece can&rsquo;t be put
on nowadays without its getting on his nerves.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Bosc shrugged his shoulders; he was above such storms. Fontan whispered:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;He&rsquo;s afraid of a fiasco. The piece strikes me as idiotic.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then he turned to Clarisse and again referred to what Rose had been telling
them:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;D&rsquo;you believe in the offers of the Folies people, eh? Three
hundred francs an evening for a hundred nights! Why not a country house into
the bargain? If his wife were to be given three hundred francs Mignon would
chuck my friend Bordenave and do it jolly sharp too!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Clarisse was a believer in the three hundred francs. That man Fontan was always
picking holes in his friends&rsquo; successes! Just then Simonne interrupted
her. She was shivering with cold. Indeed, they were all buttoned up to the ears
and had comforters on, and they looked up at the ray of sunlight which shone
brightly above them but did not penetrate the cold gloom of the theater. In the
streets outside there was a frost under a November sky.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And there&rsquo;s no fire in the greenroom!&rdquo; said Simonne.
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s disgusting; he IS just becoming a skinflint! I want to be
off; I don&rsquo;t want to get seedy.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Silence, I say!&rdquo; Bordenave once more thundered.
</p>

<p>
Then for a minute or so a confused murmur alone was audible as the actors went
on repeating their parts. There was scarcely any appropriate action, and they
spoke in even tones so as not to tire themselves. Nevertheless, when they did
emphasize a particular shade of meaning they cast a glance at the house, which
lay before them like a yawning gulf. It was suffused with vague, ambient
shadow, which resembled the fine dust floating pent in some high, windowless
loft. The deserted house, whose sole illumination was the twilight radiance of
the stage, seemed to slumber in melancholy and mysterious effacement. Near the
ceiling dense night smothered the frescoes, while from the several tiers of
stage boxes on either hand huge widths of gray canvas stretched down to protect
the neighboring hangings. In fact, there was no end to these coverings; bands
of canvas had been thrown over the velvet-covered ledges in front of the
various galleries which they shrouded thickly. Their pale hue stained the
surrounding shadows, and of the general decorations of the house only the dark
recesses of the boxes were distinguishable. These served to outline the
framework of the several stories, where the seats were so many stains of red
velvet turned black. The chandelier had been let down as far as it would go,
and it so filled the region of the stalls with its pendants as to suggest a
flitting and to set one thinking that the public had started on a journey from
which they would never return.
</p>

<p>
Just about then Rose, as the little duchess who has been misled into the
society of a courtesan, came to the footlights, lifted up her hands and pouted
adorably at the dark and empty theater, which was as sad as a house of
mourning.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Good heavens, what queer people!&rdquo; she said, emphasizing the phrase
and confident that it would have its effect.
</p>

<p>
Far back in the corner box in which she was hiding Nana sat enveloped in a
great shawl. She was listening to the play and devouring Rose with her eyes.
Turning toward Labordette, she asked him in a low tone:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You are sure he&rsquo;ll come?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Quite sure. Without doubt he&rsquo;ll come with Mignon, so as to have an
excuse for coming. As soon as he makes his appearance you&rsquo;ll go up into
Mathilde&rsquo;s dressing room, and I&rsquo;ll bring him to you there.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They were talking of Count Muffat. Labordette had arranged this interview with
him on neutral ground. He had had a serious talk with Bordenave, whose affairs
had been gravely damaged by two successive failures. Accordingly Bordenave had
hastened to lend him his theater and to offer Nana a part, for he was anxious
to win the count&rsquo;s favor and hoped to be able to borrow from him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And this part of Geraldine, what d&rsquo;you thing of it?&rdquo;
continued Labordette.
</p>

<p>
But Nana sat motionless and vouchsafed no reply. After the first act, in which
the author showed how the Duc de Beaurivage played his wife false with the
blonde Geraldine, a comic-opera celebrity, the second act witnessed the Duchess
Helene&rsquo;s arrival at the house of the actress on the occasion of a masked
ball being given by the latter. The duchess has come to find out by what
magical process ladies of that sort conquer and retain their husbands&rsquo;
affections. A cousin, the handsome Oscar de Saint-Firmin, introduces her and
hopes to be able to debauch her. And her first lesson causes her great
surprise, for she hears Geraldine swearing like a hodman at the duke, who
suffers with most ecstatic submissiveness. The episode causes her to cry out,
&ldquo;Dear me, if that&rsquo;s the way one ought to talk to the men!&rdquo;
Geraldine had scarce any other scene in the act save this one. As to the
duchess, she is very soon punished for her curiosity, for an old buck, the
Baron de Tardiveau, takes her for a courtesan and becomes very gallant, while
on her other side Beaurivage sits on a lounging chair and makes his peace with
Geraldine by dint of kisses and caresses. As this last lady&rsquo;s part had
not yet been assigned to anyone, Father Cossard had got up to read it, and he
was now figuring away in Bosc&rsquo;s arms and emphasizing it despite himself.
At this point, while the rehearsal was dragging monotonously on, Fauchery
suddenly jumped from his chair. He had restrained himself up to that moment,
but now his nerves got the better of him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;That&rsquo;s not it!&rdquo; he cried.
</p>

<p>
The actors paused awkwardly enough while Fontan sneered and asked in his most
contemptuous voice:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Eh? What&rsquo;s not it? Who&rsquo;s not doing it right?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Nobody is! You&rsquo;re quite wrong, quite wrong!&rdquo; continued
Fauchery, and, gesticulating wildly, he came striding over the stage and began
himself to act the scene.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now look here, you Fontan, do please comprehend the way Tardiveau gets
packed off. You must lean forward like this in order to catch hold of the
duchess. And then you, Rose, must change your position like that but not too
soon&mdash;only when you hear the kiss.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He broke off and in the heat of explanation shouted to Cossard:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Geraldine, give the kiss! Loudly, so that it may be heard!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Father Cossard turned toward Bosc and smacked his lips vigorously.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Good! That&rsquo;s the kiss,&rdquo; said Fauchery triumphantly.
&ldquo;Once more; let&rsquo;s have it once more. Now you see, Rose, I&rsquo;ve
had time to move, and then I give a little cry&mdash;so: &lsquo;Oh, she&rsquo;s
given him a kiss.&rsquo; But before I do that, Tardiveau must go up the stage.
D&rsquo;you hear, Fontan? You go up. Come, let&rsquo;s try it again, all
together.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The actors continued the scene again, but Fontan played his part with such an
ill grace that they made no sort of progress. Twice Fauchery had to repeat his
explanation, each time acting it out with more warmth than before. The actors
listened to him with melancholy faces, gazed momentarily at one another, as
though he had asked them to walk on their heads, and then awkwardly essayed the
passage, only to pull up short directly afterward, looking as stiff as puppets
whose strings have just been snapped.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, it beats me; I can&rsquo;t understand it,&rdquo; said Fontan at
length, speaking in the insolent manner peculiar to him.
</p>

<p>
Bordenave had never once opened his lips. He had slipped quite down in his
armchair, so that only the top of his hat was now visible in the doubtful
flicker of the gaslight on the stand. His cane had fallen from his grasp and
lay slantwise across his waistcoat. Indeed, he seemed to be asleep. But
suddenly he sat bolt upright.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s idiotic, my boy,&rdquo; he announced quietly to Fauchery.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What d&rsquo;you mean, idiotic?&rdquo; cried the author, growing very
pale. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s you that are the idiot, my dear boy!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Bordenave began to get angry at once. He repeated the word
&ldquo;idiotic&rdquo; and, seeking a more forcible expression, hit upon
&ldquo;imbecile&rdquo; and &ldquo;damned foolish.&rdquo; The public would hiss,
and the act would never be finished! And when Fauchery, without, indeed, being
very deeply wounded by these big phrases, which always recurred when a new
piece was being put on, grew savage and called the other a brute, Bordenave
went beyond all bounds, brandished his cane in the air, snorted like a bull and
shouted:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Good God! Why the hell can&rsquo;t you shut up? We&rsquo;ve lost a
quarter of an hour over this folly. Yes, folly! There&rsquo;s no sense in it.
And it&rsquo;s so simple, after all&rsquo;s said and done! You, Fontan,
mustn&rsquo;t move. You, Rose, must make your little movement, just that, no
more; d&rsquo;ye see? And then you come down. Now then, let&rsquo;s get it done
this journey. Give the kiss, Cossard.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then ensued confusion. The scene went no better than before. Bordenave, in his
turn, showed them how to act it about as gracefully as an elephant might have
done, while Fauchery sneered and shrugged pityingly. After that Fontan put his
word in, and even Bosc made so bold as to give advice. Rose, thoroughly tired
out, had ended by sitting down on the chair which indicated the door. No one
knew where they had got to, and by way of finish to it all Simonne made a
premature entry, under the impression that her cue had been given her, and
arrived amid the confusion. This so enraged Bordenave that he whirled his stick
round in a terrific manner and caught her a sounding thwack to the rearward. At
rehearsal he used frequently to drub his former mistress. Simonne ran away, and
this furious outcry followed her:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Take that, and, by God, if I&rsquo;m annoyed again I shut the whole shop
up at once!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Fauchery pushed his hat down over his forehead and pretended to be going to
leave the theater. But he stopped at the top of the stage and came down again
when he saw Bordenave perspiringly resuming his seat. Then he, too, took up his
old position in the other armchair. For some seconds they sat motionless side
by side while oppressive silence reigned in the shadowy house. The actors
waited for nearly two minutes. They were all heavy with exhaustion and felt as
though they had performed an overwhelming task.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, let&rsquo;s go on,&rdquo; said Bordenave at last. He spoke in his
usual voice and was perfectly calm.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, let&rsquo;s go on,&rdquo; Fauchery repeated. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll
arrange the scene tomorrow.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with that they dragged on again and rehearsed their parts with as much
listlessness and as fine an indifference as ever. During the dispute between
manager and author Fontan and the rest had been taking things very comfortably
on the rustic bench and seats at the back of the stage, where they had been
chuckling, grumbling and saying fiercely cutting things. But when Simonne came
back, still smarting from her blow and choking with sobs, they grew
melodramatic and declared that had they been in her place they would have
strangled the swine. She began wiping her eyes and nodding approval. It was all
over between them, she said. She was leaving him, especially as Steiner had
offered to give her a grand start in life only the day before. Clarisse was
much astonished at this, for the banker was quite ruined, but Prullière began
laughing and reminded them of the neat manner in which that confounded
Israelite had puffed himself alongside of Rose in order to get his Landes
saltworks afloat on &rsquo;change. Just at that time he was airing a new
project, namely, a tunnel under the Bosporus. Simonne listened with the
greatest interest to this fresh piece of information.
</p>

<p>
As to Clarisse, she had been raging for a week past. Just fancy, that beast La
Faloise, whom she had succeeded in chucking into Gaga&rsquo;s venerable
embrace, was coming into the fortune of a very rich uncle! It was just her
luck; she had always been destined to make things cozy for other people. Then,
too, that pig Bordenave had once more given her a mere scrap of a part, a
paltry fifty lines, just as if she could not have played Geraldine! She was
yearning for that role and hoping that Nana would refuse it.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, and what about me?&rdquo; said Prullière with much bitterness.
&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t got more than two hundred lines. I wanted to give the
part up. It&rsquo;s too bad to make me play that fellow Saint-Firmin; why,
it&rsquo;s a regular failure! And then what a style it&rsquo;s written in, my
dears! It&rsquo;ll fall dead flat, you may be sure.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But just then Simonne, who had been chatting with Father Barillot, came back
breathless and announced:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By the by, talking of Nana, she&rsquo;s in the house.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Where, where?&rdquo; asked Clarisse briskly, getting up to look for her.
</p>

<p>
The news spread at once, and everyone craned forward. The rehearsal was, as it
were, momentarily interrupted. But Bordenave emerged from his quiescent
condition, shouting:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What&rsquo;s up, eh? Finish the act, I say. And be quiet out there;
it&rsquo;s unbearable!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana was still following the piece from the corner box. Twice Labordette showed
an inclination to chat, but she grew impatient and nudged him to make him keep
silent. The second act was drawing to a close, when two shadows loomed at the
back of the theater. They were creeping softly down, avoiding all noise, and
Nana recognized Mignon and Count Muffat. They came forward and silently shook
hands with Bordenave.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, there they are,&rdquo; she murmured with a sigh of relief.
</p>

<p>
Rose Mignon delivered the last sentences of the act. Thereupon Bordenave said
that it was necessary to go through the second again before beginning the
third. With that he left off attending to the rehearsal and greeted the count
with looks of exaggerated politeness, while Fauchery pretended to be entirely
engrossed with his actors, who now grouped themselves round him. Mignon stood
whistling carelessly, with his hands behind his back and his eyes fixed
complacently on his wife, who seemed rather nervous.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, shall we go upstairs?&rdquo; Labordette asked Nana.
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll install you in the dressing room and come down again and
fetch him.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana forthwith left the corner box. She had to grope her way along the passage
outside the stalls, but Bordenave guessed where she was as she passed along in
the dark and caught her up at the end of the corridor passing behind the
scenes, a narrow tunnel where the gas burned day and night. Here, in order to
bluff her into a bargain, he plunged into a discussion of the courtesan&rsquo;s
part.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What a part it is, eh? What a wicked little part! It&rsquo;s made for
you. Come and rehearse tomorrow.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana was frigid. She wanted to know what the third act was like.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s superb, the third act is! The duchess plays the courtesan
in her own house and this disgusts Beaurivage and makes him amend his way. Then
there&rsquo;s an awfully funny QUID PRO QUO, when Tardiveau arrives and is
under the impression that he&rsquo;s at an opera dancer&rsquo;s house.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And what does Geraldine do in it all?&rdquo; interrupted Nana.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Geraldine?&rdquo; repeated Bordenave in some embarrassment. &ldquo;She
has a scene&mdash;not a very long one, but a great success. It&rsquo;s made for
you, I assure you! Will you sign?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She looked steadily at him and at length made answer:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll see about that all in good time.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she rejoined Labordette, who was waiting for her on the stairs. Everybody
in the theater had recognized her, and there was now much whispering,
especially between Prullière, who was scandalized at her return, and Clarisse
who was very desirous of the part. As to Fontan, he looked coldly on,
pretending unconcern, for he did not think it becoming to round on a woman he
had loved. Deep down in his heart, though, his old love had turned to hate, and
he nursed the fiercest rancor against her in return for the constant devotion,
the personal beauty, the life in common, of which his perverse and monstrous
tastes had made him tire.
</p>

<p>
In the meantime, when Labordette reappeared and went up to the count, Rose
Mignon, whose suspicions Nana&rsquo;s presence had excited, understood it all
forthwith. Muffat was bothering her to death, but she was beside herself at the
thought of being left like this. She broke the silence which she usually
maintained on such subjects in her husband&rsquo;s society and said bluntly:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You see what&rsquo;s going on? My word, if she tries the Steiner trick
on again I&rsquo;ll tear her eyes out!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Tranquilly and haughtily Mignon shrugged his shoulders, as became a man from
whom nothing could be hidden.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do be quiet,&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;Do me the favor of being quiet,
won&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He knew what to rely on now. He had drained his Muffat dry, and he knew that at
a sign from Nana he was ready to lie down and be a carpet under her feet. There
is no fighting against passions such as that. Accordingly, as he knew what men
were, he thought of nothing but how to turn the situation to the best possible
account.
</p>

<p>
It would be necessary to wait on the course of events. And he waited on them.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Rose, it&rsquo;s your turn!&rdquo; shouted Bordenave. &ldquo;The second
act&rsquo;s being begun again.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Off with you then,&rdquo; continued Mignon, &ldquo;and let me arrange
matters.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then he began bantering, despite all his troubles, and was pleased to
congratulate Fauchery on his piece. A very strong piece! Only why was his great
lady so chaste? It wasn&rsquo;t natural! With that he sneered and asked who had
sat for the portrait of the Duke of Beaurivage, Geraldine&rsquo;s wornout roue.
Fauchery smiled; he was far from annoyed. But Bordenave glanced in
Muffat&rsquo;s direction and looked vexed, and Mignon was struck at this and
became serious again.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s begin, for God&rsquo;s sake!&rdquo; yelled the manager.
&ldquo;Now then, Barillot! Eh? What? Isn&rsquo;t Bosc there? Is he bloody well
making game of me now?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Bosc, however, made his appearance quietly enough, and the rehearsal began
again just as Labordette was taking the count away with him. The latter was
tremulous at the thought of seeing Nana once more. After the rupture had taken
place between them there had been a great void in his life. He was idle and
fancied himself about to suffer through the sudden change his habits had
undergone, and accordingly he had let them take him to see Rose. Besides, his
brain had been in such a whirl that he had striven to forget everything and had
strenuously kept from seeking out Nana while avoiding an explanation with the
countess. He thought, indeed, that he owed his dignity such a measure of
forgetfulness. But mysterious forces were at work within, and Nana began slowly
to reconquer him. First came thoughts of her, then fleshly cravings and finally
a new set of exclusive, tender, well-nigh paternal feelings.
</p>

<p>
The abominable events attendant on their last interview were gradually effacing
themselves. He no longer saw Fontan; he no longer heard the stinging taunt
about his wife&rsquo;s adultery with which Nana cast him out of doors. These
things were as words whose memory vanished. Yet deep down in his heart there
was a poignant smart which wrung him with such increasing pain that it nigh
choked him. Childish ideas would occur to him; he imagined that she would never
have betrayed him if he had really loved her, and he blamed himself for this.
His anguish was becoming unbearable; he was really very wretched. His was the
pain of an old wound rather than the blind, present desire which puts up with
everything for the sake of immediate possession. He felt a jealous passion for
the woman and was haunted by longings for her and her alone, her hair, her
mouth, her body. When he remembered the sound of her voice a shiver ran through
him; he longed for her as a miser might have done, with refinements of desire
beggaring description. He was, in fact, so dolorously possessed by his passion
that when Labordette had begun to broach the subject of an assignation he had
thrown himself into his arms in obedience to irresistible impulse. Directly
afterward he had, of course, been ashamed of an act of self-abandonment which
could not but seem very ridiculous in a man of his position; but Labordette was
one who knew when to see and when not to see things, and he gave a further
proof of his tact when he left the count at the foot of the stairs and without
effort let slip only these simple words:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The right-hand passage on the second floor. The door&rsquo;s not
shut.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Muffat was alone in that silent corner of the house. As he passed before the
players&rsquo; waiting room, he had peeped through the open doors and noticed
the utter dilapidation of the vast chamber, which looked shamefully stained and
worn in broad daylight. But what surprised him most as he emerged from the
darkness and confusion of the stage was the pure, clear light and deep quiet at
present pervading the lofty staircase, which one evening when he had seen it
before had been bathed in gas fumes and loud with the footsteps of women
scampering over the different floors. He felt that the dressing rooms were
empty, the corridors deserted; not a soul was there; not a sound broke the
stillness, while through the square windows on the level of the stairs the pale
November sunlight filtered and cast yellow patches of light, full of dancing
dust, amid the dead, peaceful air which seemed to descend from the regions
above.
</p>

<p>
He was glad of this calm and the silence, and he went slowly up, trying to
regain breath as he went, for his heart was thumping, and he was afraid lest he
might behave childishly and give way to sighs and tears. Accordingly on the
first-floor landing he leaned up against a wall&mdash;for he was sure of not
being observed&mdash;and pressed his handkerchief to his mouth and gazed at the
warped steps, the iron balustrade bright with the friction of many hands, the
scraped paint on the walls&mdash;all the squalor, in fact, which that house of
tolerance so crudely displayed at the pale afternoon hour when courtesans are
asleep. When he reached the second floor he had to step over a big yellow cat
which was lying curled up on a step. With half-closed eyes this cat was keeping
solitary watch over the house, where the close and now frozen odors which the
women nightly left behind them had rendered him somnolent.
</p>

<p>
In the right-hand corridor the door of the dressing room had, indeed, not been
closed entirely. Nana was waiting. That little Mathilde, a drab of a young
girl, kept her dressing room in a filthy state. Chipped jugs stood about
anyhow; the dressing table was greasy, and there was a chair covered with red
stains, which looked as if someone had bled over the straw. The paper pasted on
walls and ceiling was splashed from top to bottom with spots of soapy water and
this smelled so disagreeably of lavender scent turned sour that Nana opened the
window and for some moments stayed leaning on the sill, breathing the fresh air
and craning forward to catch sight of Mme Bron underneath. She could hear her
broom wildly at work on the mildewed pantiles of the narrow court which was
buried in shadow. A canary, whose cage hung on a shutter, was trilling away
piercingly. The sound of carriages in the boulevard and neighboring streets was
no longer audible, and the quiet and the wide expanse of sleeping sunlight
suggested the country. Looking farther afield, her eye fell on the small
buildings and glass roofs of the galleries in the passage and, beyond these, on
the tall houses in the Rue Vivienne, the backs of which rose silent and
apparently deserted over against her. There was a succession of terrace roofs
close by, and on one of these a photographer had perched a big cagelike
construction of blue glass. It was all very gay, and Nana was becoming absorbed
in contemplation, when it struck her someone had knocked at the door.
</p>

<p>
She turned round and shouted:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come in!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At sight of the count she shut the window, for it was not warm, and there was
no need for the eavesdropping Mme Bron to listen. The pair gazed at one another
gravely. Then as the count still kept standing stiffly in front of her, looking
ready to choke with emotion, she burst out laughing and said:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well! So you&rsquo;re here again, you silly big beast!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The tumult going on within him was so great that he seemed a man frozen to ice.
He addressed Nana as &ldquo;madame&rdquo; and esteemed himself happy to see her
again. Thereupon she became more familiar than ever in order to bounce matters
through.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t do it in the dignified way! You wanted to see me,
didn&rsquo;t you? But you didn&rsquo;t intend us to stand looking at one
another like a couple of chinaware dogs. We&rsquo;ve both been in the
wrong&mdash;Oh, I certainly forgive you!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And herewith they agreed not to talk of that affair again, Muffat nodding his
assent as Nana spoke. He was calmer now but as yet could find nothing to say,
though a thousand things rose tumultuously to his lips. Surprised at his
apparent coldness, she began acting a part with much vigor.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come,&rdquo; she continued with a faint smile, &ldquo;you&rsquo;re a
sensible man! Now that we&rsquo;ve made our peace let&rsquo;s shake hands and
be good friends in future.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What? Good friends?&rdquo; he murmured in sudden anxiety.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes; it&rsquo;s idiotic, perhaps, but I should like you to think well of
me. We&rsquo;ve had our little explanation out, and if we meet again we
shan&rsquo;t, at any rate look like a pair of boobies.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He tried to interrupt her with a movement of the hand.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Let me finish! There&rsquo;s not a man, you understand, able to accuse
me of doing him a blackguardly turn; well, and it struck me as horrid to begin
in your case. We all have our sense of honor, dear boy.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;But that&rsquo;s not my meaning!&rdquo; he shouted violently. &ldquo;Sit
down&mdash;listen to me!&rdquo; And as though he were afraid of seeing her take
her departure, he pushed her down on the solitary chair in the room. Then he
paced about in growing agitation. The little dressing room was airless and full
of sunlight, and no sound from the outside world disturbed its pleasant,
peaceful, dampish atmosphere. In the pauses of conversation the shrillings of
the canary were alone audible and suggested the distant piping of a flute.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Listen,&rdquo; he said, planting himself in front of her,
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve come to possess myself of you again. Yes, I want to begin
again. You know that well; then why do you talk to me as you do? Answer me;
tell me you consent.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Her head was bent, and she was scratching the blood-red straw of the seat
underneath her. Seeing him so anxious, she did not hurry to answer. But at last
she lifted up her face. It had assumed a grave expression, and into the
beautiful eyes she had succeeded in infusing a look of sadness.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s impossible, little man. Never, never, will I live with
you again.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why?&rdquo; he stuttered, and his face seemed contracted in unspeakable
suffering.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why? Hang it all, because&mdash;It&rsquo;s impossible; that&rsquo;s
about it. I don&rsquo;t want to.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He looked ardently at her for some seconds longer. Then his legs curved under
him and he fell on the floor. In a bored voice she added this simple advice:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, don&rsquo;t be a baby!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But he was one already. Dropping at her feet, he had put his arms round her
waist and was hugging her closely, pressing his face hard against her knees.
When he felt her thus&mdash;when he once more divined the presence of her
velvety limbs beneath the thin fabric of her dress&mdash;he was suddenly
convulsed and trembled, as it were, with fever, while madly, savagely, he
pressed his face against her knees as though he had been anxious to force
through her flesh. The old chair creaked, and beneath the low ceiling, where
the air was pungent with stale perfumes, smothered sobs of desire were audible.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, and after?&rdquo; Nana began saying, letting him do as he would.
&ldquo;All this doesn&rsquo;t help you a bit, seeing that the thing&rsquo;s
impossible. Good God, what a child you are!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
His energy subsided, but he still stayed on the floor, nor did he relax his
hold of her as he said in a broken voice:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do at least listen to what I came to offer you. I&rsquo;ve already seen
a town house close to the Parc Monceau&mdash;I would gladly realize your
smallest wish. In order to have you all to myself, I would give my whole
fortune. Yes, that would be my only condition, that I should have you all to
myself! Do you understand? And if you were to consent to be mine only, oh, then
I should want you to be the loveliest, the richest, woman on earth. I should
give you carriages and diamonds and dresses!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At each successive offer Nana shook her head proudly. Then seeing that he still
continued them, that he even spoke of settling money on her&mdash;for he was at
loss what to lay at her feet&mdash;she apparently lost patience.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come, come, have you done bargaining with me? I&rsquo;m a good sort, and
I don&rsquo;t mind giving in to you for a minute or two, as your feelings are
making you so ill, but I&rsquo;ve had enough of it now, haven&rsquo;t I? So let
me get up. You&rsquo;re tiring me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She extricated herself from his clasp, and once on her feet:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, no, no!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
With that he gathered himself up painfully and feebly dropped into a chair, in
which he leaned back with his face in his hands. Nana began pacing up and down
in her turn. For a second or two she looked at the stained wallpaper, the
greasy toilet table, the whole dirty little room as it basked in the pale
sunlight. Then she paused in front of the count and spoke with quiet
directness.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s strange how rich men fancy they can have everything for their
money. Well, and if I don&rsquo;t want to consent&mdash;what then? I
don&rsquo;t care a pin for your presents! You might give me Paris, and yet I
should say no! Always no! Look here, it&rsquo;s scarcely clean in this room,
yet I should think it very nice if I wanted to live in it with you. But
one&rsquo;s fit to kick the bucket in your palaces if one isn&rsquo;t in love.
Ah, as to money, my poor pet, I can lay my hands on that if I want to, but I
tell you, I trample on it; I spit on it!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with that she assumed a disgusted expression. Then she became sentimental
and added in a melancholy tone:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I know of something worth more than money. Oh, if only someone were to
give me what I long for!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He slowly lifted his head, and there was a gleam of hope in his eyes.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, you can&rsquo;t give it me,&rdquo; she continued; &ldquo;it
doesn&rsquo;t depend on you, and that&rsquo;s the reason I&rsquo;m talking to
you about it. Yes, we&rsquo;re having a chat, so I may as well mention to you
that I should like to play the part of the respectable woman in that show of
theirs.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What respectable woman?&rdquo; he muttered in astonishment.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why, their Duchess Helene! If they think I&rsquo;m going to play
Geraldine, a part with nothing in it, a scene and nothing besides&mdash;if they
think that! Besides, that isn&rsquo;t the reason. The fact is I&rsquo;ve had
enough of courtesans. Why, there&rsquo;s no end to &rsquo;em! They&rsquo;ll be
fancying I&rsquo;ve got &rsquo;em on the brain; to be sure they will! Besides,
when all&rsquo;s said and done, it&rsquo;s annoying, for I can quite see they
seem to think me uneducated. Well, my boy, they&rsquo;re jolly well in the dark
about it, I can tell you! When I want to be a perfect lady, why then I am a
swell, and no mistake! Just look at this.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she withdrew as far as the window and then came swelling back with the
mincing gait and circumspect air of a portly hen that fears to dirty her claws.
As to Muffat, he followed her movements with eyes still wet with tears. He was
stupefied by this sudden transition from anguish to comedy. She walked about
for a moment or two in order the more thoroughly to show off her paces, and as
she walked she smiled subtlely, closed her eyes demurely and managed her skirts
with great dexterity. Then she posted herself in front of him again.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I guess I&rsquo;ve hit it, eh?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, thoroughly,&rdquo; he stammered with a broken voice and a troubled
expression.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I tell you I&rsquo;ve got hold of the honest woman! I&rsquo;ve tried at
my own place. Nobody&rsquo;s got my little knack of looking like a duchess who
don&rsquo;t care a damn for the men. Did you notice it when I passed in front
of you? Why, the thing&rsquo;s in my blood! Besides, I want to play the part of
an honest woman. I dream about it day and night&mdash;I&rsquo;m miserable about
it. I must have the part, d&rsquo;you hear?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with that she grew serious, speaking in a hard voice and looking deeply
moved, for she was really tortured by her stupid, tiresome wish. Muffat, still
smarting from her late refusals, sat on without appearing to grasp her meaning.
There was a silence during which the very flies abstained from buzzing through
the quiet, empty place.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now, look here,&rdquo; she resumed bluntly, &ldquo;you&rsquo;re to get
them to give me the part.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He was dumfounded, and with a despairing gesture:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s impossible! You yourself were saying just now that it
didn&rsquo;t depend on me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She interrupted him with a shrug of the shoulders.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll just go down, and you&rsquo;ll tell Bordenave you want the
part. Now don&rsquo;t be such a silly! Bordenave wants money&mdash;well,
you&rsquo;ll lend him some, since you can afford to make ducks and drakes of
it.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And as he still struggled to refuse her, she grew angry.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Very well, I understand; you&rsquo;re afraid of making Rose angry. I
didn&rsquo;t mention the woman when you were crying down on the floor&mdash;I
should have had too much to say about it all. Yes, to be sure, when one has
sworn to love a woman forever one doesn&rsquo;t usually take up with the first
creature that comes by directly after. Oh, that&rsquo;s where the shoe pinches,
I remember! Well, dear boy, there&rsquo;s nothing very savory in the
Mignon&rsquo;s leavings! Oughtn&rsquo;t you to have broken it off with that
dirty lot before coming and squirming on my knees?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He protested vaguely and at last was able to get out a phrase.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, I don&rsquo;t care a jot for Rose; I&rsquo;ll give her up at
once.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana seemed satisfied on this point. She continued:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well then, what&rsquo;s bothering you? Bordenave&rsquo;s master here.
You&rsquo;ll tell me there&rsquo;s Fauchery after Bordenave&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She had sunk her voice, for she was coming to the delicate part of the matter.
Muffat sat silent, his eyes fixed on the ground. He had remained voluntarily
ignorant of Fauchery&rsquo;s assiduous attentions to the countess, and time had
lulled his suspicions and set him hoping that he had been deceiving himself
during that fearful night passed in a doorway of the Rue Taitbout. But he still
felt a dull, angry repugnance to the man.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, what then? Fauchery isn&rsquo;t the devil!&rdquo; Nana repeated,
feeling her way cautiously and trying to find out how matters stood between
husband and lover. &ldquo;One can get over his soft side. I promise you,
he&rsquo;s a good sort at bottom! So it&rsquo;s a bargain, eh? You&rsquo;ll
tell him that it&rsquo;s for my sake?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The idea of taking such a step disgusted the count.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, no! Never!&rdquo; he cried.
</p>

<p>
She paused, and this sentence was on the verge of utterance:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Fauchery can refuse you nothing.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But she felt that by way of argument it was rather too much of a good thing. So
she only smiled a queer smile which spoke as plainly as words. Muffat had
raised his eyes to her and now once more lowered them, looking pale and full of
embarrassment.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, you&rsquo;re not good natured,&rdquo; she muttered at last.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I cannot,&rdquo; he said with a voice and a look of the utmost anguish.
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll do whatever you like, but not that, dear love! Oh, I beg you
not to insist on that!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Thereupon she wasted no more time in discussion but took his head between her
small hands, pushed it back a little, bent down and glued her mouth to his in a
long, long kiss. He shivered violently; he trembled beneath her touch; his eyes
were closed, and he was beside himself. She lifted him to his feet.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Go,&rdquo; said she simply.
</p>

<p>
He walked off, making toward the door. But as he passed out she took him in her
arms again, became meek and coaxing, lifted her face to his and rubbed her
cheek against his waistcoat, much as a cat might have done.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s the fine house?&rdquo; she whispered in laughing
embarrassment, like a little girl who returns to the pleasant things she has
previously refused.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;In the Avenue de Villiers.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And there are carriages there?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Lace? Diamonds?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, how good you are, my old pet! You know it was all jealousy just now!
And this time I solemnly promise you it won&rsquo;t be like the first, for now
you understand what&rsquo;s due to a woman. You give all, don&rsquo;t you? Well
then, I don&rsquo;t want anybody but you! Why, look here, there&rsquo;s some
more for you! There and there AND there!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
When she had pushed him from the room after firing his blood with a rain of
kisses on hands and on face, she panted awhile. Good heavens, what an
unpleasant smell there was in that slut Mathilde&rsquo;s dressing room! It was
warm, if you will, with the tranquil warmth peculiar to rooms in the south when
the winter sun shines into them, but really, it smelled far too strong of stale
lavender water, not to mention other less cleanly things! She opened the window
and, again leaning on the window sill, began watching the glass roof of the
passage below in order to kill time.
</p>

<p>
Muffat went staggering downstairs. His head was swimming. What should he say?
How should he broach the matter which, moreover, did not concern him? He heard
sounds of quarreling as he reached the stage. The second act was being
finished, and Prullière was beside himself with wrath, owing to an attempt on
Fauchery&rsquo;s part to cut short one of his speeches.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Cut it all out then,&rdquo; he was shouting. &ldquo;I should prefer
that! Just fancy, I haven&rsquo;t two hundred lines, and they&rsquo;re still
cutting me down. No, by Jove, I&rsquo;ve had enough of it; I give the part
up.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He took a little crumpled manuscript book out of his pocket and fingered its
leaves feverishly, as though he were just about to throw it on Cossard&rsquo;s
lap. His pale face was convulsed by outraged vanity; his lips were drawn and
thin, his eyes flamed; he was quite unable to conceal the struggle that was
going on inside him. To think that he, Prullière, the idol of the public,
should play a part of only two hundred lines!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why not make me bring in letters on a tray?&rdquo; he continued
bitterly.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come, come, Prullière, behave decently,&rdquo; said Bordenave, who was
anxious to treat him tenderly because of his influence over the boxes.
&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t begin making a fuss. We&rsquo;ll find some points. Eh,
Fauchery, you&rsquo;ll add some points? In the third act it would even be
possible to lengthen a scene out.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well then, I want the last speech of all,&rdquo; the comedian declared.
&ldquo;I certainly deserve to have it.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Fauchery&rsquo;s silence seemed to give consent, and Prullière, still greatly
agitated and discontented despite everything, put his part back into his
pocket. Bosc and Fontan had appeared profoundly indifferent during the course
of this explanation. Let each man fight for his own hand, they reflected; the
present dispute had nothing to do with them; they had no interest therein! All
the actors clustered round Fauchery and began questioning him and fishing for
praise, while Mignon listened to the last of Prullière&rsquo;s complaints
without, however, losing sight of Count Muffat, whose return he had been on the
watch for.
</p>

<p>
Entering in the half-light, the count had paused at the back of the stage, for
he hesitated to interrupt the quarrel. But Bordenave caught sight of him and
ran forward.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Aren&rsquo;t they a pretty lot?&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;You can have
no idea what I&rsquo;ve got to undergo with that lot, Monsieur le Comte. Each
man&rsquo;s vainer than his neighbor, and they&rsquo;re wretched players all
the same, a scabby lot, always mixed up in some dirty business or other! Oh,
they&rsquo;d be delighted if I were to come to smash. But I beg
pardon&mdash;I&rsquo;m getting beside myself.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He ceased speaking, and silence reigned while Muffat sought how to broach his
announcement gently. But he failed and, in order to get out of his difficulty
the more quickly, ended by an abrupt announcement:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Nana wants the duchess&rsquo;s part.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Bordenave gave a start and shouted:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come now, it&rsquo;s sheer madness!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then looking at the count and finding him so pale and so shaken, he was calm at
once.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Devil take it!&rdquo; he said simply.
</p>

<p>
And with that there ensued a fresh silence. At bottom he didn&rsquo;t care a
pin about it. That great thing Nana playing the duchess might possibly prove
amusing! Besides, now that this had happened he had Muffat well in his grasp.
Accordingly he was not long in coming to a decision, and so he turned round and
called out:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Fauchery!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The count had been on the point of stopping him. But Fauchery did not hear him,
for he had been pinned against the curtain by Fontan and was being compelled to
listen patiently to the comedian&rsquo;s reading of the part of Tardiveau.
Fontan imagined Tardiveau to be a native of Marseilles with a dialect, and he
imitated the dialect. He was repeating whole speeches. Was that right? Was this
the thing? Apparently he was only submitting ideas to Fauchery of which he was
himself uncertain, but as the author seemed cold and raised various objections,
he grew angry at once.
</p>

<p>
Oh, very well, the moment the spirit of the part escaped him it would be better
for all concerned that he shouldn&rsquo;t act it at all!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Fauchery!&rdquo; shouted Bordenave once more.
</p>

<p>
Thereupon the young man ran off, delighted to escape from the actor, who was
wounded not a little by his prompt retreat.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t let&rsquo;s stay here,&rdquo; continued Bordenave.
&ldquo;Come this way, gentlemen.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
In order to escape from curious listeners he led them into the property room
behind the scenes, while Mignon watched their disappearance in some surprise.
They went down a few steps and entered a square room, whose two windows opened
upon the courtyard. A faint light stole through the dirty panes and hung wanly
under the low ceiling. In pigeonholes and shelves, which filled the whole place
up, lay a collection of the most varied kind of bric-a-brac. Indeed, it
suggested an old-clothes shop in the Rue de Lappe in process of selling off, so
indescribable was the hotchpotch of plates, gilt pasteboard cups, old red
umbrellas, Italian jars, clocks in all styles, platters and inkpots, firearms
and squirts, which lay chipped and broken and in unrecognizable heaps under a
layer of dust an inch deep. An unendurable odor of old iron, rags and damp
cardboard emanated from the various piles, where the débris of forgotten dramas
had been collecting for half a century.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come in,&rdquo; Bordenave repeated. &ldquo;We shall be alone, at any
rate.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The count was extremely embarrassed, and he contrived to let the manager risk
his proposal for him. Fauchery was astonished.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Eh? What?&rdquo; he asked.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Just this,&rdquo; said Bordenave finally. &ldquo;An idea has occurred to
us. Now whatever you do, don&rsquo;t jump! It&rsquo;s most serious. What do you
think of Nana for the duchess&rsquo;s part?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The author was bewildered; then he burst out with:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah no, no! You&rsquo;re joking, aren&rsquo;t you? People would laugh far
too much.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, and it&rsquo;s a point gained already if they do laugh! Just
reflect, my dear boy. The idea pleases Monsieur le Comte very much.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
In order to keep himself in countenance Muffat had just picked out of the dust
on a neighboring shelf an object which he did not seem to recognize. It was an
eggcup, and its stem had been mended with plaster. He kept hold of it
unconsciously and came forward, muttering:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, yes, it would be capital.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Fauchery turned toward him with a brisk, impatient gesture. The count had
nothing to do with his piece, and he said decisively:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Never! Let Nana play the courtesan as much as she likes, but a
lady&mdash;No, by Jove!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You are mistaken, I assure you,&rdquo; rejoined the count, growing
bolder. &ldquo;This very minute she has been playing the part of a pure woman
for my benefit.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Where?&rdquo; queried Fauchery with growing surprise.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Upstairs in a dressing room. Yes, she has, indeed, and with such
distinction! She&rsquo;s got a way of glancing at you as she goes by
you&mdash;something like this, you know!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And eggcup in hand, he endeavored to imitate Nana, quite forgetting his dignity
in his frantic desire to convince the others. Fauchery gazed at him in a state
of stupefaction. He understood it all now, and his anger had ceased. The count
felt that he was looking at him mockingly and pityingly, and he paused with a
slight blush on his face.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Egad, it&rsquo;s quite possible!&rdquo; muttered the author
complaisantly. &ldquo;Perhaps she would do very well, only the part&rsquo;s
been assigned. We can&rsquo;t take it away from Rose.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, if that&rsquo;s all the trouble,&rdquo; said Bordenave,
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll undertake to arrange matters.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But presently, seeing them both against him and guessing that Bordenave had
some secret interest at stake, the young man thought to avoid aquiescence by
redoubling the violence of his refusal. The consultation was on the verge of
being broken up.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, dear! No, no! Even if the part were unassigned I should never give
it her! There, is that plain? Do let me alone; I have no wish to ruin my
play!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He lapsed into silent embarrassment. Bordenave, deeming himself DE TROP, went
away, but the count remained with bowed head. He raised it with an effort and
said in a breaking voice:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Supposing, my dear fellow, I were to ask this of you as a favor?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I cannot, I cannot,&rdquo; Fauchery kept repeating as he writhed to get
free.
</p>

<p>
Muffat&rsquo;s voice became harder.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I pray and beseech you for it! I want it!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with that he fixed his eyes on him. The young man read menaces in that
darkling gaze and suddenly gave way with a splutter of confused phrases:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do what you like&mdash;I don&rsquo;t care a pin about it. Yes, yes,
you&rsquo;re abusing your power, but you&rsquo;ll see, you&rsquo;ll see!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At this the embarrassment of both increased. Fauchery was leaning up against a
set of shelves and was tapping nervously on the ground with his foot. Muffat
seemed busy examining the eggcup, which he was still turning round and about.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s an eggcup,&rdquo; Bordenave obligingly came and remarked.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, to be sure! It&rsquo;s an eggcup,&rdquo; the count repeated.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Excuse me, you&rsquo;re covered with dust,&rdquo; continued the manager,
putting the thing back on a shelf. &ldquo;If one had to dust every day
there&rsquo;d be no end to it, you understand. But it&rsquo;s hardly clean
here&mdash;a filthy mess, eh? Yet you may believe me or not when I tell you
there&rsquo;s money in it. Now look, just look at all that!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He walked Muffat round in front of the pigeonholes and shelves and in the
greenish light which filtered through the courtyard, told him the names of
different properties, for he was anxious to interest him in his marine-stores
inventory, as he jocosely termed it.
</p>

<p>
Presently, when they had returned into Fauchery&rsquo;s neighborhood, he said
carelessly enough:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Listen, since we&rsquo;re all of one mind, we&rsquo;ll finish the matter
at once. Here&rsquo;s Mignon, just when he&rsquo;s wanted.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
For some little time past Mignon had been prowling in the adjoining passage,
and the very moment Bordenave began talking of a modification of their
agreement he burst into wrathful protest. It was infamous&mdash;they wanted to
spoil his wife&rsquo;s career&mdash;he&rsquo;d go to law about it! Bordenave,
meanwhile, was extremely calm and full of reasons. He did not think the part
worthy of Rose, and he preferred to reserve her for an operetta, which was to
be put on after the Petite Duchesse. But when her husband still continued
shouting he suddenly offered to cancel their arrangement in view of the offers
which the Folies-Dramatiques had been making the singer. At this Mignon was
momentarily put out, so without denying the truth of these offers he loudly
professed a vast disdain for money. His wife, he said, had been engaged to play
the Duchess Helene, and she would play the part even if he, Mignon, were to be
ruined over it. His dignity, his honor, were at stake! Starting from this
basis, the discussion grew interminable. The manager, however, always returned
to the following argument: since the Folies had offered Rose three hundred
francs a night during a hundred performances, and since she only made a hundred
and fifty with him, she would be the gainer by fifteen thousand francs the
moment he let her depart. The husband, on his part, did not desert the
artist&rsquo;s position. What would people say if they saw his wife deprived of
her part? Why, that she was not equal to it; that it had been deemed necessary
to find a substitute for her! And this would do great harm to Rose&rsquo;s
reputation as an artist; nay, it would diminish it. Oh no, no! Glory before
gain! Then without a word of warning he pointed out a possible arrangement:
Rose, according to the terms of her agreement, was pledged to pay a forfeit of
ten thousand francs in case she gave up the part. Very well then, let them give
her ten thousand francs, and she would go to the Folies-Dramatiques. Bordenave
was utterly dumfounded while Mignon, who had never once taken his eyes off the
count, tranquilly awaited results.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Then everything can be settled,&rdquo; murmured Muffat in tones of
relief; &ldquo;we can come to an understanding.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The deuce, no! That would be too stupid!&rdquo; cried Bordenave,
mastered by his commercial instincts. &ldquo;Ten thousand francs to let Rose
go! Why, people would make game of me!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But the count, with a multiplicity of nods, bade him accept. He hesitated, and
at last with much grumbling and infinite regret over the ten thousand francs
which, by the by, were not destined to come out of his own pocket he bluntly
continued:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;After all, I consent. At any rate, I shall have you off my hands.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
For a quarter of an hour past Fontan had been listening in the courtyard. Such
had been his curiosity that he had come down and posted himself there, but the
moment he understood the state of the case he went upstairs again and enjoyed
the treat of telling Rose. Dear me! They were just haggling in her behalf! He
dinned his words into her ears; she ran off to the property room. They were
silent as she entered. She looked at the four men. Muffat hung his head;
Fauchery answered her questioning glance with a despairing shrug of the
shoulders; as to Mignon, he was busy discussing the terms of the agreement with
Bordenave.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What&rsquo;s up?&rdquo; she demanded curtly.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; said her husband. &ldquo;Bordenave here is giving ten
thousand francs in order to get you to give up your part.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She grew tremulous with anger and very pale, and she clenched her little fists.
For some moments she stared at him, her whole nature in revolt. Ordinarily in
matters of business she was wont to trust everything obediently to her husband,
leaving him to sign agreements with managers and lovers. Now she could but cry:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, come, you&rsquo;re too base for anything!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The words fell like a lash. Then she sped away, and Mignon, in utter
astonishment, ran after her. What next? Was she going mad? He began explaining
to her in low tones that ten thousand francs from one party and fifteen
thousand from the other came to twenty-five thousand. A splendid deal! Muffat
was getting rid of her in every sense of the word; it was a pretty trick to
have plucked him of this last feather! But Rose in her anger vouchsafed no
answer. Whereupon Mignon in disdain left her to her feminine spite and, turning
to Bordenave, who was once more on the stage with Fauchery and Muffat, said:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll sign tomorrow morning. Have the money in readiness.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At this moment Nana, to whom Labordette had brought the news, came down to the
stage in triumph. She was quite the honest woman now and wore a most
distinguished expression in order to overwhelm her friends and prove to the
idiots that when she chose she could give them all points in the matter of
smartness. But she nearly got into trouble, for at the sight of her Rose darted
forward, choking with rage and stuttering:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, you, I&rsquo;ll pay you out! Things can&rsquo;t go on like this;
d&rsquo;you understand?&rdquo; Nana forgot herself in face of this brisk attack
and was going to put her arms akimbo and give her what for. But she controlled
herself and, looking like a marquise who is afraid of treading on an orange
peel, fluted in still more silvery tones.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Eh, what?&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re mad, my dear!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with that she continued in her graceful affectation while Rose took her
departure, followed by Mignon, who now refused to recognize her. Clarisse was
enraptured, having just obtained the part of Geraldine from Bordenave.
Fauchery, on the other hand, was gloomy; he shifted from one foot to the other;
he could not decide whether to leave the theater or no. His piece was
bedeviled, and he was seeking how best to save it. But Nana came up, took him
by both hands and, drawing him toward her, asked whether he thought her so very
atrocious after all. She wasn&rsquo;t going to eat his play&mdash;not she! Then
she made him laugh and gave him to understand that he would be foolish to be
angry with her, in view of his relationship to the Muffats. If, she said, her
memory failed her she would take her lines from the prompter. The house, too,
would be packed in such a way as to ensure applause. Besides, he was mistaken
about her, and he would soon see how she would rattle through her part. By and
by it was arranged that the author should make a few changes in the role of the
duchess so as to extend that of Prullière. The last-named personage was
enraptured. Indeed, amid all the joy which Nana now quite naturally diffused,
Fontan alone remained unmoved. In the middle of the yellow lamplight, against
which the sharp outline of his goatlike profile shone out with great
distinctness, he stood showing off his figure and affecting the pose of one who
has been cruelly abandoned. Nana went quietly up and shook hands with him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;How are you getting on?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, pretty fairly. And how are you?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Very well, thank you.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
That was all. They seemed to have only parted at the doors of the theater the
day before. Meanwhile the players were waiting about, but Bordenave said that
the third act would not be rehearsed. And so it chanced that old Bosc went
grumbling away at the proper time, whereas usually the company were needlessly
detained and lost whole afternoons in consequence. Everyone went off. Down on
the pavement they were blinded by the broad daylight and stood blinking their
eyes in a dazed sort of way, as became people who had passed three hours
squabbling with tight-strung nerves in the depths of a cellar. The count, with
racked limbs and vacant brain, got into a conveyance with Nana, while
Labordette took Fauchery off and comforted him.
</p>

<p>
A month later the first night of the Petite Duchesse proved supremely
disastrous to Nana. She was atrociously bad and displayed such pretentions
toward high comedy that the public grew mirthful. They did not hiss&mdash;they
were too amused. From a stage box Rose Mignon kept greeting her rival&rsquo;s
successive entrances with a shrill laugh, which set the whole house off. It was
the beginning of her revenge. Accordingly, when at night Nana, greatly
chagrined, found herself alone with Muffat, she said furiously:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What a conspiracy, eh? It&rsquo;s all owing to jealousy. Oh, if they
only knew how I despise &rsquo;em! What do I want them for nowadays? Look here!
I&rsquo;ll bet a hundred louis that I&rsquo;ll bring all those who made fun
today and make &rsquo;em lick the ground at my feet! Yes, I&rsquo;ll fine-lady
your Paris for you, I will!&rdquo;
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"></a> CHAPTER X</h2>

<p>
Thereupon Nana became a smart woman, mistress of all that is foolish and filthy
in man, marquise in the ranks of her calling. It was a sudden but decisive
start, a plunge into the garish day of gallant notoriety and mad expenditure
and that daredevil wastefulness peculiar to beauty. She at once became queen
among the most expensive of her kind. Her photographs were displayed in
shopwindows, and she was mentioned in the papers. When she drove in her
carriage along the boulevards the people would turn and tell one another who
that was with all the unction of a nation saluting its sovereign, while the
object of their adoration lolled easily back in her diaphanous dresses and
smiled gaily under the rain of little golden curls which ran riot above the
blue of her made-up eyes and the red of her painted lips. And the wonder of
wonders was that the great creature, who was so awkward on the stage, so very
absurd the moment she sought to act the chaste woman, was able without effort
to assume the role of an enchantress in the outer world. Her movements were
lithe as a serpent&rsquo;s, and the studied and yet seemingly involuntary
carelessness with which she dressed was really exquisite in its elegance. There
was a nervous distinction in all she did which suggested a wellborn Persian
cat; she was an aristocrat in vice and proudly and rebelliously trampled upon a
prostrate Paris like a sovereign whom none dare disobey. She set the fashion,
and great ladies imitated her.
</p>

<p>
Nana&rsquo;s fine house was situated at the corner of the Rue Cardinet, in the
Avenue de Villiers. The avenue was part of the luxurious quarter at that time
springing up in the vague district which had once been the Plaine Monceau. The
house had been built by a young painter, who was intoxicated by a first
success, and had been perforce resold almost as soon as it was habitable. It
was in the palatial Renaissance manner and had fantastic interior arrangements
which consisted of modern conveniences framed in a setting of somewhat
artificial originality. Count Muffat had bought the house ready furnished and
full of hosts of beautiful objects&mdash;lovely Eastern hangings, old
credences, huge chairs of the Louis XIII epoch. And thus Nana had come into
artistic surroundings of the choicest kind and of the most extravagantly
various dates. But since the studio, which occupied the central portion of the
house, could not be of any use to her, she had upset existing arrangements,
establishing a small drawing room on the first floor, next to her bedroom and
dressing room, and leaving a conservatory, a large drawing room and a dining
room to look after themselves underneath. She astonished the architect with her
ideas, for, as became a Parisian workgirl who understands the elegancies of
life by instinct, she had suddenly developed a very pretty taste for every
species of luxurious refinement. Indeed, she did not spoil her house overmuch;
nay, she even added to the richness of the furniture, save here and there,
where certain traces of tender foolishness and vulgar magnificence betrayed the
ex-flower seller who had been wont to dream in front of shopwindows in the
arcades.
</p>

<p>
A carpet was spread on the steps beneath the great awning over the front door
in the court, and the moment you entered the hall you were greeted by a perfume
as of violets and a soft, warm atmosphere which thick hangings helped to
produce. A window, whose yellow-and rose-colored panes suggested the warm
pallor of human flesh, gave light to the wide staircase, at the foot of which a
Negro in carved wood held out a silver tray full of visiting cards and four
white marble women, with bosoms displayed, raised lamps in their uplifted
hands. Bronzes and Chinese vases full of flowers, divans covered with old
Persian rugs, armchairs upholstered in old tapestry, furnished the entrance
hall, adorned the stairheads and gave the first-floor landing the appearance of
an anteroom. Here men&rsquo;s overcoats and hats were always in evidence, and
there were thick hangings which deadened every sound. It seemed a place apart:
on entering it you might have fancied yourself in a chapel, whose very air was
thrilling with devotion, whose very silence and seclusion were fraught with
mystery.
</p>

<p>
Nana only opened the large and somewhat too-sumptuous Louis XVI drawing room on
those gala nights when she received society from the Tuileries or strangers of
distinction. Ordinarily she only came downstairs at mealtimes, and she would
feel rather lost on such days as she lunched by herself in the lofty dining
room with its Gobelin tapestry and its monumental sideboard, adorned with old
porcelain and marvelous pieces of ancient plate. She used to go upstairs again
as quickly as possible, for her home was on the first floor, in the three
rooms, the bed, dressing and small drawing room above described. Twice already
she had done the bedchamber up anew: on the first occasion in mauve satin, on
the second in blue silk under lace. But she had not been satisfied with this;
it had struck her as &ldquo;nohowish,&rdquo; and she was still unsuccessfully
seeking for new colors and designs. On the elaborately upholstered bed, which
was as low as a sofa, there were twenty thousand francs&rsquo; worth of POINT
DE VENISE lace. The furniture was lacquered blue and white under designs in
silver filigree, and everywhere lay such numbers of white bearskins that they
hid the carpet. This was a luxurious caprice on Nana&rsquo;s part, she having
never been able to break herself of the habit of sitting on the floor to take
her stockings off. Next door to the bedroom the little saloon was full of an
amusing medley of exquisitely artistic objects. Against the hangings of pale
rose-colored silk&mdash;a faded Turkish rose color, embroidered with gold
thread&mdash;a whole world of them stood sharply outlined. They were from every
land and in every possible style. There were Italian cabinets, Spanish and
Portuguese coffers, models of Chinese pagodas, a Japanese screen of precious
workmanship, besides china, bronzes, embroidered silks, hangings of the finest
needlework. Armchairs wide as beds and sofas deep as alcoves suggested
voluptuous idleness and the somnolent life of the seraglio. The prevailing tone
of the room was old gold blended with green and red, and nothing it contained
too forcibly indicated the presence of the courtesan save the luxuriousness of
the seats. Only two &ldquo;biscuit&rdquo; statuettes, a woman in her shift,
hunting for fleas, and another with nothing at all on, walking on her hands and
waving her feet in the air, sufficed to sully the room with a note of stupid
originality.
</p>

<p>
Through a door, which was nearly always ajar, the dressing room was visible. It
was all in marble and glass with a white bath, silver jugs and basins and
crystal and ivory appointments. A drawn curtain filled the place with a clear
twilight which seemed to slumber in the warm scent of violets, that suggestive
perfume peculiar to Nana wherewith the whole house, from the roof to the very
courtyard, was penetrated.
</p>

<p>
The furnishing of the house was a most important undertaking. Nana certainly
had Zoé with her, that girl so devoted to her fortunes. For months she had been
tranquilly awaiting this abrupt, new departure, as became a woman who was
certain of her powers of prescience, and now she was triumphant; she was
mistress of the house and was putting by a round sum while serving Madame as
honestly as possible. But a solitary lady&rsquo;s maid was no longer
sufficient. A butler, a coachman, a porter and a cook were wanted. Besides, it
was necessary to fill the stables. It was then that Labordette made himself
most useful. He undertook to perform all sorts of errands which bored the
count; he made a comfortable job of the purchase of horses; he visited the
coachbuilders; he guided the young woman in her choice of things. She was to be
met with at the shops, leaning on his arm. Labordette even got in the
servants&mdash;Charles, a great, tall coachman, who had been in service with
the Duc de Corbreuse; Julien, a little, smiling, much-becurled butler, and a
married couple, of whom the wife Victorine became cook while the husband
Francois was taken on as porter and footman. The last mentioned in powder and
breeches wore Nana&rsquo;s livery, which was a sky-blue one adorned with silver
lace, and he received visitors in the hall. The whole thing was princely in the
correctness of its style.
</p>

<p>
At the end of two months the house was set going. The cost had been more than
three hundred thousand francs. There were eight horses in the stables, and five
carriages in the coach houses, and of these five one was a landau with silver
embellishments, which for the moment occupied the attention of all Paris. And
amid this great wealth Nana began settling down and making her nest. After the
third representation of the Petite Duchesse she had quitted the theater,
leaving Bordenave to struggle on against a bankruptcy which, despite the
count&rsquo;s money, was imminent. Nevertheless, she was still bitter about her
failure. It added to that other bitterness, the lesson Fontan had given her, a
shameful lesson for which she held all men responsible. Accordingly she now
declared herself very firm and quite proof against sudden infatuations, but
thoughts of vengeance took no hold of her volatile brain. What did maintain a
hold on it in the hours when she was not indignant was an ever-wakeful lust of
expenditure, added to a natural contempt for the man who paid and to a
perpetual passion for consumption and waste, which took pride in the ruin of
her lovers.
</p>

<p>
At starting Nana put the count on a proper footing and clearly mapped out the
conditions of their relationship. The count gave twelve thousand francs
monthly, presents excepted, and demanded nothing in return save absolute
fidelity. She swore fidelity but insisted also on being treated with the utmost
consideration, on enjoying complete liberty as mistress of the house and on
having her every wish respected. For instance, she was to receive her friends
every day, and he was to come only at stated times. In a word, he was to repose
a blind confidence in her in everything. And when he was seized with jealous
anxiety and hesitated to grant what she wanted, she stood on her dignity and
threatened to give him back all he had given or even swore by little Louiset to
perform what she promised. This was to suffice him. There was no love where
mutual esteem was wanting. At the end of the first month Muffat respected her.
</p>

<p>
But she desired and obtained still more. Soon she began to influence him, as
became a good-natured courtesan. When he came to her in a moody condition she
cheered him up, confessed him and then gave him good advice. Little by little
she interested herself in the annoyances of his home life, in his wife, in his
daughter, in his love affairs and financial difficulties; she was very
sensible, very fair and right-minded. On one occasion only did she let anger
get the better of her, and that was when he confided to her that doubtless
Daguenet was going to ask for his daughter Estelle in marriage. When the count
began making himself notorious Daguenet had thought it a wise move to break off
with Nana. He had treated her like a base hussy and had sworn to snatch his
future father-in-law out of the creature&rsquo;s clutches. In return Nana
abused her old Mimi in a charming fashion. He was a renegade who had devoured
his fortune in the company of vile women; he had no moral sense. True, he did
not let them pay him money, but he profited by that of others and only repaid
them at rare intervals with a bouquet or a dinner. And when the count seemed
inclined to find excuses for these failings she bluntly informed him that
Daguenet had enjoyed her favors, and she added disgusting particulars. Muffat
had grown ashen-pale. There was no question of the young man now. This would
teach him to be lacking in gratitude!
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile the house had not been entirely furnished, when one evening after she
had lavished the most energetic promises of fidelity on Muffat Nana kept the
Count Xavier de Vandeuvres for the night. For the last fortnight he had been
paying her assiduous court, visiting her and sending presents of flowers, and
now she gave way not so much out of sudden infatuation as to prove that she was
a free woman. The idea of gain followed later when, the day after, Vandeuvres
helped her to pay a bill which she did not wish to mention to the other man.
From Vandeuvres she would certainly derive from eight to ten thousand francs a
month, and this would prove very useful as pocket money. In those days he was
finishing the last of his fortune in an access of burning, feverish folly. His
horses and Lucy had devoured three of his farms, and at one gulp Nana was going
to swallow his last château, near Amiens. He seemed in a hurry to sweep
everything away, down to the ruins of the old tower built by a Vandeuvres under
Philip Augustus. He was mad for ruin and thought it a great thing to leave the
last golden bezants of his coat of arms in the grasp of this courtesan, whom
the world of Paris desired. He, too, accepted Nana&rsquo;s conditions, leaving
her entire freedom of action and claiming her caresses only on certain days. He
was not even naively impassioned enough to require her to make vows. Muffat
suspected nothing. As to Vandeuvres, he knew things would take place for a
certainty, but he never made the least allusion to them and pretended total
ignorance, while his lips wore the subtle smile of the skeptical man of
pleasure who does not seek the impossible, provided he can have his day and
that Paris is aware of it.
</p>

<p>
From that time forth Nana&rsquo;s house was really properly appointed. The
staff of servants was complete in the stable, in the kitchen and in my
lady&rsquo;s chamber. Zoé organized everything and passed successfully through
the most unforeseen difficulties. The household moved as easily as the scenery
in a theater and was regulated like a grand administrative concern. Indeed, it
worked with such precision that during the early months there were no jars and
no derangements. Madame, however, pained Zoé extremely with her imprudent acts,
her sudden fits of unwisdom, her mad bravado. Still the lady&rsquo;s maid grew
gradually lenient, for she had noticed that she made increased profits in
seasons of wanton waste when Madame had committed a folly which must be made up
for. It was then that the presents began raining on her, and she fished up many
a louis out of the troubled waters.
</p>

<p>
One morning when Muffat had not yet left the bedroom Zoé ushered a gentleman
into the dressing room, where Nana was changing her underwear. He was trembling
violently.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Good gracious! It&rsquo;s Zizi!&rdquo; said the young woman in great
astonishment.
</p>

<p>
It was, indeed, Georges. But when he saw her in her shift, with her golden hair
over her bare shoulders, he threw his arms round her neck and round her waist
and kissed her in all directions. She began struggling to get free, for she was
frightened, and in smothered tones she stammered:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do leave off! He&rsquo;s there! Oh, it&rsquo;s silly of you! And you,
Zoé, are you out of your senses? Take him away and keep him downstairs;
I&rsquo;ll try and come down.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Zoé had to push him in front of her. When Nana was able to rejoin them in the
drawing room downstairs she scolded them both, and Zoé pursed up her lips and
took her departure with a vexed expression, remarking that she had only been
anxious to give Madame a pleasure. Georges was so glad to see Nana again and
gazed at her with such delight that his fine eyes began filling with tears. The
miserable days were over now; his mother believed him to have grown reasonable
and had allowed him to leave Les Fondettes. Accordingly, the moment he had
reached the terminus, he had got a conveyance in order the more quickly to come
and kiss his sweet darling. He spoke of living at her side in future, as he
used to do down in the country when he waited for her, barefooted, in the
bedroom at La Mignotte. And as he told her about himself, he let his fingers
creep forward, for he longed to touch her after that cruel year of separation.
Then he got possession of her hands, felt about the wide sleeves of her
dressing jacket, traveled up as far as her shoulders.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You still love your baby?&rdquo; he asked in his child voice.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, I certainly love him!&rdquo; answered Nana, briskly getting out of
his clutches. &ldquo;But you come popping in without warning. You know, my
little man, I&rsquo;m not my own mistress; you must be good!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Georges, when he got out of his cab, had been so dizzy with the feeling that
his long desire was at last about to be satisfied that he had not even noticed
what sort of house he was entering. But now he became conscious of a change in
the things around him. He examined the sumptuous dining room with its lofty
decorated ceiling, its Gobelin hangings, its buffet blazing with plate.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, yes!&rdquo; he remarked sadly.
</p>

<p>
And with that she made him understand that he was never to come in the mornings
but between four and six in the afternoon, if he cared to. That was her
reception time. Then as he looked at her with suppliant, questioning eyes and
craved no boon at all, she, in her turn, kissed him on the forehead in the most
amiable way.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Be very good,&rdquo; she whispered. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll do all I
can.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But the truth was that this remark now meant nothing. She thought Georges very
nice and would have liked him as a companion, but as nothing else.
Nevertheless, when he arrived daily at four o&rsquo;clock he seemed so wretched
that she was often fain to be as compliant as of old and would hide him in
cupboards and constantly allow him to pick up the crumbs from Beauty&rsquo;s
table. He hardly ever left the house now and became as much one of its inmates
as the little dog Bijou. Together they nestled among Mistress&rsquo;s skirts
and enjoyed a little of her at a time, even when she was with another man,
while doles of sugar and stray caresses not seldom fell to their share in her
hours of loneliness and boredom.
</p>

<p>
Doubtless Mme Hugon found out that the lad had again returned to that wicked
woman&rsquo;s arms, for she hurried up to Paris and came and sought aid from
her other son, the Lieutenant Philippe, who was then in garrison at Vincennes.
Georges, who was hiding from his elder brother, was seized with despairing
apprehension, for he feared the latter might adopt violent tactics, and as his
tenderness for Nana was so nervously expansive that he could not keep anything
from her, he soon began talking of nothing but his big brother, a great, strong
fellow, who was capable of all kinds of things.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You know,&rdquo; he explained, &ldquo;Mamma won&rsquo;t come to you
while she can send my brother. Oh, she&rsquo;ll certainly send Philippe to
fetch me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The first time he said this Nana was deeply wounded. She said frigidly:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Gracious me, I should like to see him come! For all that he&rsquo;s a
lieutenant in the army, Francois will chuck him out in double-quick
time!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Soon, as the lad kept returning to the subject of his brother, she ended by
taking a certain interest in Philippe, and in a week&rsquo;s time she knew him
from head to foot&mdash;knew him as very tall and very strong and merry and
somewhat rough. She learned intimate details, too, and found out that he had
hair on his arms and a birthmark on his shoulder. So thoroughly did she learn
her lesson that one day, when she was full of the image of the man who was to
be turned out of doors by her orders, she cried out:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I say, Zizi, your brother&rsquo;s not coming. He&rsquo;s a base
deserter!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The next day, when Georges and Nana were alone together, Francois came upstairs
to ask whether Madame would receive Lieutenant Philippe Hugon. Georges grew
extremely white and murmured:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I suspected it; Mamma was talking about it this morning.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And he besought the young woman to send down word that she could not see
visitors. But she was already on her feet and seemed all aflame as she said:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why should I not see him? He would think me afraid. Dear me, we&rsquo;ll
have a good laugh! Just leave the gentleman in the drawing room for a quarter
of an hour, Francois; afterward bring him up to me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She did not sit down again but began pacing feverishly to and fro between the
fireplace and a Venetian mirror hanging above an Italian chest. And each time
she reached the latter she glanced at the glass and tried the effect of a
smile, while Georges sat nervously on a sofa, trembling at the thought of the
coming scene. As she walked up and down she kept jerking out such little
phrases as:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It will calm the fellow down if he has to wait a quarter of an hour.
Besides, if he thinks he&rsquo;s calling on a tottie the drawing room will stun
him! Yes, yes, have a good look at everything, my fine fellow! It isn&rsquo;t
imitation, and it&rsquo;ll teach you to respect the lady who owns it.
Respect&rsquo;s what men need to feel! The quarter of an hour&rsquo;s gone by,
eh? No? Only ten minutes? Oh, we&rsquo;ve got plenty of time.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She did not stay where she was, however. At the end of the quarter of an hour
she sent Georges away after making him solemnly promise not to listen at the
door, as such conduct would scarcely look proper in case the servants saw him.
As he went into her bedroom Zizi ventured in a choking sort of way to remark:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s my brother, you know&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you fear,&rdquo; she said with much dignity; &ldquo;if
he&rsquo;s polite I&rsquo;ll be polite.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Francois ushered in Philippe Hugon, who wore morning dress. Georges began
crossing on tiptoe on the other side of the room, for he was anxious to obey
the young woman. But the sound of voices retained him, and he hesitated in such
anguish of mind that his knees gave way under him. He began imagining that a
dread catastrophe would befall, that blows would be struck, that something
abominable would happen, which would make Nana everlastingly odious to him. And
so he could not withstand the temptation to come back and put his ear against
the door. He heard very ill, for the thick portières deadened every sound, but
he managed to catch certain words spoken by Philippe, stern phrases in which
such terms as &ldquo;mere child,&rdquo; &ldquo;family,&rdquo;
&ldquo;honor,&rdquo; were distinctly audible. He was so anxious about his
darling&rsquo;s possible answers that his heart beat violently and filled his
head with a confused, buzzing noise. She was sure to give vent to a
&ldquo;Dirty blackguard!&rdquo; or to a &ldquo;Leave me bloody well alone!
I&rsquo;m in my own house!&rdquo; But nothing happened&mdash;not a breath came
from her direction. Nana seemed dead in there! Soon even his brother&rsquo;s
voice grew gentler, and he could not make it out at all, when a strange
murmuring sound finally stupefied him. Nana was sobbing! For a moment or two he
was the prey of contending feelings and knew not whether to run away or to fall
upon Philippe. But just then Zoé came into the room, and he withdrew from the
door, ashamed at being thus surprised.
</p>

<p>
She began quietly to put some linen away in a cupboard while he stood mute and
motionless, pressing his forehead against a windowpane. He was tortured by
uncertainty. After a short silence the woman asked:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s your brother that&rsquo;s with Madame?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied the lad in a choking voice.
</p>

<p>
There was a fresh silence.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And it makes you anxious, doesn&rsquo;t it, Monsieur Georges?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he rejoined in the same painful, suffering tone.
</p>

<p>
Zoé was in no hurry. She folded up some lace and said slowly:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You&rsquo;re wrong; Madame will manage it all.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And then the conversation ended; they said not another word. Still she did not
leave the room. A long quarter of an hour passed, and she turned round again
without seeming to notice the look of exasperation overspreading the
lad&rsquo;s face, which was already white with the effects of uncertainty and
constraint. He was casting sidelong glances in the direction of the drawing
room.
</p>

<p>
Maybe Nana was still crying. The other must have grown savage and have dealt
her blows. Thus when Zoé finally took her departure he ran to the door and once
more pressed his ear against it. He was thunderstruck; his head swam, for he
heard a brisk outburst of gaiety, tender, whispering voices and the smothered
giggles of a woman who is being tickled. Besides, almost directly afterward,
Nana conducted Philippe to the head of the stairs, and there was an exchange of
cordial and familiar phrases.
</p>

<p>
When Georges again ventured into the drawing room the young woman was standing
before the mirror, looking at herself.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; he asked in utter bewilderment.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, what?&rdquo; she said without turning round. Then negligently:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What did you mean? He&rsquo;s very nice, is your brother!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;So it&rsquo;s all right, is it?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, certainly it&rsquo;s all right! Goodness me, what&rsquo;s come over
you? One would have thought we were going to fight!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Georges still failed to understand.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I thought I heard&mdash;that is, you didn&rsquo;t cry?&rdquo; he
stammered out.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Me cry!&rdquo; she exclaimed, looking fixedly at him. &ldquo;Why,
you&rsquo;re dreaming! What makes you think I cried?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Thereupon the lad was treated to a distressing scene for having disobeyed and
played Paul Pry behind the door. She sulked, and he returned with coaxing
submissiveness to the old subject, for he wished to know all about it.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And my brother then?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Your brother saw where he was at once. You know, I might have been a
tottie, in which case his interference would have been accounted for by your
age and the family honor! Oh yes, I understand those kinds of feelings! But a
single glance was enough for him, and he behaved like a well-bred man at once.
So don&rsquo;t be anxious any longer. It&rsquo;s all over&mdash;he&rsquo;s gone
to quiet your mamma!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she went on laughingly:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;For that matter, you&rsquo;ll see your brother here. I&rsquo;ve invited
him, and he&rsquo;s going to return.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, he&rsquo;s going to return,&rdquo; said the lad, growing white. He
added nothing, and they ceased talking of Philippe. She began dressing to go
out, and he watched her with his great, sad eyes. Doubtless he was very glad
that matters had got settled, for he would have preferred death to a rupture of
their connection, but deep down in his heart there was a silent anguish, a
profound sense of pain, which he had no experience of and dared not talk about.
How Philippe quieted their mother&rsquo;s fears he never knew, but three days
later she returned to Les Fondettes, apparently satisfied. On the evening of
her return, at Nana&rsquo;s house, he trembled when Francois announced the
lieutenant, but the latter jested gaily and treated him like a young rascal,
whose escapade he had favored as something not likely to have any consequences.
The lad&rsquo;s heart was sore within him; he scarcely dared move and blushed
girlishly at the least word that was spoken to him. He had not lived much in
Philippe&rsquo;s society; he was ten years his junior, and he feared him as he
would a father, from whom stories about women are concealed. Accordingly he
experienced an uneasy sense of shame when he saw him so free in Nana&rsquo;s
company and heard him laugh uproariously, as became a man who was plunging into
a life of pleasure with the gusto born of magnificent health. Nevertheless,
when his brother shortly began to present himself every day, Georges ended by
getting somewhat used to it all. Nana was radiant.
</p>

<p>
This, her latest installation, had been involving all the riotous waste
attendant on the life of gallantry, and now her housewarming was being
defiantly celebrated in a grand mansion positively overflowing with males and
with furniture.
</p>

<p>
One afternoon when the Hugons were there Count Muffat arrived out of hours. But
when Zoé told him that Madame was with friends he refused to come in and took
his departure discreetly, as became a gallant gentleman. When he made his
appearance again in the evening Nana received him with the frigid indignation
of a grossly affronted woman.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I have given you no cause why you should
insult me. You must understand this: when I am at home to visitors, I beg you
to make your appearance just like other people.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The count simply gaped in astonishment. &ldquo;But, my dear&mdash;&rdquo; he
endeavored to explain.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Perhaps it was because I had visitors! Yes, there were men here, but
what d&rsquo;you suppose I was doing with those men? You only advertise a
woman&rsquo;s affairs when you act the discreet lover, and I don&rsquo;t want
to be advertised; I don&rsquo;t!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He obtained his pardon with difficulty, but at bottom he was enchanted. It was
with scenes such as these that she kept him in unquestioning and docile
submission. She had long since succeeded in imposing Georges on him as a young
vagabond who, she declared, amused her. She made him dine with Philippe, and
the count behaved with great amiability. When they rose from table he took the
young man on one side and asked news of his mother. From that time forth the
young Hugons, Vandeuvres and Muffat were openly about the house and shook hands
as guests and intimates might have done. It was a more convenient arrangement
than the previous one. Muffat alone still abstained discreetly from
too-frequent visits, thus adhering to the ceremonious policy of an ordinary
strange caller. At night when Nana was sitting on her bearskins drawing off her
stockings, he would talk amicably about the other three gentlemen and lay
especial stress on Philippe, who was loyalty itself.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s very true; they&rsquo;re nice,&rdquo; Nana would say as she
lingered on the floor to change her shift. &ldquo;Only, you know, they see what
I am. One word about it and I should chuck &rsquo;em all out of doors for
you!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless, despite her luxurious life and her group of courtiers, Nana was
nearly bored to death. She had men for every minute of the night, and money
overflowed even among the brushes and combs in the drawers of her dressing
table. But all this had ceased to satisfy her; she felt that there was a void
somewhere or other, an empty place provocative of yawns. Her life dragged on,
devoid of occupation, and successive days only brought back the same monotonous
hours. Tomorrow had ceased to be; she lived like a bird: sure of her food and
ready to perch and roost on any branch which she came to. This certainty of
food and drink left her lolling effortless for whole days, lulled her to sleep
in conventual idleness and submission as though she were the prisoner of her
trade. Never going out except to drive, she was losing her walking powers. She
reverted to low childish tastes, would kiss Bijou from morning to night and
kill time with stupid pleasures while waiting for the man whose caresses she
tolerated with an appearance of complaisant lassitude. Amid this species of
self-abandonment she now took no thought about anything save her personal
beauty; her sole care was to look after herself, to wash and to perfume her
limbs, as became one who was proud of being able to undress at any moment and
in face of anybody without having to blush for her imperfections.
</p>

<p>
At ten in the morning Nana would get up. Bijou, the Scotch griffon dog, used to
lick her face and wake her, and then would ensue a game of play lasting some
five minutes, during which the dog would race about over her arms and legs and
cause Count Muffat much distress. Bijou was the first little male he had ever
been jealous of. It was not at all proper, he thought, that an animal should go
poking its nose under the bedclothes like that! After this Nana would proceed
to her dressing room, where she took a bath. Toward eleven o&rsquo;clock
Francois would come and do up her hair before beginning the elaborate
manipulations of the afternoon.
</p>

<p>
At breakfast, as she hated feeding alone, she nearly always had Mme Maloir at
table with her. This lady would arrive from unknown regions in the morning,
wearing her extravagantly quaint hats, and would return at night to that
mysterious existence of hers, about which no one ever troubled. But the hardest
to bear were the two or three hours between lunch and the toilet. On ordinary
occasions she proposed a game of bezique to her old friend; on others she would
read the Figaro, in which the theatrical echoes and the fashionable news
interested her. Sometimes she even opened a book, for she fancied herself in
literary matters. Her toilet kept her till close on five o&rsquo;clock, and
then only she would wake from her daylong drowse and drive out or receive a
whole mob of men at her own house. She would often dine abroad and always go to
bed very late, only to rise again on the morrow with the same languor as before
and to begin another day, differing in nothing from its predecessor.
</p>

<p>
The great distraction was to go to the Batignolles and see her little Louis at
her aunt&rsquo;s. For a fortnight at a time she forgot all about him, and then
would follow an access of maternal love, and she would hurry off on foot with
all the modesty and tenderness becoming a good mother. On such occasions she
would be the bearer of snuff for her aunt and of oranges and biscuits for the
child, the kind of presents one takes to a hospital. Or again she would drive
up in her landau on her return from the Bois, decked in costumes, the
resplendence of which greatly excited the dwellers in the solitary street.
Since her niece&rsquo;s magnificent elevation Mme Lerat had been puffed up with
vanity. She rarely presented herself in the Avenue de Villiers, for she was
pleased to remark that it wasn&rsquo;t her place to do so, but she enjoyed
triumphs in her own street. She was delighted when the young woman arrived in
dresses that had cost four or five thousand francs and would be occupied during
the whole of the next day in showing off her presents and in citing prices
which quite stupefied the neighbors. As often as not, Nana kept Sunday free for
the sake of &ldquo;her family,&rdquo; and on such occasions, if Muffat invited
her, she would refuse with the smile of a good little shopwoman. It was
impossible, she would answer; she was dining at her aunt&rsquo;s; she was going
to see Baby. Moreover, that poor little man Louiset was always ill. He was
almost three years old, growing quite a great boy! But he had had an eczema on
the back of his neck, and now concretions were forming in his ears, which
pointed, it was feared, to decay of the bones of the skull. When she saw how
pale he looked, with his spoiled blood and his flabby flesh all out in yellow
patches, she would become serious, but her principal feeling would be one of
astonishment. What could be the matter with the little love that he should grow
so weakly? She, his mother, was so strong and well!
</p>

<p>
On the days when her child did not engross attention Nana would again sink back
into the noisy monotony of her existence, with its drives in the Bois, first
nights at the theater, dinners and suppers at the Maison-d&rsquo;Or or the Café
Anglais, not to mention all the places of public resort, all the spectacles to
which crowds rushed&mdash;Mabille, the reviews, the races. But whatever
happened she still felt that stupid, idle void, which caused her, as it were,
to suffer internal cramps. Despite the incessant infatuations that possessed
her heart, she would stretch out her arms with a gesture of immense weariness
the moment she was left alone. Solitude rendered her low spirited at once, for
it brought her face to face with the emptiness and boredom within her.
Extremely gay by nature and profession, she became dismal in solitude and would
sum up her life in the following ejaculation, which recurred incessantly
between her yawns:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, how the men bother me!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
One afternoon as she was returning home from a concert, Nana, on the sidewalk
in the Rue Montmartre, noticed a woman trotting along in down-at-the-heel
boots, dirty petticoats and a hat utterly ruined by the rain. She recognized
her suddenly.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Stop, Charles!&rdquo; she shouted to the coachman and began calling:
&ldquo;Satin, Satin!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Passers-by turned their heads; the whole street stared. Satin had drawn near
and was still further soiling herself against the carriage wheels.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do get in, my dear girl,&rdquo; said Nana tranquilly, disdaining the
onlookers.
</p>

<p>
And with that she picked her up and carried her off, though she was in
disgusting contrast to her light blue landau and her dress of pearl-gray silk
trimmed with Chantilly, while the street smiled at the coachman&rsquo;s loftily
dignified demeanor.
</p>

<p>
From that day forth Nana had a passion to occupy her thoughts. Satin became her
vicious foible. Washed and dressed and duly installed in the house in the
Avenue de Villiers, during three days the girl talked of Saint-Lazare and the
annoyances the sisters had caused her and how those dirty police people had put
her down on the official list. Nana grew indignant and comforted her and vowed
she would get her name taken off, even though she herself should have to go and
find out the minister of the interior. Meanwhile there was no sort of hurry:
nobody would come and search for her at Nana&rsquo;s&mdash;that was certain.
And thereupon the two women began to pass tender afternoons together, making
numberless endearing little speeches and mingling their kisses with laughter.
The same little sport, which the arrival of the plainclothes men had
interrupted in the Rue de Laval, was beginning again in a jocular sort of
spirit. One fine evening, however, it became serious, and Nana, who had been so
disgusted at Laure&rsquo;s, now understood what it meant. She was upset and
enraged by it, the more so because Satin disappeared on the morning of the
fourth day. No one had seen her go out. She had, indeed, slipped away in her
new dress, seized by a longing for air, full of sentimental regret for her old
street existence.
</p>

<p>
That day there was such a terrible storm in the house that all the servants
hung their heads in sheepish silence. Nana had come near beating Francois for
not throwing himself across the door through which Satin escaped. She did her
best, however, to control herself, and talked of Satin as a dirty swine. Oh, it
would teach her to pick filthy things like that out of the gutter!
</p>

<p>
When Madame shut herself up in her room in the afternoon Zoé heard her sobbing.
In the evening she suddenly asked for her carriage and had herself driven to
Laure&rsquo;s. It had occurred to her that she would find Satin at the table
d&rsquo;hôte in the Rue des Martyrs. She was not going there for the sake of
seeing her again but in order to catch her one in the face! As a matter of fact
Satin was dining at a little table with Mme Robert. Seeing Nana, she began to
laugh, but the former, though wounded to the quick, did not make a scene. On
the contrary, she was very sweet and very compliant. She paid for champagne
made five or six tablefuls tipsy and then carried off Satin when Mme Robert was
in the closets. Not till they were in the carriage did she make a mordant
attack on her, threatening to kill her if she did it again.
</p>

<p>
After that day the same little business began again continually. On twenty
different occasions Nana, tragically furious, as only a jilted woman can be ran
off in pursuit of this sluttish creature, whose flights were prompted by the
boredom she suffered amid the comforts of her new home. Nana began to talk of
boxing Mme Robert&rsquo;s ears; one day she even meditated a duel; there was
one woman too many, she said.
</p>

<p>
In these latter times, whenever she dined at Laure&rsquo;s, she donned her
diamonds and occasionally brought with her Louise Violaine, Maria Blond and
Tatan Nene, all of them ablaze with finery; and while the sordid feast was
progressing in the three saloons and the yellow gaslight flared overhead, these
four resplendent ladies would demean themselves with a vengeance, for it was
their delight to dazzle the little local courtesans and to carry them off when
dinner was over. On days such as these Laure, sleek and tight-laced as ever
would kiss everyone with an air of expanded maternity. Yet notwithstanding all
these circumstances Satin&rsquo;s blue eyes and pure virginal face remained as
calm as heretofore; torn, beaten and pestered by the two women, she would
simply remark that it was a funny business, and they would have done far better
to make it up at once. It did no good to slap her; she couldn&rsquo;t cut
herself in two, however much she wanted to be nice to everybody. It was Nana
who finally carried her off in triumph, so assiduously had she loaded Satin
with kindnesses and presents. In order to be revenged, however, Mme Robert
wrote abominable, anonymous letters to her rival&rsquo;s lovers.
</p>

<p>
For some time past Count Muffat had appeared suspicious, and one morning, with
considerable show of feeling, he laid before Nana an anonymous letter, where in
the very first sentences she read that she was accused of deceiving the count
with Vandeuvres and the young Hugons.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s false! It&rsquo;s false!&rdquo; she loudly exclaimed in
accents of extraordinary candor.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You swear?&rdquo; asked Muffat, already willing to be comforted.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll swear by whatever you like&mdash;yes, by the head of my
child!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But the letter was long. Soon her connection with Satin was described in the
broadest and most ignoble terms. When she had done reading she smiled.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now I know who it comes from,&rdquo; she remarked simply.
</p>

<p>
And as Muffat wanted her denial to the charges therein contained, she resumed
quietly enough:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;That&rsquo;s a matter which doesn&rsquo;t concern you, dear old pet. How
can it hurt you?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She did not deny anything. He used some horrified expressions. Thereupon she
shrugged her shoulders. Where had he been all this time? Why, it was done
everywhere! And she mentioned her friends and swore that fashionable ladies
went in for it. In fact, to hear her speak, nothing could be commoner or more
natural. But a lie was a lie, and so a moment ago he had seen how angry she
grew in the matter of Vandeuvres and the young Hugons! Oh, if that had been
true he would have been justified in throttling her! But what was the good of
lying to him about a matter of no consequence? And with that she repeated her
previous expression:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come now, how can it hurt you?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then as the scene still continued, she closed it with a rough speech:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Besides, dear boy, if the thing doesn&rsquo;t suit you it&rsquo;s very
simple: the house door&rsquo;s open! There now, you must take me as you find
me!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He hung his head, for the young woman&rsquo;s vows of fidelity made him happy
at bottom. She, however, now knew her power over him and ceased to consider his
feelings. And from that time forth Satin was openly installed in the house on
the same footing as the gentlemen. Vandeuvres had not needed anonymous letters
in order to understand how matters stood, and accordingly he joked and tried to
pick jealous quarrels with Satin. Philippe and Georges, on their parts, treated
her like a jolly good fellow, shaking hands with her and cracking the riskiest
jokes imaginable.
</p>

<p>
Nana had an adventure one evening when this slut of a girl had given her the
go-by and she had gone to dine in the Rue des Martyrs without being able to
catch her. While she was dining by herself Daguenet had appeared on the scene,
for although he had reformed, he still occasionally dropped in under the
influence of his old vicious inclinations. He hoped of course that no one would
meet him in these black recesses, dedicated to the town&rsquo;s lowest
depravity. Accordingly even Nana&rsquo;s presence seemed to embarrass him at
the outset. But he was not the man to run away and, coming forward with a
smile, he asked if Madame would be so kind as to allow him to dine at her
table. Noticing his jocular tone, Nana assumed her magnificently frigid
demeanor and icily replied:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Sit down where you please, sir. We are in a public place.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Thus begun, the conversation proved amusing. But at dessert Nana, bored and
burning for a triumph, put her elbows on the table and began in the old
familiar way:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, what about your marriage, my lad? Is it getting on all
right?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Not much,&rdquo; Daguenet averred.
</p>

<p>
As a matter of fact, just when he was about to venture on his request at the
Muffats&rsquo;, he had met with such a cold reception from the count that he
had prudently refrained. The business struck him as a failure. Nana fixed her
clear eyes on him; she was sitting, leaning her chin on her hand, and there was
an ironical curve about her lips.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh yes! I&rsquo;m a baggage,&rdquo; she resumed slowly. &ldquo;Oh yes,
the future father-in-law will have to be dragged from between my claws! Dear
me, dear me, for a fellow with NOUS, you&rsquo;re jolly stupid! What!
D&rsquo;you mean to say you&rsquo;re going to tell your tales to a man who
adores me and tells me everything? Now just listen: you shall marry if I wish
it, my little man!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
For a minute or two he had felt the truth of this, and now he began scheming
out a method of submission. Nevertheless, he still talked jokingly, not wishing
the matter to grow serious, and after he had put on his gloves he demanded the
hand of Mlle Estelle de Beuville in the strict regulation manner. Nana ended by
laughing, as though she had been tickled. Oh, that Mimi! It was impossible to
bear him a grudge! Daguenet&rsquo;s great successes with ladies of her class
were due to the sweetness of his voice, a voice of such musical purity and
pliancy as to have won him among courtesans the sobriquet of
&ldquo;Velvet-Mouth.&rdquo; Every woman would give way to him when he lulled
her with his sonorous caresses. He knew this power and rocked Nana to sleep
with endless words, telling her all kinds of idiotic anecdotes. When they left
the table d&rsquo;hôte she was blushing rosy-red; she trembled as she hung on
his arm; he had reconquered her. As it was very fine, she sent her carriage
away and walked with him as far as his own place, where she went upstairs with
him naturally enough. Two hours later, as she was dressing again, she said:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;So you hold to this marriage of yours, Mimi?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Egad,&rdquo; he muttered, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s the best thing I could
possibly do after all! You know I&rsquo;m stony broke.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She summoned him to button her boots, and after a pause:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Good heavens! I&rsquo;ve no objection. I&rsquo;ll shove you on!
She&rsquo;s as dry as a lath, is that little thing, but since it suits your
game&mdash;oh, I&rsquo;m agreeable: I&rsquo;ll run the thing through for
you.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then with bosom still uncovered, she began laughing:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Only what will you give me?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He had caught her in his arms and was kissing her on the shoulders in a perfect
access of gratitude while she quivered with excitement and struggled merrily
and threw herself backward in her efforts to be free.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, I know,&rdquo; she cried, excited by the contest. &ldquo;Listen to
what I want in the way of commission. On your wedding day you shall make me a
present of your innocence. Before your wife, d&rsquo;you understand?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;That&rsquo;s it! That&rsquo;s it!&rdquo; he said, laughing even louder
than Nana.
</p>

<p>
The bargain amused them&mdash;they thought the whole business very good,
indeed.
</p>

<p>
Now as it happened, there was a dinner at Nana&rsquo;s next day. For the matter
of that, it was the customary Thursday dinner, and Muffat, Vandeuvres, the
young Hugons and Satin were present. The count arrived early. He stood in need
of eighty thousand francs wherewith to free the young woman from two or three
debts and to give her a set of sapphires she was dying to possess. As he had
already seriously lessened his capital, he was in search of a lender, for he
did not dare to sell another property. With the advice of Nana herself he had
addressed himself to Labordette, but the latter, deeming it too heavy an
undertaking, had mentioned it to the hairdresser Francis, who willingly busied
himself in such affairs in order to oblige his lady clients. The count put
himself into the hands of these gentlemen but expressed a formal desire not to
appear in the matter, and they both undertook to keep in hand the bill for a
hundred thousand francs which he was to sign, excusing themselves at the same
time for charging a matter of twenty thousand francs interest and loudly
denouncing the blackguard usurers to whom, they declared, it had been necessary
to have recourse. When Muffat had himself announced, Francis was putting the
last touches to Nana&rsquo;s coiffure. Labordette also was sitting familiarly
in the dressing room, as became a friend of no consequence. Seeing the count,
he discreetly placed a thick bundle of bank notes among the powders and
pomades, and the bill was signed on the marble-topped dressing table. Nana was
anxious to keep Labordette to dinner, but he declined&mdash;he was taking a
rich foreigner about Paris. Muffat, however, led him aside and begged him to go
to Becker, the jeweler, and bring him back thence the set of sapphires, which
he wanted to present the young woman by way of surprise that very evening.
Labordette willingly undertook the commission, and half an hour later Julien
handed the jewel case mysteriously to the count.
</p>

<p>
During dinnertime Nana was nervous. The sight of the eighty thousand francs had
excited her. To think all that money was to go to tradespeople! It was a
disgusting thought. After soup had been served she grew sentimental, and in the
splendid dining room, glittering with plate and glass, she talked of the bliss
of poverty. The men were in evening dress, Nana in a gown of white embroidered
satin, while Satin made a more modest appearance in black silk with a simple
gold heart at her throat, which was a present from her kind friend. Julien and
Francois waited behind the guests and were assisted in this by Zoé. All three
looked most dignified.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s certain I had far greater fun when I hadn&rsquo;t a
cent!&rdquo; Nana repeated.
</p>

<p>
She had placed Muffat on her right hand and Vandeuvres on her left, but she
scarcely looked at them, so taken up was she with Satin, who sat in state
between Philippe and Georges on the opposite side of the table.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Eh, duckie?&rdquo; she kept saying at every turn. &ldquo;How we did use
to laugh in those days when we went to Mother Josse&rsquo;s school in the Rue
Polonceau!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
When the roast was being served the two women plunged into a world of
reminiscences. They used to have regular chattering fits of this kind when a
sudden desire to stir the muddy depths of their childhood would possess them.
These fits always occurred when men were present: it was as though they had
given way to a burning desire to treat them to the dunghill on which they had
grown to woman&rsquo;s estate. The gentlemen paled visibly and looked
embarrassed. The young Hugons did their best to laugh, while Vandeuvres
nervously toyed with his beard and Muffat redoubled his gravity.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You remember Victor?&rdquo; said Nana. &ldquo;There was a wicked little
fellow for you! Why, he used to take the little girls into cellars!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I remember him perfectly,&rdquo; replied Satin. &ldquo;I recollect the
big courtyard at your place very well. There was a portress there with a
broom!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Mother Boche&mdash;she&rsquo;s dead.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And I can still picture your shop. Your mother was a great fatty. One
evening when we were playing your father came in drunk. Oh, so drunk!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At this point Vandeuvres tried to intercept the ladies&rsquo; reminiscences and
to effect a diversion,
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I say, my dear, I should be very glad to have some more truffles.
They&rsquo;re simply perfect. Yesterday I had some at the house of the Duc de
Corbreuse, which did not come up to them at all.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The truffles, Julien!&rdquo; said Nana roughly.
</p>

<p>
Then returning to the subject:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By Jove, yes, Dad hadn&rsquo;t any sense! And then what a smash there
was! You should have seen it&mdash;down, down, down we went, starving away all
the time. I can tell you I&rsquo;ve had to bear pretty well everything and
it&rsquo;s a miracle I didn&rsquo;t kick the bucket over it, like Daddy and
Mamma.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
This time Muffat, who was playing with his knife in a state of infinite
exasperation, made so bold as to intervene.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What you&rsquo;re telling us isn&rsquo;t very cheerful.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Eh, what? Not cheerful!&rdquo; she cried with a withering glance.
&ldquo;I believe you; it isn&rsquo;t cheerful! Somebody had to earn a living
for us dear boy. Oh yes, you know, I&rsquo;m the right sort; I don&rsquo;t
mince matters. Mamma was a laundress; Daddy used to get drunk, and he died of
it! There! If it doesn&rsquo;t suit you&mdash;if you&rsquo;re ashamed of my
family&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They all protested. What was she after now? They had every sort of respect for
her family! But she went on:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;If you&rsquo;re ashamed of my family you&rsquo;ll please leave me,
because I&rsquo;m not one of those women who deny their father and mother. You
must take me and them together, d&rsquo;you understand?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They took her as required; they accepted the dad, the mamma, the past; in fact,
whatever she chose. With their eyes fixed on the tablecloth, the four now sat
shrinking and insignificant while Nana, in a transport of omnipotence, trampled
on them in the old muddy boots worn long since in the Rue de la
Goutte-d&rsquo;Or. She was determined not to lay down the cudgels just yet. It
was all very fine to bring her fortunes, to build her palaces; she would never
leave off regretting the time when she munched apples! Oh, what bosh that
stupid thing money was! It was made for the tradespeople! Finally her outburst
ended in a sentimentally expressed desire for a simple, openhearted existence,
to be passed in an atmosphere of universal benevolence.
</p>

<p>
When she got to this point she noticed Julien waiting idly by.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, what&rsquo;s the matter? Hand the champagne then!&rdquo; she said.
&ldquo;Why d&rsquo;you stand staring at me like a goose?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
During this scene the servants had never once smiled. They apparently heard
nothing, and the more their mistress let herself down, the more majestic they
became. Julien set to work to pour out the champagne and did so without mishap,
but Francois, who was handing round the fruit, was so unfortunate as to tilt
the fruit dish too low, and the apples, the pears and the grapes rolled on the
table.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You bloody clumsy lot!&rdquo; cried Nana.
</p>

<p>
The footman was mistaken enough to try and explain that the fruit had not been
firmly piled up. Zoé had disarranged it by taking out some oranges.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Then it&rsquo;s Zoé that&rsquo;s the goose!&rdquo; said Nana.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Madame&mdash;&rdquo; murmured the lady&rsquo;s maid in an injured tone.
</p>

<p>
Straightway Madame rose to her feet, and in a sharp voice and with royally
authoritative gesture:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;We&rsquo;ve had enough of this, haven&rsquo;t we? Leave the room, all of
you! We don&rsquo;t want you any longer!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
This summary procedure calmed her down, and she was forthwith all sweetness and
amiability. The dessert proved charming, and the gentlemen grew quite merry
waiting on themselves. But Satin, having peeled a pear, came and ate it behind
her darling, leaning on her shoulder the while and whispering sundry little
remarks in her ear, at which they both laughed very loudly. By and by she
wanted to share her last piece of pear with Nana and presented it to her
between her teeth. Whereupon there was a great nibbling of lips, and the pear
was finished amid kisses. At this there was a burst of comic protest from the
gentlemen, Philippe shouting to them to take it easy and Vandeuvres asking if
one ought to leave the room. Georges, meanwhile, had come and put his arm round
Satin&rsquo;s waist and had brought her back to her seat.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;How silly of you!&rdquo; said Nana. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re making her
blush, the poor, darling duck. Never mind, dear girl, let them chaff.
It&rsquo;s our own little private affair.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And turning to Muffat, who was watching them with his serious expression:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t it, my friend?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, certainly,&rdquo; he murmured with a slow nod of approval.
</p>

<p>
He no longer protested now. And so amid that company of gentlemen with the
great names and the old, upright traditions, the two women sat face to face,
exchanging tender glances, conquering, reigning, in tranquil defiance of the
laws of sex, in open contempt for the male portion of the community. The
gentlemen burst into applause.
</p>

<p>
The company went upstairs to take coffee in the little drawing room, where a
couple of lamps cast a soft glow over the rosy hangings and the lacquer and old
gold of the knickknacks. At that hour of the evening the light played
discreetly over coffers, bronzes and china, lighting up silver or ivory inlaid
work, bringing into view the polished contours of a carved stick and gleaming
over a panel with glossy silky reflections. The fire, which had been burning
since the afternoon, was dying out in glowing embers. It was very
warm&mdash;the air behind the curtains and hangings was languid with warmth.
The room was full of Nana&rsquo;s intimate existence: a pair of gloves, a
fallen handkerchief, an open book, lay scattered about, and their owner seemed
present in careless attire with that well-known odor of violets and that
species of untidiness which became her in her character of good-natured
courtesan and had such a charming effect among all those rich surroundings. The
very armchairs, which were as wide as beds, and the sofas, which were as deep
as alcoves, invited to slumber oblivious of the flight of time and to tender
whispers in shadowy corners.
</p>

<p>
Satin went and lolled back in the depths of a sofa near the fireplace. She had
lit a cigarette, but Vandeuvres began amusing himself by pretending to be
ferociously jealous. Nay, he even threatened to send her his seconds if she
still persisted in keeping Nana from her duty. Philippe and Georges joined him
and teased her and badgered her so mercilessly that at last she shouted out:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Darling! Darling! Do make &rsquo;em keep quiet! They&rsquo;re still
after me!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now then, let her be,&rdquo; said Nana seriously. &ldquo;I won&rsquo;t
have her tormented; you know that quite well. And you, my pet, why d&rsquo;you
always go mixing yourself up with them when they&rsquo;ve got so little
sense?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Satin, blushing all over and putting out her tongue, went into the dressing
room, through the widely open door of which you caught a glimpse of pale
marbles gleaming in the milky light of a gas flame in a globe of rough glass.
After that Nana talked to the four men as charmingly as hostess could. During
the day she had read a novel which was at that time making a good deal of
noise. It was the history of a courtesan, and Nana was very indignant,
declaring the whole thing to be untrue and expressing angry dislike to that
kind of monstrous literature which pretends to paint from nature. &ldquo;Just
as though one could describe everything,&rdquo; she said. Just as though a
novel ought not to be written so that the reader may while away an hour
pleasantly! In the matter of books and of plays Nana had very decided opinions:
she wanted tender and noble productions, things that would set her dreaming and
would elevate her soul. Then allusion being made in the course of conversation
to the troubles agitating Paris, the incendiary articles in the papers, the
incipient popular disturbances which followed the calls to arms nightly raised
at public meetings, she waxed wroth with the Republicans. What on earth did
those dirty people who never washed really want? Were folks not happy? Had not
the emperor done everything for the people? A nice filthy lot of people! She
knew &rsquo;em; she could talk about &rsquo;em, and, quite forgetting the
respect which at dinner she had just been insisting should be paid to her
humble circle in the Rue de la Goutte-d&rsquo;Or, she began blackguarding her
own class with all the terror and disgust peculiar to a woman who had risen
successfully above it. That very afternoon she had read in the Figaro an
account of the proceedings at a public meeting which had verged on the comic.
Owing to the slang words that had been used and to the piggish behavior of a
drunken man who had got himself chucked, she was laughing at those proceedings
still.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, those drunkards!&rdquo; she said with a disgusted air. &ldquo;No,
look you here, their republic would be a great misfortune for everybody! Oh,
may God preserve us the emperor as long as possible!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;God will hear your prayer, my dear,&rdquo; Muffat replied gravely.
&ldquo;To be sure, the emperor stands firm.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He liked her to express such excellent views. Both, indeed, understood one
another in political matters. Vandeuvres and Philippe Hugon likewise indulged
in endless jokes against the &ldquo;cads,&rdquo; the quarrelsome set who
scuttled off the moment they clapped eyes on a bayonet. But Georges that
evening remained pale and somber.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What can be the matter with that baby?&rdquo; asked Nana, noticing his
troubled appearance.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;With me? Nothing&mdash;I am listening,&rdquo; he muttered.
</p>

<p>
But he was really suffering. On rising from table he had heard Philippe joking
with the young woman, and now it was Philippe, and not himself, who sat beside
her. His heart, he knew not why, swelled to bursting. He could not bear to see
them so close together; such vile thoughts oppressed him that shame mingled
with his anguish. He who laughed at Satin, who had accepted Steiner and Muffat
and all the rest, felt outraged and murderous at the thought that Philippe
might someday touch that woman.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Here, take Bijou,&rdquo; she said to comfort him, and she passed him the
little dog which had gone to sleep on her dress.
</p>

<p>
And with that Georges grew happy again, for with the beast still warm from her
lap in his arms, he held, as it were, part of her.
</p>

<p>
Allusion had been made to a considerable loss which Vandeuvres had last night
sustained at the Imperial Club. Muffat, who did not play, expressed great
astonishment, but Vandeuvres smilingly alluded to his imminent ruin, about
which Paris was already talking. The kind of death you chose did not much
matter, he averred; the great thing was to die handsomely. For some time past
Nana had noticed that he was nervous and had a sharp downward droop of the
mouth and a fitful gleam in the depths of his clear eyes. But he retained his
haughty aristocratic manner and the delicate elegance of his impoverished race,
and as yet these strange manifestations were only, so to speak, momentary fits
of vertigo overcoming a brain already sapped by play and by debauchery. One
night as he lay beside her he had frightened her with a dreadful story. He had
told her he contemplated shutting himself up in his stable and setting fire to
himself and his horses at such time as he should have devoured all his
substance. His only hope at that period was a horse, Lusignan by name, which he
was training for the Prix de Paris. He was living on this horse, which was the
sole stay of his shaken credit, and whenever Nana grew exacting he would put
her off till June and to the probability of Lusignan&rsquo;s winning.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Bah! He may very likely lose,&rdquo; she said merrily, &ldquo;since
he&rsquo;s going to clear them all out at the races.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
By way of reply he contented himself by smiling a thin, mysterious smile. Then
carelessly:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By the by, I&rsquo;ve taken the liberty of giving your name to my
outsider, the filly. Nana, Nana&mdash;that sounds well. You&rsquo;re not
vexed?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Vexed, why?&rdquo; she said in a state of inward ecstasy.
</p>

<p>
The conversation continued, and same mention was made of an execution shortly
to take place. The young woman said she was burning to go to it when Satin
appeared at the dressing-room door and called her in tones of entreaty. She got
up at once and left the gentlemen lolling lazily about, while they finished
their cigars and discussed the grave question as to how far a murderer subject
to chronic alcoholism is responsible for his act. In the dressing room Zoé sat
helpless on a chair, crying her heart out, while Satin vainly endeavored to
console her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter?&rdquo; said Nana in surprise.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, darling, do speak to her!&rdquo; said Satin. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been
trying to make her listen to reason for the last twenty minutes. She&rsquo;s
crying because you called her a goose.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, madame, it&rsquo;s very hard&mdash;very hard,&rdquo; stuttered Zoé,
choked by a fresh fit of sobbing.
</p>

<p>
This sad sight melted the young woman&rsquo;s heart at once. She spoke kindly,
and when the other woman still refused to grow calm she sank down in front of
her and took her round the waist with truly cordial familiarity:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;But, you silly, I said &lsquo;goose&rsquo; just as I might have said
anything else. How shall I explain? I was in a passion&mdash;it was wrong of
me; now calm down.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I who love Madame so,&rdquo; stuttered Zoé; &ldquo;after all I&rsquo;ve
done for Madame.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Thereupon Nana kissed the lady&rsquo;s maid and, wishing to show her she
wasn&rsquo;t vexed, gave her a dress she had worn three times. Their quarrels
always ended up in the giving of presents! Zoé plugged her handkerchief into
her eyes. She carried the dress off over her arm and added before leaving that
they were very sad in the kitchen and that Julien and Francois had been unable
to eat, so entirely had Madame&rsquo;s anger taken away their appetites.
Thereupon Madame sent them a louis as a pledge of reconciliation. She suffered
too much if people around her were sorrowful.
</p>

<p>
Nana was returning to the drawing room, happy in the thought that she had
patched up a disagreement which was rendering her quietly apprehensive of the
morrow, when Satin came and whispered vehemently in her ear. She was full of
complaint, threatened to be off if those men still went on teasing her and kept
insisting that her darling should turn them all out of doors for that night, at
any rate. It would be a lesson to them. And then it would be so nice to be
alone, both of them! Nana, with a return of anxiety, declared it to be
impossible. Thereupon the other shouted at her like a violent child and tried
hard to overrule her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I wish it, d&rsquo;you see? Send &rsquo;em away or I&rsquo;m off!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she went back into the drawing room, stretched herself out in the recesses
of a divan, which stood in the background near the window, and lay waiting,
silent and deathlike, with her great eyes fixed upon Nana.
</p>

<p>
The gentlemen were deciding against the new criminological theories. Granted
that lovely invention of irresponsibility in certain pathological cases, and
criminals ceased to exist and sick people alone remained. The young woman,
expressing approval with an occasional nod, was busy considering how best to
dismiss the count. The others would soon be going, but he would assuredly prove
obstinate. In fact, when Philippe got up to withdraw, Georges followed him at
once&mdash;he seemed only anxious not to leave his brother behind. Vandeuvres
lingered some minutes longer, feeling his way, as it were, and waiting to find
out if, by any chance, some important business would oblige Muffat to cede him
his place. Soon, however, when he saw the count deliberately taking up his
quarters for the night, he desisted from his purpose and said good-by, as
became a man of tact. But on his way to the door, he noticed Satin staring
fixedly at Nana, as usual. Doubtless he understood what this meant, for he
seemed amused and came and shook hands with her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;We&rsquo;re not angry, eh?&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;Pray pardon me.
You&rsquo;re the nicer attraction of the two, on my honor!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Satin deigned no reply. Nor did she take her eyes off Nana and the count, who
were now alone. Muffat, ceasing to be ceremonious, had come to sit beside the
young woman. He took her fingers and began kissing them. Whereupon Nana,
seeking to change the current of his thoughts, asked him if his daughter
Estelle were better. The previous night he had been complaining of the
child&rsquo;s melancholy behavior&mdash;he could not even spend a day happily
at his own house, with his wife always out and his daughter icily silent.
</p>

<p>
In family matters of this kind Nana was always full of good advice, and when
Muffat abandoned all his usual self-control under the influence of mental and
physical relaxation and once more launched out into his former plaints, she
remembered the promise she had made.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Suppose you were to marry her?&rdquo; she said. And with that she
ventured to talk of Daguenet. At the mere mention of the name the count was
filled with disgust. &ldquo;Never,&rdquo; he said after what she had told him!
</p>

<p>
She pretended great surprise and then burst out laughing and put her arm round
his neck.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, the jealous man! To think of it! Just argue it out a little. Why,
they slandered me to you&mdash;I was furious. At present I should be ever so
sorry if&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But over Muffat&rsquo;s shoulder she met Satin&rsquo;s gaze. And she left him
anxiously and in a grave voice continued:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;This marriage must come off, my friend; I don&rsquo;t want to prevent
your daughter&rsquo;s happiness. The young man&rsquo;s most charming; you could
not possibly find a better sort.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she launched into extraordinary praise of Daguenet. The count had again
taken her hands; he no longer refused now; he would see about it, he said, they
would talk the matter over. By and by, when he spoke of going to bed, she sank
her voice and excused herself. It was impossible; she was not well. If he loved
her at all he would not insist! Nevertheless, he was obstinate; he refused to
go away, and she was beginning to give in when she met Satin&rsquo;s eyes once
more. Then she grew inflexible. No, the thing was out of the question! The
count, deeply moved and with a look of suffering, had risen and was going in
quest of his hat. But in the doorway he remembered the set of sapphires; he
could feel the case in his pocket. He had been wanting to hide it at the bottom
of the bed so that when she entered it before him she should feel it against
her legs. Since dinnertime he had been meditating this little surprise like a
schoolboy, and now, in trouble and anguish of heart at being thus dismissed, he
gave her the case without further ceremony.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; she queried. &ldquo;Sapphires? Dear me! Oh yes,
it&rsquo;s that set. How sweet you are! But I say, my darling, d&rsquo;you
believe it&rsquo;s the same one? In the shopwindow it made a much greater
show.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
That was all the thanks he got, and she let him go away. He noticed Satin
stretched out silent and expectant, and with that he gazed at both women and
without further insistence submitted to his fate and went downstairs. The hall
door had not yet closed when Satin caught Nana round the waist and danced and
sang. Then she ran to the window.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, just look at the figure he cuts down in the street!&rdquo; The two
women leaned upon the wrought-iron window rail in the shadow of the curtains.
One o&rsquo;clock struck. The Avenue de Villiers was deserted, and its double
file of gas lamps stretched away into the darkness of the damp March night
through which great gusts of wind kept sweeping, laden with rain. There were
vague stretches of land on either side of the road which looked like gulfs of
shadow, while scaffoldings round mansions in process of construction loomed
upward under the dark sky. They laughed uncontrollably as they watched
Muffat&rsquo;s rounded back and glistening shadow disappearing along the wet
sidewalk into the glacial, desolate plains of new Paris. But Nana silenced
Satin.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Take care; there are the police!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Thereupon they smothered their laughter and gazed in secret fear at two dark
figures walking with measured tread on the opposite side of the avenue. Amid
all her luxurious surroundings, amid all the royal splendors of the woman whom
all must obey, Nana still stood in horror of the police and did not like to
hear them mentioned any oftener than death. She felt distinctly unwell when a
policeman looked up at her house. One never knew what such people might do!
They might easily take them for loose women if they heard them laughing at that
hour of the night. Satin, with a little shudder, had squeezed herself up
against Nana. Nevertheless, the pair stayed where they were and were soon
interested in the approach of a lantern, the light of which danced over the
puddles in the road. It was an old ragpicker woman who was busy raking in the
gutters. Satin recognized her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dear me,&rdquo; she exclaimed, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s Queen Pomare with her
wickerwork shawl!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And while a gust of wind lashed the fine rain in their faces she told her
beloved the story of Queen Pomare. Oh, she had been a splendid girl once upon a
time: all Paris had talked of her beauty. And such devilish go and such cheek!
Why, she led the men about like dogs, and great people stood blubbering on her
stairs! Now she was in the habit of getting tipsy, and the women round about
would make her drink absinthe for the sake of a laugh, after which the street
boys would throw stones at her and chase her. In fact, it was a regular
smashup; the queen had tumbled into the mud! Nana listened, feeling cold all
over.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You shall see,&rdquo; added Satin.
</p>

<p>
She whistled a man&rsquo;s whistle, and the ragpicker, who was then below the
window, lifted her head and showed herself by the yellow flare of her lantern.
Framed among rags, a perfect bundle of them, a face looked out from under a
tattered kerchief&mdash;a blue, seamed face with a toothless, cavernous mouth
and fiery bruises where the eyes should be. And Nana, seeing the frightful old
woman, the wanton drowned in drink, had a sudden fit of recollection and saw
far back amid the shadows of consciousness the vision of Chamont&mdash;Irma
d&rsquo;Anglars, the old harlot crowned with years and honors, ascending the
steps in front of her château amid abjectly reverential villagers. Then as
Satin whistled again, making game of the old hag, who could not see her:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do leave off; there are the police!&rdquo; she murmured in changed
tones. &ldquo;In with us, quick, my pet!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The measured steps were returning, and they shut the window. Turning round
again, shivering, and with the damp of night on her hair, Nana was momentarily
astounded at sight of her drawing room. It seemed as though she had forgotten
it and were entering an unknown chamber. So warm, so full of perfume, was the
air she encountered that she experienced a sense of delighted surprise. The
heaped-up wealth of the place, the Old World furniture, the fabrics of silk and
gold, the ivory, the bronzes, were slumbering in the rosy light of the lamps,
while from the whole of the silent house a rich feeling of great luxury
ascended, the luxury of the solemn reception rooms, of the comfortable, ample
dining room, of the vast retired staircase, with their soft carpets and seats.
Her individuality, with its longing for domination and enjoyment and its desire
to possess everything that she might destroy everything, was suddenly
increased. Never before had she felt so profoundly the puissance of her sex.
She gazed slowly round and remarked with an expression of grave philosophy:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah well, all the same, one&rsquo;s jolly well right to profit by things
when one&rsquo;s young!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But now Satin was rolling on the bearskins in the bedroom and calling her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, do come! Do come!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana undressed in the dressing room, and in order to be quicker about it she
took her thick fell of blonde hair in both hands and began shaking it above the
silver wash hand basin, while a downward hail of long hairpins rang a little
chime on the shining metal.
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"></a> CHAPTER XI</h2>

<p>
One Sunday the race for the Grand Prix de Paris was being run in the Bois de
Boulogne beneath skies rendered sultry by the first heats of June. The sun that
morning had risen amid a mist of dun-colored dust, but toward eleven
o&rsquo;clock, just when the carriages were reaching the Longchamps course, a
southerly wind had swept away the clouds; long streamers of gray vapor were
disappearing across the sky, and gaps showing an intense blue beyond were
spreading from one end of the horizon to the other. In the bright bursts of
sunlight which alternated with the clouds the whole scene shone again, from the
field which was gradually filling with a crowd of carriages, horsemen and
pedestrians, to the still-vacant course, where the judge&rsquo;s box stood,
together with the posts and the masts for signaling numbers, and thence on to
the five symmetrical stands of brickwork and timber, rising gallery upon
gallery in the middle of the weighing enclosure opposite. Beyond these, bathed
in the light of noon, lay the vast level plain, bordered with little trees and
shut in to the westward by the wooded heights of Saint-Cloud and the Suresnes,
which, in their turn, were dominated by the severe outlines of Mont-Valerien.
</p>

<p>
Nana, as excited as if the Grand Prix were going to make her fortune, wanted to
take up a position by the railing next the winning post. She had arrived very
early&mdash;she was, in fact, one of the first to come&mdash;in a landau
adorned with silver and drawn, à la Daumont, by four splendid white horses.
This landau was a present from Count Muffat. When she had made her appearance
at the entrance to the field with two postilions jogging blithely on the near
horses and two footmen perching motionless behind the carriage, the people had
rushed to look as though a queen were passing. She sported the blue and white
colors of the Vandeuvres stable, and her dress was remarkable. It consisted of
a little blue silk bodice and tunic, which fitted closely to the body and
bulged out enormously behind her waist, thereby bringing her lower limbs into
bold relief in such a manner as to be extremely noticeable in that epoch of
voluminous skirts. Then there was a white satin dress with white satin sleeves
and a sash worn crosswise over the shoulders, the whole ornamented with silver
guipure which shone in the sun. In addition to this, in order to be still more
like a jockey, she had stuck a blue toque with a white feather jauntily upon
her chignon, the fair tresses from which flowed down beyond her shoulders and
resembled an enormous russet pigtail.
</p>

<p>
Twelve struck. The public would have to wait more than three hours for the
Grand Prix to be run. When the landau had drawn up beside the barriers Nana
settled herself comfortably down as though she were in her own house. A whim
had prompted her to bring Bijou and Louiset with her, and the dog crouched
among her skirts, shivering with cold despite the heat of the day, while amid a
bedizenment of ribbons and laces the child&rsquo;s poor little face looked
waxen and dumb and white in the open air. Meanwhile the young woman, without
troubling about the people near her, talked at the top of her voice with
Georges and Philippe Hugon, who were seated opposite on the front seat among
such a mountain of bouquets of white roses and blue myosotis that they were
buried up to their shoulders.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well then,&rdquo; she was saying, &ldquo;as he bored me to death, I
showed him the door. And now it&rsquo;s two days that he&rsquo;s been
sulking.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She was talking of Muffat, but she took care not to confess to the young men
the real reason for this first quarrel, which was that one evening he had found
a man&rsquo;s hat in her bedroom. She had indeed brought home a passer-by out
of sheer ennui&mdash;a silly infatuation.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You have no idea how funny he is,&rdquo; she continued, growing merry
over the particulars she was giving. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s a regular bigot at
bottom, so he says his prayers every evening. Yes, he does. He&rsquo;s under
the impression I notice nothing because I go to bed first so as not to be in
his way, but I watch him out of the corner of my eye. Oh, he jaws away, and
then he crosses himself when he turns round to step over me and get to the
inside of the bed.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Jove, it&rsquo;s sly,&rdquo; muttered Philippe. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s what
happens before, but afterward, what then?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She laughed merrily.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, just so, before and after! When I&rsquo;m going to sleep I hear him
jawing away again. But the biggest bore of all is that we can&rsquo;t argue
about anything now without his growing &lsquo;pi.&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve always been
religious. Yes, chaff as much as you like; that won&rsquo;t prevent me
believing what I do believe! Only he&rsquo;s too much of a nuisance: he
blubbers; he talks about remorse. The day before yesterday, for instance, he
had a regular fit of it after our usual row, and I wasn&rsquo;t the least bit
reassured when all was over.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But she broke off, crying out:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Just look at the Mignons arriving. Dear me, they&rsquo;ve brought the
children! Oh, how those little chaps are dressed up!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The Mignons were in a landau of severe hue; there was something substantially
luxurious about their turnout, suggesting rich retired tradespeople. Rose was
in a gray silk gown trimmed with red knots and with puffs; she was smiling
happily at the joyous behavior of Henri and Charles, who sat on the front seat,
looking awkward in their ill-fitting collegians&rsquo; tunics. But when the
landau had drawn up by the rails and she perceived Nana sitting in triumph
among her bouquets, with her four horses and her liveries, she pursed up her
lips, sat bolt upright and turned her head away. Mignon, on the other hand,
looking the picture of freshness and gaiety, waved her a salutation. He made it
a matter of principle to keep out of feminine disagreements.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By the by,&rdquo; Nana resumed, &ldquo;d&rsquo;you know a little old man
who&rsquo;s very clean and neat and has bad teeth&mdash;a Monsieur Venot? He
came to see me this morning.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Monsieur Venot?&rdquo; said Georges in great astonishment.
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s impossible! Why, the man&rsquo;s a Jesuit!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Precisely; I spotted that. Oh, you have no idea what our conversation
was like! It was just funny! He spoke to me about the count, about his divided
house, and begged me to restore a family its happiness. He was very polite and
very smiling for the matter of that. Then I answered to the effect that I
wanted nothing better, and I undertook to reconcile the count and his wife. You
know it&rsquo;s not humbug. I should be delighted to see them all happy again,
the poor things! Besides, it would be a relief to me for there are
days&mdash;yes, there are days&mdash;when he bores me to death.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The weariness of the last months escaped her in this heartfelt outburst.
Moreover, the count appeared to be in big money difficulties; he was anxious
and it seemed likely that the bill which Labordette had put his name to would
not be met.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dear me, the countess is down yonder,&rdquo; said Georges, letting his
gaze wander over the stands.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Where, where?&rdquo; cried Nana. &ldquo;What eyes that baby&rsquo;s got!
Hold my sunshade, Philippe.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But with a quick forward dart Georges had outstripped his brother. It enchanted
him to be holding the blue silk sunshade with its silver fringe. Nana was
scanning the scene through a huge pair of field glasses.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah yes! I see her,&rdquo; she said at length. &ldquo;In the right-hand
stand, near a pillar, eh? She&rsquo;s in mauve, and her daughter in white by
her side. Dear me, there&rsquo;s Daguenet going to bow to them.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Thereupon Philippe talked of Daguenet&rsquo;s approaching marriage with that
lath of an Estelle. It was a settled matter&mdash;the banns were being
published. At first the countess had opposed it, but the count, they said, had
insisted. Nana smiled.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I know, I know,&rdquo; she murmured. &ldquo;So much the better for Paul.
He&rsquo;s a nice boy&mdash;he deserves it.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And leaning toward Louiset:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You&rsquo;re enjoying yourself, eh? What a grave face!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The child never smiled. With a very old expression he was gazing at all those
crowds, as though the sight of them filled him with melancholy reflections.
Bijou, chased from the skirts of the young woman who was moving about a great
deal, had come to nestle, shivering, against the little fellow.
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile the field was filling up. Carriages, a compact, interminable file of
them, were continually arriving through the Porte de la Cascade. There were big
omnibuses such as the Pauline, which had started from the Boulevard des
Italiens, freighted with its fifty passengers, and was now going to draw up to
the right of the stands. Then there were dogcarts, victorias, landaus, all
superbly well turned out, mingled with lamentable cabs which jolted along
behind sorry old hacks, and four-in-hands, sending along their four horses, and
mail coaches, where the masters sat on the seats above and left the servants to
take care of the hampers of champagne inside, and &ldquo;spiders,&rdquo; the
immense wheels of which were a flash of glittering steel, and light tandems,
which looked as delicately formed as the works of a clock and slipped along
amid a peal of little bells. Every few seconds an equestrian rode by, and a
swarm of people on foot rushed in a scared way among the carriages. On the
green the far-off rolling sound which issued from the avenues in the Bois died
out suddenly in dull rustlings, and now nothing was audible save the hubbub of
the ever-increasing crowds and cries and calls and the crackings of whips in
the open. When the sun, amid bursts of wind, reappeared at the edge of a cloud,
a long ray of golden light ran across the field, lit up the harness and the
varnished coach panels and touched the ladies&rsquo; dresses with fire, while
amid the dusty radiance the coachmen, high up on their boxes, flamed beside
their great whips.
</p>

<p>
Labordette was getting out of an open carriage where Gaga, Clarisse and Blanche
de Sivry had kept a place for him. As he was hurrying to cross the course and
enter the weighing enclosure Nana got Georges to call him. Then when he came
up:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the betting on me?&rdquo; she asked laughingly.
</p>

<p>
She referred to the filly Nana, the Nana who had let herself be shamefully
beaten in the race for the Prix de Diane and had not even been placed in April
and May last when she ran for the Prix des Cars and the Grande Poule des
Produits, both of which had been gained by Lusignan, the other horse in the
Vandeuvres stable. Lusignan had all at once become prime favorite, and since
yesterday he had been currently taken at two to one.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Always fifty to one against,&rdquo; replied Labordette.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The deuce! I&rsquo;m not worth much,&rdquo; rejoined Nana, amused by the
jest. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t back myself then; no, by jingo! I don&rsquo;t put a
single louis on myself.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Labordette went off again in a great hurry, but she recalled him. She wanted
some advice. Since he kept in touch with the world of trainers and jockeys he
had special information about various stables. His prognostications had come
true a score of times already, and people called him the &ldquo;King of
Tipsters.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s see, what horses ought I to choose?&rdquo; said the young
woman. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the betting on the Englishman?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Spirit? Three to one against. Valerio II, the same. As to the others,
they&rsquo;re laying twenty-five to one against Cosinus, forty to one against
Hazard, thirty to one against Bourn, thirty-five to one against Pichenette, ten
to one against Frangipane.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, I don&rsquo;t bet on the Englishman, I don&rsquo;t. I&rsquo;m a
patriot. Perhaps Valerio II would do, eh? The Duc de Corbreuse was beaming a
little while ago. Well, no, after all! Fifty louis on Lusignan; what do you say
to that?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Labordette looked at her with a singular expression. She leaned forward and
asked him questions in a low voice, for she was aware that Vandeuvres
commissioned him to arrange matters with the bookmakers so as to be able to bet
the more easily. Supposing him to have got to know something, he might quite
well tell it her. But without entering into explanations Labordette persuaded
her to trust to his sagacity. He would put on her fifty louis for her as he
might think best, and she would not repent of his arrangement.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;All the horses you like!&rdquo; she cried gaily, letting him take his
departure, &ldquo;but no Nana; she&rsquo;s a jade!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
There was a burst of uproarious laughter in the carriage. The young men thought
her sally very amusing, while Louiset in his ignorance lifted his pale eyes to
his mother&rsquo;s face, for her loud exclamations surprised him. However,
there was no escape for Labordette as yet. Rose Mignon had made a sign to him
and was now giving him her commands while he wrote figures in a notebook. Then
Clarisse and Gaga called him back in order to change their bets, for they had
heard things said in the crowd, and now they didn&rsquo;t want to have anything
more to do with Valerio II and were choosing Lusignan. He wrote down their
wishes with an impassible expression and at length managed to escape. He could
be seen disappearing between two of the stands on the other side of the course.
</p>

<p>
Carriages were still arriving. They were by this time drawn up five rows deep,
and a dense mass of them spread along the barriers, checkered by the light
coats of white horses. Beyond them other carriages stood about in comparative
isolation, looking as though they had stuck fast in the grass. Wheels and
harness were here, there and everywhere, according as the conveyances to which
they belonged were side by side, at an angle, across and across or head to
head. Over such spaces of turf as still remained unoccupied cavaliers kept
trotting, and black groups of pedestrians moved continually. The scene
resembled the field where a fair is being held, and above it all, amid the
confused motley of the crowd, the drinking booths raised their gray canvas
roofs which gleamed white in the sunshine. But a veritable tumult, a mob, an
eddy of hats, surged round the several bookmakers, who stood in open carriages
gesticulating like itinerant dentists while their odds were pasted up on tall
boards beside them.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;All the same, it&rsquo;s stupid not to know on what horse one&rsquo;s
betting,&rdquo; Nana was remarking. &ldquo;I really must risk some louis in
person.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She had stood up to select a bookmaker with a decent expression of face but
forgot what she wanted on perceiving a perfect crowd of her acquaintance.
Besides the Mignons, besides Gaga, Clarisse and Blanche, there were present, to
the right and left, behind and in the middle of the mass of carriages now
hemming in her landau, the following ladies: Tatan Nene and Maria Blond in a
victoria, Caroline Hequet with her mother and two gentlemen in an open
carriage, Louise Violaine quite alone, driving a little basket chaise decked
with orange and green ribbons, the colors of the Mechain stables, and finally,
Léa de Horn on the lofty seat of a mail coach, where a band of young men were
making a great din. Farther off, in a HUIT RESSORTS of aristocratic appearance,
Lucy Stewart, in a very simple black silk dress, sat, looking distinguished
beside a tall young man in the uniform of a naval cadet. But what most
astounded Nana was the arrival of Simonne in a tandem which Steiner was
driving, while a footman sat motionless, with folded arms, behind them. She
looked dazzling in white satin striped with yellow and was covered with
diamonds from waist to hat. The banker, on his part, was handling a tremendous
whip and sending along his two horses, which were harnessed tandemwise, the
leader being a little warm-colored chestnut with a mouselike trot, the shaft
horse a big brown bay, a stepper, with a fine action.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Deuce take it!&rdquo; said Nana. &ldquo;So that thief Steiner has
cleared the Bourse again, has he? I say, isn&rsquo;t Simonne a swell!
It&rsquo;s too much of a good thing; he&rsquo;ll get into the clutches of the
law!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless, she exchanged greetings at a distance. Indeed, she kept waving
her hand and smiling, turning round and forgetting no one in her desire to be
seen by everybody. At the same time she continued chatting.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s her son Lucy&rsquo;s got in tow! He&rsquo;s charming in his
uniform. That&rsquo;s why she&rsquo;s looking so grand, of course! You know
she&rsquo;s afraid of him and that she passes herself off as an actress. Poor
young man, I pity him all the same! He seems quite unsuspicious.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Bah,&rdquo; muttered Philippe, laughing, &ldquo;she&rsquo;ll be able to
find him an heiress in the country when she likes.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana was silent, for she had just noticed the Tricon amid the thick of the
carriages. Having arrived in a cab, whence she could not see anything, the
Tricon had quietly mounted the coach box. And there, straightening up her tall
figure, with her noble face enshrined in its long curls, she dominated the
crowd as though enthroned amid her feminine subjects. All the latter smiled
discreetly at her while she, in her superiority, pretended not to know them.
She wasn&rsquo;t there for business purposes: she was watching the races for
the love of the thing, as became a frantic gambler with a passion for
horseflesh.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dear me, there&rsquo;s that idiot La Faloise!&rdquo; said Georges
suddenly.
</p>

<p>
It was a surprise to them all. Nana did not recognize her La Faloise, for since
he had come into his inheritance he had grown extraordinarily up to date. He
wore a low collar and was clad in a cloth of delicate hue which fitted close to
his meager shoulders. His hair was in little bandeaux, and he affected a weary
kind of swagger, a soft tone of voice and slang words and phrases which he did
not take the trouble to finish.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;But he&rsquo;s quite the thing!&rdquo; declared Nana in perfect
enchantment.
</p>

<p>
Gaga and Clarisse had called La Faloise and were throwing themselves at him in
their efforts to regain his allegiance, but he left them immediately, rolling
off in a chaffing, disdainful manner. Nana dazzled him. He rushed up to her and
stood on the carriage step, and when she twitted him about Gaga he murmured:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh dear, no! We&rsquo;ve seen the last of the old lot! Mustn&rsquo;t
play her off on me any more. And then, you know, it&rsquo;s you now, Juliet
mine!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He had put his hand to his heart. Nana laughed a good deal at this exceedingly
sudden out-of-door declaration. She continued:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I say, that&rsquo;s not what I&rsquo;m after. You&rsquo;re making me
forget that I want to lay wagers. Georges, you see that bookmaker down there, a
great red-faced man with curly hair? He&rsquo;s got a dirty blackguard
expression which I like. You&rsquo;re to go and choose&mdash;Oh, I say, what
can one choose?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not a patriotic soul&mdash;oh dear, no!&rdquo; La Faloise
blurted out. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m all for the Englishman. It will be ripping if the
Englishman gains! The French may go to Jericho!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana was scandalized. Presently the merits of the several horses began to be
discussed, and La Faloise, wishing to be thought very much in the swim, spoke
of them all as sorry jades. Frangipane, Baron Verdier&rsquo;s horse, was by The
Truth out of Lenore. A big bay horse he was, who would certainly have stood a
chance if they hadn&rsquo;t let him get foundered during training. As to
Valerio II from the Corbreuse stable, he wasn&rsquo;t ready yet; he&rsquo;d had
the colic in April. Oh yes, they were keeping that dark, but he was sure of it,
on his honor! In the end he advised Nana to choose Hazard, the most defective
of the lot, a horse nobody would have anything to do with. Hazard, by
jingo&mdash;such superb lines and such an action! That horse was going to
astonish the people.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Nana, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m going to put ten louis on
Lusignan and five on Boum.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
La Faloise burst forth at once:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;But, my dear girl, Boum&rsquo;s all rot! Don&rsquo;t choose him! Gasc
himself is chucking up backing his own horse. And your Lusignan&mdash;never!
Why, it&rsquo;s all humbug! By Lamb and Princess&mdash;just think! By Lamb and
Princess&mdash;no, by Jove! All too short in the legs!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He was choking. Philippe pointed out that, notwithstanding this, Lusignan had
won the Prix des Cars and the Grande Poule des Produits. But the other ran on
again. What did that prove? Nothing at all. On the contrary, one ought to
distrust him. And besides, Gresham rode Lusignan; well then, let them jolly
well dry up! Gresham had bad luck; he would never get to the post.
</p>

<p>
And from one end of the field to the other the discussion raging in
Nana&rsquo;s landau seemed to spread and increase. Voices were raised in a
scream; the passion for gambling filled the air, set faces glowing and arms
waving excitedly, while the bookmakers, perched on their conveyances, shouted
odds and jotted down amounts right furiously. Yet these were only the small fry
of the betting world; the big bets were made in the weighing enclosure. Here,
then, raged the keen contest of people with light purses who risked their
five-franc pieces and displayed infinite covetousness for the sake of a
possible gain of a few louis. In a word, the battle would be between Spirit and
Lusignan. Englishmen, plainly recognizable as such, were strolling about among
the various groups. They were quite at home; their faces were fiery with
excitement; they were afready triumphant. Bramah, a horse belonging to Lord
Reading, had gained the Grand Prix the previous year, and this had been a
defeat over which hearts were still bleeding. This year it would be terrible if
France were beaten anew. Accordingly all the ladies were wild with national
pride. The Vandeuvres stable became the rampart of their honor, and Lusignan
was pushed and defended and applauded exceedingly. Gaga, Blanche, Caroline and
the rest betted on Lusignan. Lucy Stewart abstained from this on account of her
son, but it was bruited abroad that Rose Mignon had commissioned Labordette to
risk two hundred louis for her. The Tricon, as she sat alone next her driver,
waited till the last moment. Very cool, indeed, amid all these disputes, very
far above the ever-increasing uproar in which horses&rsquo; names kept
recurring and lively Parisian phrases mingled with guttural English
exclamations, she sat listening and taking notes majestically.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And Nana?&rdquo; said Georges. &ldquo;Does no one want her?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Indeed, nobody was asking for the filly; she was not even being mentioned. The
outsider of the Vandeuvres&rsquo;s stud was swamped by Lusignan&rsquo;s
popularity. But La Faloise flung his arms up, crying:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve an inspiration. I&rsquo;ll bet a louis on Nana.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Bravo! I bet a couple,&rdquo; said Georges.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And I three,&rdquo; added Philippe.
</p>

<p>
And they mounted up and up, bidding against one another good-humoredly and
naming prices as though they had been haggling over Nana at an auction. La
Faloise said he would cover her with gold. Besides, everybody was to be made to
back her; they would go and pick up backers. But as the three young men were
darting off to propagandize, Nana shouted after them:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You know I don&rsquo;t want to have anything to do with her; I
don&rsquo;t for the world! Georges, ten louis on Lusignan and five on Valerio
II.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile they had started fairly off, and she watched them gaily as they
slipped between wheels, ducked under horses&rsquo; heads and scoured the whole
field. The moment they recognized anyone in a carriage they rushed up and urged
Nana&rsquo;s claims. And there were great bursts of laughter among the crowd
when sometimes they turned back, triumphantly signaling amounts with their
fingers, while the young woman stood and waved her sunshade. Nevertheless, they
made poor enough work of it. Some men let themselves be persuaded; Steiner, for
instance, ventured three louis, for the sight of Nana stirred him. But the
women refused point-blank. &ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; they said; &ldquo;to lose for
a certainty!&rdquo; Besides, they were in no hurry to work for the benefit of a
dirty wench who was overwhelming them all with her four white horses, her
postilions and her outrageous assumption of side. Gaga and Clarisse looked
exceedingly prim and asked La Faloise whether he was jolly well making fun of
them. When Georges boldly presented himself before the Mignons&rsquo; carriage
Rose turned her head away in the most marked manner and did not answer him. One
must be a pretty foul sort to let one&rsquo;s name be given to a horse! Mignon,
on the contrary, followed the young man&rsquo;s movements with a look of
amusement and declared that the women always brought luck.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; queried Nana when the young men returned after a prolonged
visit to the bookmakers.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The odds are forty to one against you,&rdquo; said La Faloise.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What&rsquo;s that? Forty to one!&rdquo; she cried, astounded.
&ldquo;They were fifty to one against me. What&rsquo;s happened?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Labordette had just then reappeared. The course was being cleared, and the
pealing of a bell announced the first race. Amid the expectant murmur of the
bystanders she questioned him about this sudden rise in her value. But he
replied evasively; doubtless a demand for her had arisen. She had to content
herself with this explanation. Moreover, Labordette announced with a
preoccupied expression that Vandeuvres was coming if he could get away.
</p>

<p>
The race was ending unnoticed; people were all waiting for the Grand Prix to be
run&mdash;when a storm burst over the Hippodrome. For some minutes past the sun
had disappeared, and a wan twilight had darkened over the multitude. Then the
wind rose, and there ensued a sudden deluge. Huge drops, perfect sheets of
water, fell. There was a momentary confusion, and people shouted and joked and
swore, while those on foot scampered madly off to find refuge under the canvas
of the drinking booths. In the carriages the women did their best to shelter
themselves, grasping their sunshades with both hands, while the bewildered
footmen ran to the hoods. But the shower was already nearly over, and the sun
began shining brilliantly through escaping clouds of fine rain. A blue cleft
opened in the stormy mass, which was blown off over the Bois, and the skies
seemed to smile again and to set the women laughing in a reassured manner,
while amid the snorting of horses and the disarray and agitation of the
drenched multitude that was shaking itself dry a broad flush of golden light
lit up the field, still dripping and glittering with crystal drops.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, that poor, dear Louiset!&rdquo; said Nana. &ldquo;Are you very
drenched, my darling?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The little thing silently allowed his hands to be wiped. The young woman had
taken out her handkerchief. Then she dabbed it over Bijou, who was trembling
more violently than ever. It would not matter in the least; there were a few
drops on the white satin of her dress, but she didn&rsquo;t care a pin for
them. The bouquets, refreshed by the rain, glowed like snow, and she smelled
one ecstatically, drenching her lips in it as though it were wet with dew.
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile the burst of rain had suddenly filled the stands. Nana looked at them
through her field glasses. At that distance you could only distinguish a
compact, confused mass of people, heaped up, as it were, on the ascending
ranges of steps, a dark background relieved by light dots which were human
faces. The sunlight filtered in through openings near the roof at each end of
the stand and detached and illumined portions of the seated multitude, where
the ladies&rsquo; dresses seemed to lose their distinguishing colors. But Nana
was especially amused by the ladies whom the shower had driven from the rows of
chairs ranged on the sand at the base of the stands. As courtesans were
absolutely forbidden to enter the enclosure, she began making exceedingly
bitter remarks about all the fashionable women therein assembled. She thought
them fearfully dressed up, and such guys!
</p>

<p>
There was a rumor that the empress was entering the little central stand, a
pavilion built like a chalet, with a wide balcony furnished with red armchairs.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why, there he is!&rdquo; said Georges. &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t think he
was on duty this week.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The stiff and solemn form of the Count Muffat had appeared behind the empress.
Thereupon the young men jested and were sorry that Satin wasn&rsquo;t there to
go and dig him in the ribs. But Nana&rsquo;s field glass focused the head of
the Prince of Scots in the imperial stand.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Gracious, it&rsquo;s Charles!&rdquo; she cried.
</p>

<p>
She thought him stouter than formerly. In eighteen months he had broadened, and
with that she entered into particulars. Oh yes, he was a big, solidly built
fellow!
</p>

<p>
All round her in the ladies&rsquo; carriages they were whispering that the
count had given her up. It was quite a long story. Since he had been making
himself noticeable, the Tuileries had grown scandalized at the
chamberlain&rsquo;s conduct. Whereupon, in order to retain his position, he had
recently broken it off with Nana. La Faloise bluntly reported this account of
matters to the young woman and, addressing her as his Juliet, again offered
himself. But she laughed merrily and remarked:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s idiotic! You won&rsquo;t know him; I&rsquo;ve only to say,
&lsquo;Come here,&rsquo; for him to chuck up everything.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
For some seconds past she had been examining the Countess Sabine and Estelle.
Daguenet was still at their side. Fauchery had just arrived and was disturbing
the people round him in his desire to make his bow to them. He, too, stayed
smilingly beside them. After that Nana pointed with disdainful action at the
stands and continued:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Then, you know, those people don&rsquo;t fetch me any longer now! I know
&rsquo;em too well. You should see &rsquo;em behind scenes. No more honor!
It&rsquo;s all up with honor! Filth belowstairs, filth abovestairs, filth
everywhere. That&rsquo;s why I won&rsquo;t be bothered about &rsquo;em!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with a comprehensive gesture she took in everybody, from the grooms leading
the horses on to the course to the sovereign lady busy chatting with with
Charles, a prince and a dirty fellow to boot.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Bravo, Nana! Awfully smart, Nana!&rdquo; cried La Faloise
enthusiastically.
</p>

<p>
The tolling of a bell was lost in the wind; the races continued. The Prix
d&rsquo;Ispahan had just been run for and Berlingot, a horse belonging to the
Mechain stable, had won. Nana recalled Labordette in order to obtain news of
the hundred louis, but he burst out laughing and refused to let her know the
horses he had chosen for her, so as not to disturb the luck, as he phrased it.
Her money was well placed; she would see that all in good time. And when she
confessed her bets to him and told him how she had put ten louis on Lusignan
and five on Valerio II, he shrugged his shoulders, as who should say that women
did stupid things whatever happened. His action surprised her; she was quite at
sea.
</p>

<p>
Just then the field grew more animated than before. Open-air lunches were
arranged in the interval before the Grand Prix. There was much eating and more
drinking in all directions, on the grass, on the high seats of the
four-in-hands and mail coaches, in the victorias, the broughams, the landaus.
There was a universal spread of cold viands and a fine disorderly display of
champagne baskets which footmen kept handing down out of the coach boots. Corks
came out with feeble pops, which the wind drowned. There was an interchange of
jests, and the sound of breaking glasses imparted a note of discord to the
high-strung gaiety of the scene. Gaga and Clarisse, together with Blanche, were
making a serious repast, for they were eating sandwiches on the carriage rug
with which they had been covering their knees. Louise Violaine had got down
from her basket carriage and had joined Caroline Hequet. On the turf at their
feet some gentlemen had instituted a drinking bar, whither Tatan, Maria,
Simonne and the rest came to refresh themselves, while high in air and close at
hand bottles were being emptied on Léa de Horn&rsquo;s mail coach, and, with
infinite bravado and gesticulation, a whole band were making themselves tipsy
in the sunshine, above the heads of the crowd. Soon, however, there was an
especially large crowd by Nana&rsquo;s landau. She had risen to her feet and
had set herself to pour out glasses of champagne for the men who came to pay
her their respects. Francois, one of the footmen, was passing up the bottles
while La Faloise, trying hard to imitate a coster&rsquo;s accents, kept
pattering away:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;&rsquo;Ere y&rsquo;re, given away, given away! There&rsquo;s some for
everybody!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do be still, dear boy,&rdquo; Nana ended by saying. &ldquo;We look like
a set of tumblers.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She thought him very droll and was greatly entertained. At one moment she
conceived the idea of sending Georges with a glass of champagne to Rose Mignon,
who was affecting temperance. Henri and Charles were bored to distraction; they
would have been glad of some champagne, the poor little fellows. But Georges
drank the glassful, for he feared an argument. Then Nana remembered Louiset,
who was sitting forgotten behind her. Maybe he was thirsty, and she forced him
to take a drop or two of wine, which made him cough dreadfully.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;&rsquo;Ere y&rsquo;are, &rsquo;ere y&rsquo;are, gemmen!&rdquo; La
Faloise reiterated. &ldquo;It don&rsquo;t cost two sous; it don&rsquo;t cost
one. We give it away.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But Nana broke in with an exclamation:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Gracious, there&rsquo;s Bordenave down there! Call him. Oh, run, please,
please do!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
It was indeed Bordenave. He was strolling about with his hands behind his back,
wearing a hat that looked rusty in the sunlight and a greasy frock coat that
was glossy at the seams. It was Bordenave shattered by bankruptcy, yet furious
despite all reverses, a Bordenave who flaunted his misery among all the fine
folks with the hardihood becoming a man ever ready to take Dame Fortune by
storm.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The deuce, how smart we are!&rdquo; he said when Nana extended her hand
to him like the good-natured wench she was.
</p>

<p>
Presently, after emptying a glass of champagne, he gave vent to the following
profoundly regretful phrase:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, if only I were a woman! But, by God, that&rsquo;s nothing! Would you
like to go on the stage again? I&rsquo;ve a notion: I&rsquo;ll hire the Gaîté,
and we&rsquo;ll gobble up Paris between us. You certainly owe it me, eh?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And he lingered, grumbling, beside her, though glad to see her again; for, he
said, that confounded Nana was balm to his feelings. Yes, it was balm to them
merely to exist in her presence! She was his daughter; she was blood of his
blood!
</p>

<p>
The circle increased, for now La Faloise was filling glasses, and Georges and
Philippe were picking up friends. A stealthy impulse was gradually bringing in
the whole field. Nana would fling everyone a laughing smile or an amusing
phrase. The groups of tipplers were drawing near, and all the champagne
scattered over the place was moving in her direction. Soon there was only one
noisy crowd, and that was round her landau, where she queened it among
outstretched glasses, her yellow hair floating on the breeze and her snowy face
bathed in the sunshine. Then by way of a finishing touch and to make the other
women, who were mad at her triumph, simply perish of envy, she lifted a
brimming glass on high and assumed her old pose as Venus Victrix.
</p>

<p>
But somebody touched her shoulder, and she was surprised, on turning round, to
see Mignon on the seat. She vanished from view an instant and sat herself down
beside him, for he had come to communicate a matter of importance. Mignon had
everywhere declared that it was ridiculous of his wife to bear Nana a grudge;
he thought her attitude stupid and useless.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Look here, my dear,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;Be careful: don&rsquo;t
madden Rose too much. You understand, I think it best to warn you. Yes,
she&rsquo;s got a weapon in store, and as she&rsquo;s never forgiven you the
Petite Duchesse business&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;A weapon,&rdquo; said Nana; &ldquo;what&rsquo;s that blooming well got
to do with me?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Just listen: it&rsquo;s a letter she must have found in Fauchery&rsquo;s
pocket, a letter written to that screw Fauchery by the Countess Muffat. And, by
Jove, it&rsquo;s clear the whole story&rsquo;s in it. Well then, Rose wants to
send the letter to the count so as to be revenged on him and on you.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What the deuce has that got to do with me?&rdquo; Nana repeated.
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a funny business. So the whole story about Fauchery&rsquo;s
in it! Very well, so much the better; the woman has been exasperating me! We
shall have a good laugh!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, I don&rsquo;t wish it,&rdquo; Mignon briskly rejoined.
&ldquo;There&rsquo;ll be a pretty scandal! Besides, we&rsquo;ve got nothing to
gain.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He paused, fearing lest he should say too much, while she loudly averred that
she was most certainly not going to get a chaste woman into trouble.
</p>

<p>
But when he still insisted on his refusal she looked steadily at him. Doubtless
he was afraid of seeing Fauchery again introduced into his family in case he
broke with the countess. While avenging her own wrongs, Rose was anxious for
that to happen, since she still felt a kindness toward the journalist. And Nana
waxed meditative and thought of M. Venot&rsquo;s call, and a plan began to take
shape in her brain, while Mignon was doing his best to talk her over.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s suppose that Rose sends the letter, eh? There&rsquo;s food
for scandal: you&rsquo;re mixed up in the business, and people say you&rsquo;re
the cause of it all. Then to begin with, the count separates from his
wife.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why should he?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;On the contrary&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She broke off, in her turn. There was no need for her to think aloud. So in
order to be rid of Mignon she looked as though she entered into his view of the
case, and when he advised her to give Rose some proof of her
submission&mdash;to pay her a short visit on the racecourse, for instance,
where everybody would see her&mdash;she replied that she would see about it,
that she would think the matter over.
</p>

<p>
A commotion caused her to stand up again. On the course the horses were coming
in amid a sudden blast of wind. The prize given by the city of Paris had just
been run for, and Cornemuse had gained it. Now the Grand Prix was about to be
run, and the fever of the crowd increased, and they were tortured by anxiety
and stamped and swayed as though they wanted to make the minutes fly faster. At
this ultimate moment the betting world was surprised and startled by the
continued shortening of the odds against Nana, the outsider of the Vandeuvres
stables. Gentlemen kept returning every few moments with a new quotation: the
betting was thirty to one against Nana; it was twenty-five to one against Nana,
then twenty to one, then fifteen to one. No one could understand it. A filly
beaten on all the racecourses! A filly which that same morning no single
sportsman would take at fifty to one against! What did this sudden madness
betoken? Some laughed at it and spoke of the pretty doing awaiting the duffers
who were being taken in by the joke. Others looked serious and uneasy and
sniffed out something ugly under it all. Perhaps there was a &ldquo;deal&rdquo;
in the offing. Allusion was made to well-known stories about the robberies
which are winked at on racecourses, but on this occasion the great name of
Vandeuvres put a stop to all such accusations, and the skeptics in the end
prevailed when they prophesied that Nana would come in last of all.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s riding Nana?&rdquo; queried La Faloise.
</p>

<p>
Just then the real Nana reappeared, whereat the gentlemen lent his question an
indecent meaning and burst into an uproarious fit of laughter. Nana bowed.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Price is up,&rdquo; she replied.
</p>

<p>
And with that the discussion began again. Price was an English celebrity. Why
had Vandeuvres got this jockey to come over, seeing that Gresham ordinarily
rode Nana? Besides, they were astonished to see him confiding Lusignan to this
man Gresham, who, according to La Faloise, never got a place. But all these
remarks were swallowed up in jokes, contradictions and an extraordinarily noisy
confusion of opinions. In order to kill time the company once more set
themselves to drain bottles of champagne. Presently a whisper ran round, and
the different groups opened outward. It was Vandeuvres. Nana affected vexation.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dear me, you&rsquo;re a nice fellow to come at this time of day! Why,
I&rsquo;m burning to see the enclosure.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, come along then,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;there&rsquo;s still time.
You&rsquo;ll take a stroll round with me. I just happen to have a permit for a
lady about me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And he led her off on his arm while she enjoyed the jealous glances with which
Lucy, Caroline and the others followed her. The young Hugons and La Faloise
remained in the landau behind her retreating figure and continued to do the
honors of her champagne. She shouted to them that she would return immediately.
</p>

<p>
But Vandeuvres caught sight of Labordette and called him, and there was an
interchange of brief sentences.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve scraped everything up?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;To what amount?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Fifteen hundred louis&mdash;pretty well all over the place.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
As Nana was visibly listening, and that with much curiosity, they held their
tongues. Vandeuvres was very nervous, and he had those same clear eyes, shot
with little flames, which so frightened her the night he spoke of burning
himself and his horses together. As they crossed over the course she spoke low
and familiarly.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I say, do explain this to me. Why are the odds on your filly
changing?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He trembled, and this sentence escaped him:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, they&rsquo;re talking, are they? What a set those betting men are!
When I&rsquo;ve got the favorite they all throw themselves upon him, and
there&rsquo;s no chance for me. After that, when an outsider&rsquo;s asked for,
they give tongue and yell as though they were being skinned.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You ought to tell me what&rsquo;s going to happen&mdash;I&rsquo;ve made
my bets,&rdquo; she rejoined. &ldquo;Has Nana a chance?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
A sudden, unreasonable burst of anger overpowered him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you deuced well let me be, eh? Every horse has a chance. The
odds are shortening because, by Jove, people have taken the horse. Who, I
don&rsquo;t know. I should prefer leaving you if you must needs badger me with
your idiotic questions.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Such a tone was not germane either to his temperament or his habits, and Nana
was rather surprised than wounded. Besides, he was ashamed of himself directly
afterward, and when she begged him in a dry voice to behave politely he
apologized. For some time past he had suffered from such sudden changes of
temper. No one in the Paris of pleasure or of society was ignorant of the fact
that he was playing his last trump card today. If his horses did not win, if,
moreover, they lost him the considerable sums wagered upon them, it would mean
utter disaster and collapse for him, and the bulwark of his credit and the
lofty appearance which, though undermined, he still kept up, would come ruining
noisily down. Moreover, no one was ignorant of the fact that Nana was the
devouring siren who had finished him off, who had been the last to attack his
crumbling fortunes and to sweep up what remained of them. Stories were told of
wild whims and fancies, of gold scattered to the four winds, of a visit to
Baden-Baden, where she had not left him enough to pay the hotel bill, of a
handful of diamonds cast on the fire during an evening of drunkenness in order
to see whether they would burn like coal. Little by little her great limbs and
her coarse, plebeian way of laughing had gained complete mastery over this
elegant, degenerate son of an ancient race. At that time he was risking his
all, for he had been so utterly overpowered by his taste for ordure and
stupidity as to have even lost the vigor of his skepticism. A week before Nana
had made him promise her a château on the Norman coast between Havre and
Trouville, and now he was staking the very foundations of his honor on the
fulfillment of his word. Only she was getting on his nerves, and he could have
beaten her, so stupid did he feel her to be.
</p>

<p>
The man at the gate, not daring to stop the woman hanging on the count&rsquo;s
arm, had allowed them to enter the enclosure. Nana, greatly puffed up at the
thought that at last she was setting foot on the forbidden ground, put on her
best behavior and walked slowly by the ladies seated at the foot of the stands.
On ten rows of chairs the toilets were densely massed, and in the blithe open
air their bright colors mingled harmoniously. Chairs were scattered about, and
as people met one another friendly circles were formed, just as though the
company had been sitting under the trees in a public garden. Children had been
allowed to go free and were running from group to group, while over head the
stands rose tier above crowded tier and the light-colored dresses therein faded
into the delicate shadows of the timberwork. Nana stared at all these ladies.
She stared steadily and markedly at the Countess Sabine. After which, as she
was passing in front of the imperial stand, the sight of Muffat, looming in all
his official stiffness by the side of the empress, made her very merry.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, how silly he looks!&rdquo; she said at the top of her voice to
Vandeuvres. She was anxious to pay everything a visit. This small parklike
region, with its green lawns and groups of trees, rather charmed her than
otherwise. A vendor of ices had set up a large buffet near the entrance gates,
and beneath a rustic thatched roof a dense throng of people were shouting and
gesticulating. This was the ring. Close by were some empty stalls, and Nana was
disappointed at discovering only a gendarme&rsquo;s horse there. Then there was
the paddock, a small course some hundred meters in circumference, where a
stable help was walking about Valerio II in his horsecloths. And, oh, what a
lot of men on the graveled sidewalks, all of them with their tickets forming an
orange-colored patch in their bottonholes! And what a continual parade of
people in the open galleries of the grandstands! The scene interested her for a
moment or two, but truly, it was not worth while getting the spleen because
they didn&rsquo;t admit you inside here.
</p>

<p>
Daguenet and Fauchery passed by and bowed to her. She made them a sign, and
they had to come up. Thereupon she made hay of the weighing-in enclosure. But
she broke off abruptly:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dear me, there&rsquo;s the Marquis de Chouard! How old he&rsquo;s
growing! That old man&rsquo;s killing himself! Is he still as mad about it as
ever?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Thereupon Daguenet described the old man&rsquo;s last brilliant stroke. The
story dated from the day before yesterday, and no one knew it as yet. After
dangling about for months he had bought her daughter Amelie from Gaga for
thirty thousand francs, they said.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Good gracious! That&rsquo;s a nice business!&rdquo; cried Nana in
disgust. &ldquo;Go in for the regular thing, please! But now that I come to
think of it, that must be Lili down there on the grass with a lady in a
brougham. I recognized the face. The old boy will have brought her out.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Vandeuvres was not listening; he was impatient and longed to get rid of her.
But Fauchery having remarked at parting that if she had not seen the bookmakers
she had seen nothing, the count was obliged to take her to them in spite of his
obvious repugnance. And she was perfectly happy at once; that truly was a
curious sight, she said!
</p>

<p>
Amid lawns bordered by young horse-chestnut trees there was a round open
enclosure, where, forming a vast circle under the shadow of the tender green
leaves, a dense line of bookmakers was waiting for betting men, as though they
had been hucksters at a fair. In order to overtop and command the surrounding
crowd they had taken up positions on wooden benches, and they were advertising
their prices on the trees beside them. They had an ever-vigilant glance, and
they booked wagers in answer to a single sign, a mere wink, so rapidly that
certain curious onlookers watched them openmouthed, without being able to
understand it all. Confusion reigned; prices were shouted, and any unexpected
change in a quotation was received with something like tumult. Occasionally
scouts entered the place at a run and redoubled the uproar as they stopped at
the entrance to the rotunda and, at the tops of their voices, announced
departures and arrivals. In this place, where the gambling fever was pulsing in
the sunshine, such announcements were sure to raise a prolonged muttering
sound.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;They ARE funny!&rdquo; murmured Nana, greatly entertained.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Their features look as if they had been put on the wrong way. Just you
see that big fellow there; I shouldn&rsquo;t care to meet him all alone in the
middle of a wood.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But Vandeuvres pointed her out a bookmaker, once a shopman in a fancy
repository, who had made three million francs in two years. He was slight of
build, delicate and fair, and people all round him treated him with great
respect. They smiled when they addressed him, while others took up positions
close by in order to catch a glimpse of him.
</p>

<p>
They were at length leaving the ring when Vandeuvres nodded slightly to another
bookmaker, who thereupon ventured to call him. It was one of his former
coachmen, an enormous fellow with the shoulders of an ox and a high color. Now
that he was trying his fortunes at race meetings on the strength of some
mysteriously obtained capital, the count was doing his utmost to push him,
confiding to him his secret bets and treating him on all occasions as a servant
to whom one shows one&rsquo;s true character. Yet despite this protection, the
man had in rapid succession lost very heavy sums, and today he, too, was
playing his last card. There was blood in his eyes; he looked fit to drop with
apoplexy.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, Marechal,&rdquo; queried the count in the lowest of voices,
&ldquo;to what amount have you laid odds?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;To five thousand louis, Monsieur le Comte,&rdquo; replied the bookmaker,
likewise lowering his voice. &ldquo;A pretty job, eh? I&rsquo;ll confess to you
that I&rsquo;ve increased the odds; I&rsquo;ve made it three to one.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Vandeuvres looked very much put out.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, no, I don&rsquo;t want you to do that. Put it at two to one again
directly. I shan&rsquo;t tell you any more, Marechal.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, how can it hurt, Monsieur le Comte, at this time o&rsquo;
day?&rdquo; rejoined the other with the humble smile befitting an accomplice.
&ldquo;I had to attract the people so as to lay your two thousand louis.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At this Vandeuvres silenced him. But as he was going off Marechal remembered
something and was sorry he had not questioned him about the shortening of the
odds on the filly. It would be a nice business for him if the filly stood a
chance, seeing that he had just laid fifty to one about her in two hundreds.
</p>

<p>
Nana, though she did not understand a word of what the count was whispering,
dared not, however, ask for new explanations. He seemed more nervous than
before and abruptly handed her over to Labordette, whom they came upon in front
of the weighing-in room.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll take her back,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve got
something on hand. Au revoir!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And he entered the room, which was narrow and low-pitched and half filled with
a great pair of scales. It was like a waiting room in a suburban station, and
Nana was again hugely disillusioned, for she had been picturing to herself
something on a very vast scale, a monumental machine, in fact, for weighing
horses. Dear me, they only weighed the jockeys! Then it wasn&rsquo;t worth
while making such a fuss with their weighing! In the scale a jockey with an
idiotic expression was waiting, harness on knee, till a stout man in a frock
coat should have done verifying his weight. At the door a stable help was
holding a horse, Cosinus, round which a silent and deeply interested throng was
clustering.
</p>

<p>
The course was about to be cleared. Labordette hurried Nana but retraced his
steps in order to show her a little man talking with Vandeuvres at some
distance from the rest.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dear me, there&rsquo;s Price!&rdquo; he said.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah yes, the man who&rsquo;s mounting me,&rdquo; she murmured laughingly.
</p>

<p>
And she declared him to be exquisitely ugly. All jockeys struck her as looking
idiotic, doubtless, she said, because they were prevented from growing bigger.
This particular jockey was a man of forty, and with his long, thin, deeply
furrowed, hard, dead countenance, he looked like an old shriveled-up child. His
body was knotty and so reduced in size that his blue jacket with its white
sleeves looked as if it had been thrown over a lay figure.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No,&rdquo; she resumed as she walked away, &ldquo;he would never make me
very happy, you know.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
A mob of people were still crowding the course, the turf of which had been wet
and trampled on till it had grown black. In front of the two telegraphs, which
hung very high up on their cast-iron pillars, the crowd were jostling together
with upturned faces, uproariously greeting the numbers of the different horses
as an electric wire in connection with the weighing room made them appear.
Gentlemen were pointing at programs: Pichenette had been scratched by his
owner, and this caused some noise. However, Nana did not do more than cross
over the course on Labordette&rsquo;s arm. The bell hanging on the flagstaff
was ringing persistently to warn people to leave the course.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, my little dears,&rdquo; she said as she got up into her landau
again, &ldquo;their enclosure&rsquo;s all humbug!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She was welcomed with acclamation; people around her clapped their hands.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Bravo, Nana! Nana&rsquo;s ours again!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
What idiots they were, to be sure! Did they think she was the sort to cut old
friends? She had come back just at the auspicious moment. Now then,
&rsquo;tenshun! The race was beginning! And the champagne was accordingly
forgotten, and everyone left off drinking.
</p>

<p>
But Nana was astonished to find Gaga in her carriage, sitting with Bijou and
Louiset on her knees. Gaga had indeed decided on this course of action in order
to be near La Faloise, but she told Nana that she had been anxious to kiss
Baby. She adored children.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By the by, what about Lili?&rdquo; asked Nana. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s
certainly she over there in that old fellow&rsquo;s brougham. They&rsquo;ve
just told me something very nice!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Gaga had adopted a lachrymose expression.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My dear, it&rsquo;s made me ill,&rdquo; she said dolorously.
&ldquo;Yesterday I had to keep my bed, I cried so, and today I didn&rsquo;t
think I should be able to come. You know what my opinions were, don&rsquo;t
you? I didn&rsquo;t desire that kind of thing at all. I had her educated in a
convent with a view to a good marriage. And then to think of the strict advice
she had and the constant watching! Well, my dear, it was she who wished it. We
had such a scene&mdash;tears&mdash;disagreeable speeches! It even got to such a
point that I caught her a box on the ear. She was too much bored by existence,
she said; she wanted to get out of it. By and by, when she began to say,
&lsquo;&rsquo;Tisn&rsquo;t you, after all, who&rsquo;ve got the right to
prevent me,&rsquo; I said to her: &lsquo;you&rsquo;re a miserable wretch;
you&rsquo;re bringing dishonor upon us. Begone!&rsquo; And it was done. I
consented to arrange about it. But my last hope&rsquo;s blooming well blasted,
and, oh, I used to dream about such nice things!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The noise of a quarrel caused them to rise. It was Georges in the act of
defending Vandeuvres against certain vague rumors which were circulating among
the various groups.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why should you say that he&rsquo;s laying off his own horse?&rdquo; the
young man was exclaiming. &ldquo;Yesterday in the Salon des Courses he took the
odds on Lusignan for a thousand louis.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, I was there,&rdquo; said Philippe in affirmation of this.
&ldquo;And he didn&rsquo;t put a single louis on Nana. If the betting&rsquo;s
ten to one against Nana he&rsquo;s got nothing to win there. It&rsquo;s absurd
to imagine people are so calculating. Where would his interest come in?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Labordette was listening with a quiet expression. Shrugging his shoulders, he
said:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, leave them alone; they must have their say. The count has again laid
at least as much as five hundred louis on Lusignan, and if he&rsquo;s wanted
Nana to run to a hundred louis it&rsquo;s because an owner ought always to look
as if he believes in his horses.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, bosh! What the deuce does that matter to us?&rdquo; shouted La
Faloise with a wave of his arms. &ldquo;Spirit&rsquo;s going to win! Down with
France&mdash;bravo, England!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
A long shiver ran through the crowd, while a fresh peal from the bell announced
the arrival of the horses upon the racecourse. At this Nana got up and stood on
one of the seats of her carriage so as to obtain a better view, and in so doing
she trampled the bouquets of roses and myosotis underfoot. With a sweeping
glance she took in the wide, vast horizon. At this last feverish moment the
course was empty and closed by gray barriers, between the posts of which stood
a line of policemen. The strip of grass which lay muddy in front of her grew
brighter as it stretched away and turned into a tender green carpet in the
distance. In the middle landscape, as she lowered her eyes, she saw the field
swarming with vast numbers of people, some on tiptoe, others perched on
carriages, and all heaving and jostling in sudden passionate excitement.
</p>

<p>
Horses were neighing; tent canvases flapped, while equestrians urged their
hacks forward amid a crowd of pedestrians rushing to get places along the
barriers. When Nana turned in the direction of the stands on the other side the
faces seemed diminished, and the dense masses of heads were only a confused and
motley array, filling gangways, steps and terraces and looming in deep, dark,
serried lines against the sky. And beyond these again she over looked the plain
surrounding the course. Behind the ivy-clad mill to the right, meadows, dotted
over with great patches of umbrageous wood, stretched away into the distance,
while opposite to her, as far as the Seine flowing at the foot of a hill, the
avenues of the park intersected one another, filled at that moment with long,
motionless files of waiting carriages; and in the direction of Boulogne, on the
left, the landscape widened anew and opened out toward the blue distances of
Meudon through an avenue of paulownias, whose rosy, leafless tops were one
stain of brilliant lake color. People were still arriving, and a long
procession of human ants kept coming along the narrow ribbon of road which
crossed the distance, while very far away, on the Paris side, the nonpaying
public, herding like sheep among the wood, loomed in a moving line of little
dark spots under the trees on the skirts of the Bois.
</p>

<p>
Suddenly a cheering influence warmed the hundred thousand souls who covered
this part of the plain like insects swarming madly under the vast expanse of
heaven. The sun, which had been hidden for about a quarter of an hour, made his
appearance again and shone out amid a perfect sea of light. And everything
flamed afresh: the women&rsquo;s sunshades turned into countless golden targets
above the heads of the crowd. The sun was applauded, saluted with bursts of
laughter. And people stretched their arms out as though to brush apart the
clouds.
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile a solitary police officer advanced down the middle of the deserted
racecourse, while higher up, on the left, a man appeared with a red flag in his
hand.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the starter, the Baron de Mauriac,&rdquo; said Labordette in
reply to a question from Nana. All round the young woman exclamations were
bursting from the men who were pressing to her very carriage step. They kept up
a disconnected conversation, jerking out phrases under the immediate influence
of passing impressions. Indeed, Philippe and Georges, Bordenave and La Faloise,
could not be quiet.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t shove! Let me see! Ah, the judge is getting into his box.
D&rsquo;you say it&rsquo;s Monsieur de Souvigny? You must have good
eyesight&mdash;eh?&mdash;to be able to tell what half a head is out of a
fakement like that! Do hold your tongue&mdash;the banner&rsquo;s going up. Here
they are&mdash;&rsquo;tenshun! Cosinus is the first!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
A red and yellow banner was flapping in mid-air at the top of a mast. The
horses came on the course one by one; they were led by stableboys, and the
jockeys were sitting idle-handed in the saddles, the sunlight making them look
like bright dabs of color. After Cosinus appeared Hazard and Boum. Presently a
murmur of approval greeted Spirit, a magnificent big brown bay, the harsh
citron color and black of whose jockey were cheerlessly Britannic. Valerio II
scored a success as he came in; he was small and very lively, and his colors
were soft green bordered with pink. The two Vandeuvres horses were slow to make
their appearance, but at last, in Frangipane&rsquo;s rear, the blue and white
showed themselves. But Lusignan, a very dark bay of irreproachable shape, was
almost forgotten amid the astonishment caused by Nana. People had not seen her
looking like this before, for now the sudden sunlight was dyeing the chestnut
filly the brilliant color of a girl&rsquo;s red-gold hair. She was shining in
the light like a new gold coin; her chest was deep; her head and neck tapered
lightly from the delicate, high-strung line of her long back.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Gracious, she&rsquo;s got my hair!&rdquo; cried Nana in an ecstasy.
&ldquo;You bet you know I&rsquo;m proud of it!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The men clambered up on the landau, and Bordenave narrowly escaped putting his
foot on Louiset, whom his mother had forgotten. He took him up with an outburst
of paternal grumbling and hoisted him on his shoulder, muttering at the same
time:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The poor little brat, he must be in it too! Wait a bit, I&rsquo;ll show
you Mamma. Eh? Look at Mummy out there.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And as Bijou was scratching his legs, he took charge of him, too, while Nana,
rejoicing in the brute that bore her name, glanced round at the other women to
see how they took it. They were all raging madly. Just then on the summit of
her cab the Tricon, who had not moved till that moment, began waving her hand
and giving her bookmaker her orders above the heads of the crowd. Her instinct
had at last prompted her; she was backing Nana.
</p>

<p>
La Faloise meanwhile was making an insufferable noise. He was getting wild over
Frangipane.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve an inspiration,&rdquo; he kept shouting. &ldquo;Just look at
Frangipane. What an action, eh? I back Frangipane at eight to one. Who&rsquo;ll
take me?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do keep quiet now,&rdquo; said Labordette at last. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll
be sorry for it if you do.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Frangipane&rsquo;s a screw,&rdquo; Philippe declared. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s
been utterly blown upon already. You&rsquo;ll see the canter.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The horses had gone up to the right, and they now started for the preliminary
canter, passing in loose order before the stands. Thereupon there was a
passionate fresh burst of talk, and people all spoke at once.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Lusignan&rsquo;s too long in the back, but he&rsquo;s very fit. Not a
cent, I tell you, on Valerio II; he&rsquo;s nervous&mdash;gallops with his head
up&mdash;it&rsquo;s a bad sign. Jove! Burne&rsquo;s riding Spirit. I tell you,
he&rsquo;s got no shoulders. A well-made shoulder&mdash;that&rsquo;s the whole
secret. No, decidedly, Spirit&rsquo;s too quiet. Now listen, Nana, I saw her
after the Grande Poule des Produits, and she was dripping and draggled, and her
sides were trembling like one o&rsquo;clock. I lay twenty louis she isn&rsquo;t
placed! Oh, shut up! He&rsquo;s boring us with his Frangipane. There&rsquo;s no
time to make a bet now; there, they&rsquo;re off!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Almost in tears, La Faloise was struggling to find a bookmaker. He had to be
reasoned with. Everyone craned forward, but the first go-off was bad, the
starter, who looked in the distance like a slim dash of blackness, not having
lowered his flag. The horses came back to their places after galloping a moment
or two. There were two more false starts. At length the starter got the horses
together and sent them away with such address as to elicit shouts of applause.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Splendid! No, it was mere chance! Never mind&mdash;it&rsquo;s done
it!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The outcries were smothered by the anxiety which tortured every breast. The
betting stopped now, and the game was being played on the vast course itself.
Silence reigned at the outset, as though everyone were holding his breath.
White faces and trembling forms were stretched forward in all directions. At
first Hazard and Cosinus made the running at the head of the rest; Valerio II
followed close by, and the field came on in a confused mass behind. When they
passed in front of the stands, thundering over the ground in their course like
a sudden stormwind, the mass was already some fourteen lengths in extent.
Frangipane was last, and Nana was slightly behind Lusignan and Spirit.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Egad!&rdquo; muttered Labordette, &ldquo;how the Englishman is pulling
it off out there!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The whole carriageload again burst out with phrases and exclamations. Everyone
rose on tiptoe and followed the bright splashes of color which were the jockeys
as they rushed through the sunlight.
</p>

<p>
At the rise Valerio II took the lead, while Cosinus and Hazard lost ground, and
Lusignan and Spirit were running neck and neck with Nana still behind them.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By jingo, the Englishman&rsquo;s gained! It&rsquo;s palpable!&rdquo;
said Bordenave. &ldquo;Lusignan&rsquo;s in difficulties, and Valerio II
can&rsquo;t stay.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, it will be a pretty biz if the Englishman wins!&rdquo; cried
Philippe in an access of patriotic grief.
</p>

<p>
A feeling of anguish was beginning to choke all that crowded multitude. Another
defeat! And with that a strange ardent prayer, which was almost religious, went
up for Lusignan, while people heaped abuse on Spirit and his dismal mute of a
jockey. Among the crowd scattered over the grass the wind of excitement put up
whole groups of people and set their boot soles flashing in air as they ran.
Horsemen crossed the green at a furious gallop. And Nana, who was slowly
revolving on her own axis, saw beneath her a surging waste of beasts and men, a
sea of heads swayed and stirred all round the course by the whirlwind of the
race, which clove the horizon with the bright lightning flash of the jockeys.
She had been following their movement from behind while the cruppers sped away
and the legs seemed to grow longer as they raced and then diminished till they
looked slender as strands of hair. Now the horses were running at the end of
the course, and she caught a side view of them looking minute and delicate of
outline against the green distances of the Bois. Then suddenly they vanished
behind a great clump of trees growing in the middle of the Hippodrome.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t talk about it!&rdquo; cried Georges, who was still full of
hope. &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t over yet. The Englishman&rsquo;s touched.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But La Faloise was again seized with contempt for his country and grew
positively outrageous in his applause of Spirit. Bravo! That was right! France
needed it! Spirit first and Frangipane second&mdash;that would be a nasty one
for his native land! He exasperated Labordette, who threatened seriously to
throw him off the carriage.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s see how many minutes they&rsquo;ll be about it,&rdquo; said
Bordenave peaceably, for though holding up Louiset, he had taken out his watch.
</p>

<p>
One after the other the horses reappeared from behind the clump of trees. There
was stupefaction; a long murmur arose among the crowd. Valerio II was still
leading, but Spirit was gaining on him, and behind him Lusignan had slackened
while another horse was taking his place. People could not make this out all at
once; they were confused about the colors. Then there was a burst of
exclamations.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;But it&rsquo;s Nana! Nana? Get along! I tell you Lusignan hasn&rsquo;t
budged. Dear me, yes, it&rsquo;s Nana. You can certainly recognize her by her
golden color. D&rsquo;you see her now? She&rsquo;s blazing away. Bravo, Nana!
What a ripper she is! Bah, it doesn&rsquo;t matter a bit: she&rsquo;s making
the running for Lusignan!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
For some seconds this was everybody&rsquo;s opinion. But little by little the
filly kept gaining and gaining, spurting hard all the while. Thereupon a vast
wave of feeling passed over the crowd, and the tail of horses in the rear
ceased to interest. A supreme struggle was beginning between Spirit, Nana,
Lusignan and Valerio II. They were pointed out; people estimated what ground
they had gained or lost in disconnected, gasping phrases. And Nana, who had
mounted up on the coach box, as though some power had lifted her thither, stood
white and trembling and so deeply moved as not to be able to speak. At her side
Labordette smiled as of old.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The Englishman&rsquo;s in trouble, eh?&rdquo; said Philippe joyously.
&ldquo;He&rsquo;s going badly.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;In any case, it&rsquo;s all up with Lusignan,&rdquo; shouted La Faloise.
&ldquo;Valerio II is coming forward. Look, there they are all four
together.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The same phrase was in every mouth.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What a rush, my dears! By God, what a rush!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The squad of horses was now passing in front of them like a flash of lightning.
Their approach was perceptible&mdash;the breath of it was as a distant
muttering which increased at every second. The whole crowd had thrown
themselves impetuously against the barriers, and a deep clamor issued from
innumerable chests before the advance of the horses and drew nearer and nearer
like the sound of a foaming tide. It was the last fierce outburst of colossal
partisanship; a hundred thousand spectators were possessed by a single passion,
burning with the same gambler&rsquo;s lust, as they gazed after the beasts,
whose galloping feet were sweeping millions with them. The crowd pushed and
crushed&mdash;fists were clenched; people gaped, openmouthed; every man was
fighting for himself; every man with voice and gesture was madly speeding the
horse of his choice. And the cry of all this multitude, a wild beast&rsquo;s
cry despite the garb of civilization, grew ever more distinct:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Here they come! Here they come! Here they come!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But Nana was still gaining ground, and now Valerio II was distanced, and she
was heading the race, with Spirit two or three necks behind. The rolling
thunder of voices had increased. They were coming in; a storm of oaths greeted
them from the landau.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Gee up, Lusignan, you great coward! The Englishman&rsquo;s stunning! Do
it again, old boy; do it again! Oh, that Valerio! It&rsquo;s sickening! Oh, the
carcass! My ten louis damned well lost! Nana&rsquo;s the only one! Bravo, Nana!
Bravo!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And without being aware of it Nana, upon her seat, had begun jerking her hips
and waist as though she were racing herself. She kept striking her
side&mdash;she fancied it was a help to the filly. With each stroke she sighed
with fatigue and said in low, anguished tones:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Go it, go it!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then a splendid sight was witnessed. Price, rising in his stirrups and
brandishing his whip, flogged Nana with an arm of iron. The old shriveled-up
child with his long, hard, dead face seemed to breath flame. And in a fit of
furious audacity and triumphant will he put his heart into the filly, held her
up, lifted her forward, drenched in foam, with eyes of blood. The whole rush of
horses passed with a roar of thunder: it took away people&rsquo;s breaths; it
swept the air with it while the judge sat frigidly waiting, his eye adjusted to
its task. Then there was an immense re-echoing burst of acclamation. With a
supreme effort Price had just flung Nana past the post, thus beating Spirit by
a head.
</p>

<p>
There was an uproar as of a rising tide. &ldquo;Nana! Nana! Nana!&rdquo; The
cry rolled up and swelled with the violence of a tempest, till little by little
it filled the distance, the depths of the Bois as far as Mont Valerien, the
meadows of Longchamps and the Plaine de Boulogne. In all parts of the field the
wildest enthusiasm declared itself. &ldquo;Vive Nana! Vive la France! Down with
England!&rdquo; The women waved their sunshades; men leaped and spun round,
vociferating as they did so, while others with shouts of nervous laughter threw
their hats in the air. And from the other side of the course the enclosure made
answer; the people on the stands were stirred, though nothing was distinctly
visible save a tremulous motion of the air, as though an invisible flame were
burning in a brazier above the living mass of gesticulating arms and little
wildly moving faces, where the eyes and gaping mouths looked like black dots.
The noise did not cease but swelled up and recommenced in the recesses of
faraway avenues and among the people encamped under the trees, till it spread
on and on and attained its climax in the imperial stand, where the empress
herself had applauded. &ldquo;Nana! Nana! Nana!&rdquo; The cry rose heavenward
in the glorious sunlight, whose golden rain beat fiercely on the dizzy heads of
the multitude.
</p>

<p>
Then Nana, looming large on the seat of her landau, fancied that it was she
whom they were applauding. For a moment or two she had stood devoid of motion,
stupefied by her triumph, gazing at the course as it was invaded by so dense a
flood of people that the turf became invisible beneath the sea of black hats.
By and by, when this crowd had become somewhat less disorderly and a lane had
been formed as far as the exit and Nana was again applauded as she went off
with Price hanging lifelessly and vacantly over her neck, she smacked her thigh
energetically, lost all self-possession, triumphed in crude phrases:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, by God, it&rsquo;s me; it&rsquo;s me. Oh, by God, what luck!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And, scarce knowing how to give expression to her overwhelming joy, she hugged
and kissed Louiset, whom she now discovered high in the air on
Bordenave&rsquo;s shoulder.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Three minutes and fourteen seconds,&rdquo; said the latter as he put his
watch back in his pocket.
</p>

<p>
Nana kept hearing her name; the whole plain was echoing it back to her. Her
people were applauding her while she towered above them in the sunlight, in the
splendor of her starry hair and white-and-sky-blue dress. Labordette, as he
made off, had just announced to her a gain of two thousand louis, for he had
put her fifty on Nana at forty to one. But the money stirred her less than this
unforeseen victory, the fame of which made her queen of Paris. All the other
ladies were losers. With a raging movement Rose Mignon had snapped her
sunshade, and Caroline Hequet and Clarisse and Simonne&mdash;nay, Lucy Stewart
herself, despite the presence of her son&mdash;were swearing low in their
exasperation at that great wench&rsquo;s luck, while the Tricon, who had made
the sign of the cross at both start and finish, straightened up her tall form
above them, went into an ecstasy over her intuition and damned Nana admiringly
as became an experienced matron.
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile round the landau the crush of men increased. The band of Nana&rsquo;s
immediate followers had made a fierce uproar, and now Georges, choking with
emotion, continued shouting all by himself in breaking tones. As the champagne
had given out, Philippe, taking the footmen with him, had run to the wine bars.
Nana&rsquo;s court was growing and growing, and her present triumph caused many
loiterers to join her. Indeed, that movement which had made her carriage a
center of attraction to the whole field was now ending in an apotheosis, and
Queen Venus was enthroned amid suddenly maddened subjects. Bordenave, behind
her, was muttering oaths, for he yearned to her as a father. Steiner himself
had been reconquered&mdash;he had deserted Simonne and had hoisted himself upon
one of Nana&rsquo;s carriage steps. When the champagne had arrived, when she
lifted her brimming glass, such applause burst forth, and &ldquo;Nana! Nana!
Nana!&rdquo; was so loudly repeated that the crowd looked round in astonishment
for the filly, nor could any tell whether it was the horse or the woman that
filled all hearts.
</p>

<p>
While this was going on Mignon came hastening up in defiance of Rose&rsquo;s
terrible frown. That confounded girl simply maddened him, and he wanted to kiss
her. Then after imprinting a paternal salute on both her cheeks:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What bothers me,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;is that now Rose is certainly
going to send the letter. She&rsquo;s raging, too, fearfully.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;So much the better! It&rsquo;ll do my business for me!&rdquo; Nana let
slip.
</p>

<p>
But noting his utter astonishment, she hastily continued:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, no, what am I saying? Indeed, I don&rsquo;t rightly know what
I&rsquo;m saying now! I&rsquo;m drunk.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And drunk, indeed, drunk with joy, drunk with sunshine, she still raised her
glass on high and applauded herself.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;To Nana! To Nana!&rdquo; she cried amid a redoubled uproar of laughter
and bravoes, which little by little overspread the whole Hippodrome.
</p>

<p>
The races were ending, and the Prix Vaublanc was run for. Carriages began
driving off one by one. Meanwhile, amid much disputing, the name of Vandeuvres
was again mentioned. It was quite evident now: for two years past Vandeuvres
had been preparing his final stroke and had accordingly told Gresham to hold
Nana in, while he had only brought Lusignan forward in order to make play for
the filly. The losers were vexed; the winners shrugged their shoulders. After
all, wasn&rsquo;t the thing permissible? An owner was free to run his stud in
his own way. Many others had done as he had! In fact, the majority thought
Vandeuvres had displayed great skill in raking in all he could get about Nana
through the agency of friends, a course of action which explained the sudden
shortening of the odds. People spoke of his having laid two thousand louis on
the horse, which, supposing the odds to be thirty to one against, gave him
twelve hundred thousand francs, an amount so vast as to inspire respect and to
excuse everything.
</p>

<p>
But other rumors of a very serious nature were being whispered about: they
issued in the first instance from the enclosure, and the men who returned
thence were full of exact particulars. Voices were raised; an atrocious scandal
began to be openly canvassed. That poor fellow Vandeuvres was done for; he had
spoiled his splendid hit with a piece of flat stupidity, an idiotic robbery,
for he had commissioned Marechal, a shady bookmaker, to lay two thousand louis
on his account against Lusignan, in order thereby to get back his thousand and
odd openly wagered louis. It was a miserable business, and it proved to be the
last rift necessary to the utter breakup of his fortune. The bookmaker being
thus warned that the favorite would not win, had realized some sixty thousand
francs over the horse. Only Labordette, for lack of exact and detailed
instructions, had just then gone to him to put two hundred louis on Nana, which
the bookmaker, in his ignorance of the stroke actually intended, was still
quoting at fifty to one against. Cleared of one hundred thousand francs over
the filly and a loser to the tune of forty thousand, Marechal, who felt the
world crumbling under his feet, had suddenly divined the situation when he saw
the count and Labordette talking together in front of the enclosure just after
the race was over. Furious, as became an ex-coachman of the count&rsquo;s, and
brutally frank as only a cheated man can be, he had just made a frightful scene
in public, had told the whole story in atrocious terms and had thrown everyone
into angry excitement. It was further stated that the stewards were about to
meet.
</p>

<p>
Nana, whom Philippe and Georges were whisperingly putting in possession of the
facts, gave vent to a series of reflections and yet ceased not to laugh and
drink. After all, it was quite likely; she remembered such things, and then
that Marechal had a dirty, hangdog look. Nevertheless, she was still rather
doubtful when Labordette appeared. He was very white.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; she asked in a low voice.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Bloody well smashed up!&rdquo; he replied simply.
</p>

<p>
And he shrugged his shoulders. That Vandeuvres was a mere child! She made a
bored little gesture.
</p>

<p>
That evening at the Bal Mabille Nana obtained a colossal success. When toward
ten o&rsquo;clock she made her appearance, the uproar was afready formidable.
That classic night of madness had brought together all that was young and
pleasure loving, and now this smart world was wallowing in the coarseness and
imbecility of the servants&rsquo; hall. There was a fierce crush under the
festoons of gas lamps, and men in evening coats and women in outrageous
low-necked old toilets, which they did not mind soiling, were howling and
surging to and fro under the maddening influence of a vast drunken fit. At a
distance of thirty paces the brass instruments of the orchestra were inaudible.
Nobody was dancing. Stupid witticisms, repeated no one knew why, were going the
round of the various groups. People were straining after wit without succeeding
in being funny. Seven women, imprisoned in the cloakroom, were crying to be set
free. A shallot had been found, put up to auction and knocked down at two
louis. Just then Nana arrived, still wearing her blue-and-white racecourse
costume, and amid a thunder of applause the shallot was presented to her.
People caught hold of her in her own despite, and three gentlemen bore her
triumphantly into the garden, across ruined grassplots and ravaged masses of
greenery. As the bandstand presented an obstacle to her advance, it was taken
by storm, and chairs and music stands were smashed. A paternal police organized
the disorder.
</p>

<p>
It was only on Tuesday that Nana recovered from the excitements of victory.
That morning she was chatting with Mme Lerat, the old lady having come in to
bring her news of Louiset, whom the open air had upset. A long story, which was
occupying the attention of all Paris, interested her beyond measure.
Vandeuvres, after being warned off all racecourses and posted at the Cercle
Imperial on the very evening after the disaster, had set fire to his stable on
the morrow and had burned himself and his horses to death.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;He certainly told me he was going to,&rdquo; the young woman kept
saying. &ldquo;That man was a regular maniac! Oh, how they did frighten me when
they told me about it yesterday evening! You see, he might easily have murdered
me some fine night. And besides, oughtn&rsquo;t he to have given me a hint
about his horse? I should at any rate have made my fortune! He said to
Labordette that if I knew about the matter I would immediately inform my
hairdresser and a whole lot of other men. How polite, eh? Oh dear, no, I
certainly can&rsquo;t grieve much for him.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
After some reflection she had grown very angry. Just then Labordette came in;
he had seen about her bets and was now the bearer of some forty thousand
francs. This only added to her bad temper, for she ought to have gained a
million. Labordette, who during the whole of this episode had been pretending
entire innocence, abandoned Vandeuvres in decisive terms. Those old families,
he opined, were worn out and apt to make a stupid ending.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh dear no!&rdquo; said Nana. &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t stupid to burn
oneself in one&rsquo;s stable as he did. For my part, I think he made a dashing
finish; but, oh, you know, I&rsquo;m not defending that story about him and
Marechal. It&rsquo;s too silly. Just to think that Blanche has had the cheek to
want to lay the blame of it on me! I said to her: &lsquo;Did I tell him to
steal?&rsquo; Don&rsquo;t you think one can ask a man for money without urging
him to commit crime? If he had said to me, &lsquo;I&rsquo;ve got nothing
left,&rsquo; I should have said to him, &lsquo;All right, let&rsquo;s
part.&rsquo; And the matter wouldn&rsquo;t have gone further.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Just so,&rdquo; said the aunt gravely &ldquo;When men are obstinate
about a thing, so much the worse for them!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;But as to the merry little finish up, oh, that was awfully smart!&rdquo;
continued Nana. &ldquo;It appears to have been terrible enough to give you the
shudders! He sent everybody away and boxed himself up in the place with a lot
of petroleum. And it blazed! You should have seen it! Just think, a great big
affair, almost all made of wood and stuffed with hay and straw! The flames
simply towered up, and the finest part of the business was that the horses
didn&rsquo;t want to be roasted. They could be heard plunging, throwing
themselves against the doors, crying aloud just like human beings. Yes, people
haven&rsquo;t got rid of the horror of it yet.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Labordette let a low, incredulous whistle escape him. For his part, he did not
believe in the death of Vandeuvres. Somebody had sworn he had seen him escaping
through a window. He had set fire to his stable in a fit of aberration, but
when it had begun to grow too warm it must have sobered him. A man so besotted
about the women and so utterly worn out could not possibly die so pluckily.
</p>

<p>
Nana listened in her disillusionment and could only remark:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, the poor wretch, it was so beautiful!&rdquo;
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"></a> CHAPTER XII</h2>

<p>
Toward one in the morning, in the great bed of the Venice point draperies, Nana
and the count lay still awake. He had returned to her that evening after a
three days sulking fit. The room, which was dimly illumined by a lamp, seemed
to slumber amid a warm, damp odor of love, while the furniture, with its white
lacquer and silver incrustations, loomed vague and wan through the gloom. A
curtain had been drawn to, so that the bed lay flooded with shadow. A sigh
became audible; then a kiss broke the silence, and Nana, slipping off the
coverlet, sat for a moment or two, barelegged, on the edge of the bed. The
count let his head fall back on the pillow and remained in darkness.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dearest, you believe in the good God, don&rsquo;t you?&rdquo; she
queried after some moments&rsquo; reflection. Her face was serious; she had
been overcome by pious terrors on quitting her lover&rsquo;s arms.
</p>

<p>
Since morning, indeed, she had been complaining of feeling uncomfortable, and
all her stupid notions, as she phrased it, notions about death and hell, were
secretly torturing her. From time to time she had nights such as these, during
which childish fears and atrocious fancies would thrill her with waking
nightmares. She continued:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I say, d&rsquo;you think I shall go to heaven?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with that she shivered, while the count, in his surprise at her putting
such singular questions at such a moment, felt his old religious remorse
returning upon him. Then with her chemise slipping from her shoulders and her
hair unpinned, she again threw herself upon his breast, sobbing and clinging to
him as she did so.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid of dying! I&rsquo;m afraid of dying!&rdquo; He had all
the trouble in the world to disengage himself. Indeed, he was himself afraid of
giving in to the sudden madness of this woman clinging to his body in her dread
of the Invisible. Such dread is contagious, and he reasoned with her. Her
conduct was perfect&mdash;she had only to conduct herself well in order one day
to merit pardon. But she shook her head. Doubtless she was doing no one any
harm; nay, she was even in the constant habit of wearing a medal of the Virgin,
which she showed to him as it hung by a red thread between her breasts. Only it
had been foreordained that all unmarried women who held conversation with men
would go to hell. Scraps of her catechism recurred to her remembrance. Ah, if
one only knew for certain, but, alas, one was sure of nothing; nobody ever
brought back any information, and then, truly, it would be stupid to bother
oneself about things if the priests were talking foolishness all the time.
Nevertheless, she religiously kissed her medal, which was still warm from
contact with her skin, as though by way of charm against death, the idea of
which filled her with icy horror. Muffat was obliged to accompany her into the
dressing room, for she shook at the idea of being alone there for one moment,
even though she had left the door open. When he had lain down again she still
roamed about the room, visiting its several corners and starting and shivering
at the slightest noise. A mirror stopped her, and as of old she lapsed into
obvious contemplation of her nakedness. But the sight of her breast, her waist
and her thighs only doubled her terror, and she ended by feeling with both
hands very slowly over the bones of her face.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You&rsquo;re ugly when you&rsquo;re dead,&rdquo; she said in deliberate
tones.
</p>

<p>
And she pressed her cheeks, enlarging her eyes and pushing down her jaw, in
order to see how she would look. Thus disfigured, she turned toward the count.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do look! My head&rsquo;ll be quite small, it will!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At this he grew vexed.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You&rsquo;re mad; come to bed!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He fancied he saw her in a grave, emaciated by a century of sleep, and he
joined his hands and stammered a prayer. It was some time ago that the
religious sense had reconquered him, and now his daily access of faith had
again assumed the apoplectic intensity which was wont to leave him well-nigh
stunned. The joints of his fingers used to crack, and he would repeat without
cease these words only: &ldquo;My God, my God, my God!&rdquo; It was the cry of
his impotence, the cry of that sin against which, though his damnation was
certain, he felt powerless to strive. When Nana returned she found him hidden
beneath the bedclothes; he was haggard; he had dug his nails into his bosom,
and his eyes stared upward as though in search of heaven. And with that she
started to weep again. Then they both embraced, and their teeth chattered they
knew not why, as the same imbecile obsession over-mastered them. They had
already passed a similar night, but on this occasion the thing was utterly
idiotic, as Nana declared when she ceased to be frightened. She suspected
something, and this caused her to question the count in a prudent sort of way.
It might be that Rose Mignon had sent the famous letter! But that was not the
case; it was sheer fright, nothing more, for he was still ignorant whether he
was a cuckold or no.
</p>

<p>
Two days later, after a fresh disappearance, Muffat presented himself in the
morning, a time of day at which he never came. He was livid; his eyes were red
and his whole man still shaken by a great internal struggle. But Zoé, being
scared herself, did not notice his troubled state. She had run to meet him and
now began crying:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, monsieur, do come in! Madame nearly died yesterday evening!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And when he asked for particulars:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Something it&rsquo;s impossible to believe has happened&mdash;a
miscarriage, monsieur.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana had been in the family way for the past three months. For long she had
simply thought herself out of sorts, and Dr Boutarel had himself been in doubt.
But when afterward he made her a decisive announcement, she felt so bored
thereby that she did all she possibly could to disguise her condition. Her
nervous terrors, her dark humors, sprang to some extent from this unfortunate
state of things, the secret of which she kept very shamefacedly, as became a
courtesan mother who is obliged to conceal her plight. The thing struck her as
a ridiculous accident, which made her appear small in her own eyes and would,
had it been known, have led people to chaff her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;A poor joke, eh?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Bad luck, too,
certainly.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She was necessarily very sharp set when she thought her last hour had come.
There was no end to her surprise, too; her sexual economy seemed to her to have
got out of order; it produced children then even when one did not want them and
when one employed it for quite other purposes! Nature drove her to
exasperation; this appearance of serious motherhood in a career of pleasure,
this gift of life amid all the deaths she was spreading around, exasperated
her. Why could one not dispose of oneself as fancy dictated, without all this
fuss? And whence had this brat come? She could not even suggest a father. Ah,
dear heaven, the man who made him would have a splendid notion had he kept him
in his own hands, for nobody asked for him; he was in everybody&rsquo;s way,
and he would certainly not have much happiness in life!
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile Zoé described the catastrophe.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Madame was seized with colic toward four o&rsquo;clock. When she
didn&rsquo;t come back out of the dressing room I went in and found her lying
stretched on the floor in a faint. Yes, monsieur, on the floor in a pool of
blood, as though she had been murdered. Then I understood, you see. I was
furious; Madame might quite well have confided her trouble to me. As it
happened, Monsieur Georges was there, and he helped me to lift her up, and
directly a miscarriage was mentioned he felt ill in his turn! Oh, it&rsquo;s
true I&rsquo;ve had the hump since yesterday!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
In fact, the house seemed utterly upset. All the servants were galloping
upstairs, downstairs and through the rooms. Georges had passed the night on an
armchair in the drawing room. It was he who had announced the news to
Madame&rsquo;s friends at that hour of the evening when Madame was in the habit
of receiving. He had still been very pale, and he had told his story very
feelingly, and as though stupefied. Steiner, La Faloise, Philippe and others,
besides, had presented themselves, and at the end of the lad&rsquo;s first
phrase they burst into exclamations. The thing was impossible! It must be a
farce! After which they grew serious and gazed with an embarrassed expression
at her bedroom door. They shook their heads; it was no laughing matter.
</p>

<p>
Till midnight a dozen gentlemen had stood talking in low voices in front of the
fireplace. All were friends; all were deeply exercised by the same idea of
paternity. They seemed to be mutually excusing themselves, and they looked as
confused as if they had done something clumsy. Eventually, however, they put a
bold face on the matter. It had nothing to do with them: the fault was hers!
What a stunner that Nana was, eh? One would never have believed her capable of
such a fake! And with that they departed one by one, walking on tiptoe, as
though in a chamber of death where you cannot laugh.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come up all the same, monsieur,&rdquo; said Zoé to Muffat. &ldquo;Madame
is much better and will see you. We are expecting the doctor, who promised to
come back this morning.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The lady&rsquo;s maid had persuaded Georges to go back home to sleep, and
upstairs in the drawing room only Satin remained. She lay stretched on a divan,
smoking a cigarette and scanning the ceiling. Amid the household scare which
had followed the accident she had been white with rage, had shrugged her
shoulders violently and had made ferocious remarks. Accordingly, when Zoé was
passing in front of her and telling Monsieur that poor, dear Madame had
suffered a great deal:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;That&rsquo;s right; it&rsquo;ll teach him!&rdquo; said Satin curtly.
</p>

<p>
They turned round in surprise, but she had not moved a muscle; her eyes were
still turned toward the ceiling, and her cigarette was still wedged tightly
between her lips.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dear me, you&rsquo;re charming, you are!&rdquo; said Zoé.
</p>

<p>
But Satin sat up, looked savagely at the count and once more hurled her remark
at him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;That&rsquo;s right; it&rsquo;ll teach him!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she lay down again and blew forth a thin jet of smoke, as though she had no
interest in present events and were resolved not to meddle in any of them. No,
it was all too silly!
</p>

<p>
Zoé, however, introduced Muffat into the bedroom, where a scent of ether
lingered amid warm, heavy silence, scarce broken by the dull roll of occasional
carriages in the Avenue de Villiers. Nana, looking very white on her pillow,
was lying awake with wide-open, meditative eyes. She smiled when she saw the
count but did not move.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, dear pet!&rdquo; she slowly murmured. &ldquo;I really thought I
should never see you again.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then as he leaned forward to kiss her on the hair, she grew tender toward him
and spoke frankly about the child, as though he were its father.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I never dared tell you; I felt so happy about it! Oh, I used to dream
about it; I should have liked to be worthy of you! And now there&rsquo;s
nothing left. Ah well, perhaps that&rsquo;s best. I don&rsquo;t want to bring a
stumbling block into your life.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Astounded by this story of paternity, he began stammering vague phrases. He had
taken a chair and had sat down by the bed, leaning one arm on the coverlet.
Then the young woman noticed his wild expression, the blood reddening his eyes,
the fever that set his lips aquiver.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter then?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re ill
too.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he answered with extreme difficulty.
</p>

<p>
She gazed at him with a profound expression. Then she signed to Zoé to retire,
for the latter was lingering round arranging the medicine bottles. And when
they were alone she drew him down to her and again asked:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter with you, darling? The tears are ready to burst
from your eyes&mdash;I can see that quite well. Well now, speak out;
you&rsquo;ve come to tell me something.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, no, I swear I haven&rsquo;t,&rdquo; he blurted out. But he was
choking with suffering, and this sickroom, into which he had suddenly entered
unawares, so worked on his feelings that he burst out sobbing and buried his
face in the bedclothes to smother the violence of his grief. Nana understood.
Rose Mignon had most assuredly decided to send the letter. She let him weep for
some moments, and he was shaken by convulsions so fierce that the bed trembled
under her. At length in accents of motherly compassion she queried:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve had bothers at your home?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He nodded affirmatively. She paused anew, and then very low:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Then you know all?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He nodded assent. And a heavy silence fell over the chamber of suffering. The
night before, on his return from a party given by the empress, he had received
the letter Sabine had written her lover. After an atrocious night passed in the
meditation of vengeance he had gone out in the morning in order to resist a
longing which prompted him to kill his wife. Outside, under a sudden, sweet
influence of a fine June morning, he had lost the thread of his thoughts and
had come to Nana&rsquo;s, as he always came at terrible moments in his life.
There only he gave way to his misery, for he felt a cowardly joy at the thought
that she would console him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now look here, be calm!&rdquo; the young woman continued, becoming at
the same time extremely kind. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve known it a long time, but it
was certainly not I that would have opened your eyes. You remember you had your
doubts last year, but then things arranged themselves, owing to my prudence. In
fact, you wanted proofs. The deuce, you&rsquo;ve got one today, and I know
it&rsquo;s hard lines. Nevertheless, you must look at the matter quietly:
you&rsquo;re not dishonored because it&rsquo;s happened.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He had left off weeping. A sense of shame restrained him from saying what he
wanted to, although he had long ago slipped into the most intimate confessions
about his household. She had to encourage him. Dear me, she was a woman; she
could understand everything. When in a dull voice he exclaimed:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You&rsquo;re ill. What&rsquo;s the good of tiring you? It was stupid of
me to have come. I&rsquo;m going&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No,&rdquo; she answered briskly enough. &ldquo;Stay! Perhaps I shall be
able to give you some good advice. Only don&rsquo;t make me talk too much; the
medical man&rsquo;s forbidden it.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He had ended by rising, and he was now walking up and down the room. Then she
questioned him:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now what are you going to do?
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;m going to box the man&rsquo;s ears&mdash;by heavens,
yes!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She pursed up her lips disapprovingly.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;That&rsquo;s not very wise. And about your wife?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I shall go to law; I&rsquo;ve proofs.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Not at all wise, my dear boy. It&rsquo;s stupid even. You know I shall
never let you do that!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And in her feeble voice she showed him decisively how useless and scandalous a
duel and a trial would be. He would be a nine days&rsquo; newspaper sensation;
his whole existence would be at stake, his peace of mind, his high situation at
court, the honor of his name, and all for what? That he might have the laughers
against him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What will it matter?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;I shall have had my
revenge.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My pet,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;in a business of that kind one never has
one&rsquo;s revenge if one doesn&rsquo;t take it directly.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He paused and stammered. He was certainly no poltroon, but he felt that she was
right. An uneasy feeling was growing momentarily stronger within him, a poor,
shameful feeling which softened his anger now that it was at its hottest.
Moreover, in her frank desire to tell him everything, she dealt him a fresh
blow.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And d&rsquo;you want to know what&rsquo;s annoying you, dearest? Why,
that you are deceiving your wife yourself. You don&rsquo;t sleep away from home
for nothing, eh? Your wife must have her suspicions. Well then, how can you
blame her? She&rsquo;ll tell you that you&rsquo;ve set her the example, and
that&rsquo;ll shut you up. There, now, that&rsquo;s why you&rsquo;re stamping
about here instead of being at home murdering both of &rsquo;em.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Muffat had again sunk down on the chair; he was overwhelmed by these home
thrusts. She broke off and took breath, and then in a low voice:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, I&rsquo;m a wreck! Do help me sit up a bit. I keep slipping down,
and my head&rsquo;s too low.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
When he had helped her she sighed and felt more comfortable. And with that she
harked back to the subject. What a pretty sight a divorce suit would be!
Couldn&rsquo;t he imagine the advocate of the countess amusing Paris with his
remarks about Nana? Everything would have come out&mdash;her fiasco at the
Variétés, her house, her manner of life. Oh dear, no! She had no wish for all
that amount of advertising. Some dirty women might, perhaps, have driven him to
it for the sake of getting a thundering big advertisement, but she&mdash;she
desired his happiness before all else. She had drawn him down toward her and,
after passing her arm around his neck, was nursing his head close to hers on
the edge of the pillow. And with that she whispered softly:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Listen, my pet, you shall make it up with your wife.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But he rebelled at this. It could never be! His heart was nigh breaking at the
thought; it was too shameful. Nevertheless, she kept tenderly insisting.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You shall make it up with your wife. Come, come, you don&rsquo;t want to
hear all the world saying that I&rsquo;ve tempted you away from your home? I
should have too vile a reputation! What would people think of me? Only swear
that you&rsquo;ll always love me, because the moment you go with another
woman&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Tears choked her utterance, and he intervened with kisses and said:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You&rsquo;re beside yourself; it&rsquo;s impossible!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; she rejoined, &ldquo;you must. But I&rsquo;ll be
reasonable. After all, she&rsquo;s your wife, and it isn&rsquo;t as if you were
to play me false with the firstcomer.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she continued in this strain, giving him the most excellent advice. She
even spoke of God, and the count thought he was listening to M. Venot, when
that old gentleman endeavored to sermonize him out of the grasp of sin. Nana,
however, did not speak of breaking it off entirely: she preached indulgent good
nature and suggested that, as became a dear, nice old fellow, he should divide
his attentions between his wife and his mistress, so that they would all enjoy
a quiet life, devoid of any kind of annoyance, something, in fact, in the
nature of a happy slumber amid the inevitable miseries of existence. Their life
would be nowise changed: he would still be the little man of her heart. Only he
would come to her a bit less often and would give the countess the nights not
passed with her. She had got to the end of her strength and left off, speaking
under her breath:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;After that I shall feel I&rsquo;ve done a good action, and you&rsquo;ll
love me all the more.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Silence reigned. She had closed her eyes and lay wan upon her pillow. The count
was patiently listening to her, not wishing her to tire herself. A whole minute
went by before she reopened her eyes and murmured:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Besides, how about the money? Where would you get the money from if you
must grow angry and go to law? Labordette came for the bill yesterday. As for
me, I&rsquo;m out of everything; I have nothing to put on now.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then she shut her eyes again and looked like one dead. A shadow of deep anguish
had passed over Muffat&rsquo;s brow. Under the present stroke he had since
yesterday forgotten the money troubles from which he knew not how to escape.
Despite formal promises to the contrary, the bill for a hundred thousand francs
had been put in circulation after being once renewed, and Labordette,
pretending to be very miserable about it, threw all the blame on Francis,
declaring that he would never again mix himself up in such a matter with an
uneducated man. It was necessary to pay, for the count would never have allowed
his signature to be protested. Then in addition to Nana&rsquo;s novel demands,
his home expenses were extraordinarily confused. On their return from Les
Fondettes the countess had suddenly manifested a taste for luxury, a longing
for worldly pleasures, which was devouring their fortune. Her ruinous caprices
began to be talked about. Their whole household management was altered, and
five hundred thousand francs were squandered in utterly transforming the old
house in the Rue Miromesnil. Then there were extravagantly magnificent gowns
and large sums disappeared, squandered or perhaps given away, without her ever
dreaming of accounting for them. Twice Muffat ventured to mention this, for he
was anxious to know how the money went, but on these occasions she had smiled
and gazed at him with so singular an expression that he dared not interrogate
her further for fear of a too-unmistakable answer. If he were taking Daguenet
as son-in-law as a gift from Nana it was chiefly with the hope of being able to
reduce Estelle&rsquo;s dower to two hundred thousand francs and of then being
free to make any arrangements he chose about the remainder with a young man who
was still rejoicing in this unexpected match.
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless, for the last week, under the immediate necessity of finding
Labordette&rsquo;s hundred thousand francs, Muffat had been able to hit on but
one expedient, from which he recoiled. This was that he should sell the Bordes,
a magnificent property valued at half a million, which an uncle had recently
left the countess. However, her signature was necessary, and she herself,
according to the terms of the deed, could not alienate the property without the
count&rsquo;s authorization. The day before he had indeed resolved to talk to
his wife about this signature. And now everything was ruined; at such a moment
he would never accept of such a compromise. This reflection added bitterness to
the frightful disgrace of the adultery. He fully understood what Nana was
asking for, since in that ever-growing self-abandonment which prompted him to
put her in possession of all his secrets, he had complained to her of his
position and had confided to her the tiresome difficulty he was in with regard
to the signature of the countess.
</p>

<p>
Nana, however, did not seem to insist. She did not open her eyes again, and,
seeing her so pale, he grew frightened and made her inhale a little ether. She
gave a sigh and without mentioning Daguenet asked him some questions.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;When is the marriage?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;We sign the contract on Tuesday, in five days&rsquo; time,&rdquo; he
replied.
</p>

<p>
Then still keeping her eyelids closed, as though she were speaking from the
darkness and silence of her brain:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well then, pet, see to what you&rsquo;ve got to do. As far as I&rsquo;m
concerned, I want everybody to be happy and comfortable.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He took her hand and soothed her. Yes, he would see about it; the important
thing now was for her to rest. And the revolt within him ceased, for this warm
and slumberous sickroom, with its all-pervading scent of ether, had ended by
lulling him into a mere longing for happiness and peace. All his manhood,
erewhile maddened by wrong, had departed out of him in the neighborhood of that
warm bed and that suffering woman, whom he was nursing under the influence of
her feverish heat and of remembered delights. He leaned over her and pressed
her in a close embrace, while despite her unmoved features her lips wore a
delicate, victorious smile. But Dr Boutarel made his appearance.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, and how&rsquo;s this dear child?&rdquo; he said familiarly to
Muffat, whom he treated as her husband. &ldquo;The deuce, but we&rsquo;ve made
her talk!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The doctor was a good-looking man and still young. He had a superb practice
among the gay world, and being very merry by nature and ready to laugh and joke
in the friendliest way with the demimonde ladies with whom, however, he never
went farther, he charged very high fees and got them paid with the greatest
punctuality. Moreover, he would put himself out to visit them on the most
trivial occasions, and Nana, who was always trembling at the fear of death,
would send and fetch him two or three times a week and would anxiously confide
to him little infantile ills which he would cure to an accompaniment of amusing
gossip and harebrained anecdotes. The ladies all adored him. But this time the
little ill was serious.
</p>

<p>
Muffat withdrew, deeply moved. Seeing his poor Nana so very weak, his sole
feeling was now one of tenderness. As he was leaving the room she motioned him
back and gave him her forehead to kiss. In a low voice and with a playfully
threatening look she said:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You know what I&rsquo;ve allowed you to do. Go back to your wife, or
it&rsquo;s all over and I shall grow angry!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The Countess Sabine had been anxious that her daughter&rsquo;s wedding contract
should be signed on a Tuesday in order that the renovated house, where the
paint was still scarcely dry, might be reopened with a grand entertainment.
Five hundred invitations had been issued to people in all kinds of sets. On the
morning of the great day the upholsterers were still nailing up hangings, and
toward nine at night, just when the lusters were going to be lit, the
architect, accompanied by the eager and interested countess, was given his
final orders.
</p>

<p>
It was one of those spring festivities which have a delicate charm of their
own. Owing to the warmth of the June nights, it had become possible to open the
two doors of the great drawing room and to extend the dancing floor to the
sanded paths of the garden. When the first guests arrived and were welcomed at
the door by the count and the countess they were positively dazzled. One had
only to recall to mind the drawing room of the past, through which flitted the
icy, ghostly presence of the Countess Muffat, that antique room full of an
atmosphere of religious austerity with its massive First Empire mahogany
furniture, its yellow velvet hangings, its moldy ceiling through which the damp
had soaked. Now from the very threshold of the entrance hall mosaics set off
with gold were glittering under the lights of lofty candelabras, while the
marble staircase unfurled, as it were, a delicately chiseled balustrade. Then,
too, the drawing room looked splendid; it was hung with Genoa velvet, and a
huge decorative design by Boucher covered the ceiling, a design for which the
architect had paid a hundred thousand francs at the sale of the Château de
Dampierre. The lusters and the crystal ornaments lit up a luxurious display of
mirrors and precious furniture. It seemed as though Sabine&rsquo;s long chair,
that solitary red silk chair, whose soft contours were so marked in the old
days, had grown and spread till it filled the whole great house with voluptuous
idleness and a sense of tense enjoyment not less fierce and hot than a fire
which has been long in burning up.
</p>

<p>
People were already dancing. The band, which had been located in the garden, in
front of one of the open windows, was playing a waltz, the supple rhythm of
which came softly into the house through the intervening night air. And the
garden seemed to spread away and away, bathed in transparent shadow and lit by
Venetian lamps, while in a purple tent pitched on the edge of a lawn a table
for refreshments had been established. The waltz, which was none other than the
quaint, vulgar one in the Blonde Venus, with its laughing, blackguard lilt,
penetrated the old hotel with sonorous waves of sound and sent a feverish
thrill along its walls. It was as though some fleshly wind had come up out of
the common street and were sweeping the relics of a vanished epoch out of the
proud old dwelling, bearing away the Muffats&rsquo; past, the age of honor and
religious faith which had long slumbered beneath the lofty ceilings.
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile near the hearth, in their accustomed places, the old friends of the
count&rsquo;s mother were taking refuge. They felt out of their
element&mdash;they were dazzled and they formed a little group amid the slowly
invading mob. Mme du Joncquoy, unable to recognize the various rooms, had come
in through the dining saloon. Mme Chantereau was gazing with a stupefied
expression at the garden, which struck her as immense. Presently there was a
sound of low voices, and the corner gave vent to all sorts of bitter
reflections.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I declare,&rdquo; murmured Mme Chantereau, &ldquo;just fancy if the
countess were to return to life. Why, can you not imagine her coming in among
all these crowds of people! And then there&rsquo;s all this gilding and this
uproar! It&rsquo;s scandalous!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Sabine&rsquo;s out of her senses,&rdquo; replied Mme du Joncquoy.
&ldquo;Did you see her at the door? Look, you can catch sight of her here;
she&rsquo;s wearing all her diamonds.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
For a moment or two they stood up in order to take a distant view of the count
and countess. Sabine was in a white dress trimmed with marvelous English point
lace. She was triumphant in beauty; she looked young and gay, and there was a
touch of intoxication in her continual smile. Beside her stood Muffat, looking
aged and a little pale, but he, too, was smiling in his calm and worthy
fashion.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And just to think that he was once master,&rdquo; continued Mme
Chantereau, &ldquo;and that not a single rout seat would have come in without
his permission! Ah well, she&rsquo;s changed all that; it&rsquo;s her house
now. D&rsquo;you remember when she did not want to do her drawing room up
again? She&rsquo;s done up the entire house.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But the ladies grew silent, for Mme de Chezelles was entering the room,
followed by a band of young men. She was going into ecstasies and marking her
approval with a succession of little exclamations.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s delicious, exquisite! What taste!&rdquo; And she shouted
back to her followers:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t I say so? There&rsquo;s nothing equal to these old places
when one takes them in hand. They become dazzling! It&rsquo;s quite in the
grand seventeenth-century style. Well, NOW she can receive.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The two old ladies had again sat down and with lowered tones began talking
about the marriage, which was causing astonishment to a good many people.
Estelle had just passed by them. She was in a pink silk gown and was as pale,
flat, silent and virginal as ever. She had accepted Daguenet very quietly and
now evinced neither joy nor sadness, for she was still as cold and white as on
those winter evenings when she used to put logs on the fire. This whole fête
given in her honor, these lights and flowers and tunes, left her quite unmoved.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;An adventurer,&rdquo; Mme du Joncquoy was saying. &ldquo;For my part,
I&rsquo;ve never seen him.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Take care, here he is,&rdquo; whispered Mme Chantereau.
</p>

<p>
Daguenet, who had caught sight of Mme Hugon and her sons, had eagerly offered
her his arm. He laughed and was effusively affectionate toward her, as though
she had had a hand in his sudden good fortune.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; she said, sitting down near the fireplace. &ldquo;You
see, it&rsquo;s my old corner.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You know him?&rdquo; queried Mme du Joncquoy, when Daguenet had gone.
&ldquo;Certainly I do&mdash;a charming young man. Georges is very fond of him.
Oh, they&rsquo;re a most respected family.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And the good lady defended him against the mute hostility which was apparent to
her. His father, held in high esteem by Louis Philippe, had been a PREFET up to
the time of his death. The son had been a little dissipated, perhaps; they said
he was ruined, but in any case, one of his uncles, who was a great landowner,
was bound to leave him his fortune. The ladies, however, shook their heads,
while Mme Hugon, herself somewhat embarrassed, kept harking back to the extreme
respectability of his family. She was very much fatigued and complained of her
feet. For some months she had been occupying her house in the Rue Richelieu,
having, as she said, a whole lot of things on hand. A look of sorrow
overshadowed her smiling, motherly face.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Never mind,&rdquo; Mme Chantereau concluded. &ldquo;Estelle could have
aimed at something much better.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
There was a flourish. A quadrille was about to begin, and the crowd flowed back
to the sides of the drawing room in order to leave the floor clear. Bright
dresses flitted by and mingled together amid the dark evening coats, while the
intense light set jewels flashing and white plumes quivering and lilacs and
roses gleaming and flowering amid the sea of many heads. It was already very
warm, and a penetrating perfume was exhaled from light tulles and crumpled
silks and satins, from which bare shoulders glimmered white, while the
orchestra played its lively airs. Through open doors ranges of seated ladies
were visible in the background of adjoining rooms; they flashed a discreet
smile; their eyes glowed, and they made pretty mouths as the breath of their
fans caressed their faces. And guests still kept arriving, and a footman
announced their names while gentlemen advanced slowly amid the surrounding
groups, striving to find places for ladies, who hung with difficulty on their
arms, and stretching forward in quest of some far-off vacant armchair. The
house kept filling, and crinolined skirts got jammed together with a little
rustling sound. There were corners where an amalgam of laces, bunches and puffs
would completely bar the way, while all the other ladies stood waiting,
politely resigned and imperturbably graceful, as became people who were made to
take part in these dazzling crushes. Meanwhile across the garden couples, who
had been glad to escape from the close air of the great drawing room, were
wandering away under the roseate gleam of the Venetian lamps, and shadowy
dresses kept flitting along the edge of the lawn, as though in rhythmic time to
the music of the quadrille, which sounded sweet and distant behind the trees.
</p>

<p>
Steiner had just met with Foucarmont and La Faloise, who were drinking a glass
of champagne in front of the buffet.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s beastly smart,&rdquo; said La Faloise as he took a survey of
the purple tent, which was supported by gilded lances. &ldquo;You might fancy
yourself at the Gingerbread Fair. That&rsquo;s it&mdash;the Gingerbread
Fair!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
In these days he continually affected a bantering tone, posing as the young man
who has abused every mortal thing and now finds nothing worth taking seriously.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;How surprised poor Vandeuvres would be if he were to come back,&rdquo;
murmured Foucarmont. &ldquo;You remember how he simply nearly died of boredom
in front of the fire in there. Egad, it was no laughing matter.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Vandeuvres&mdash;oh, let him be. He&rsquo;s a gone coon!&rdquo; La
Faloise disdainfully rejoined. &ldquo;He jolly well choused himself, he did, if
he thought he could make us sit up with his roast-meat story! Not a soul
mentions it now. Blotted out, done for, buried&mdash;that&rsquo;s what&rsquo;s
the matter with Vandeuvres! Here&rsquo;s to the next man!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then as Steiner shook hands with him:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You know Nana&rsquo;s just arrived. Oh, my boys, it was a state entry.
It was too brilliant for anything! First of all she kissed the countess. Then
when the children came up she gave them her blessing and said to Daguenet,
&lsquo;Listen, Paul, if you go running after the girls you&rsquo;ll have to
answer for it to me.&rsquo; What, d&rsquo;you mean to say you didn&rsquo;t see
that? Oh, it WAS smart. A success, if you like!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The other two listened to him, openmouthed, and at last burst out laughing. He
was enchanted and thought himself in his best vein.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You thought it had really happened, eh? Confound it, since Nana&rsquo;s
made the match! Anyway, she&rsquo;s one of the family.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The young Hugons were passing, and Philippe silenced him. And with that they
chatted about the marriage from the male point of view. Georges was vexed with
La Faloise for telling an anecdote. Certainly Nana had fubbed off on Muffat one
of her old flames as son-in-law; only it was not true that she had been to bed
with Daguenet as lately as yesterday. Foucarmont made bold to shrug his
shoulders. Could anyone ever tell when Nana was in bed with anyone? But Georges
grew excited and answered with an &ldquo;I can tell, sir!&rdquo; which set them
all laughing. In a word, as Steiner put it, it was all a very funny kettle of
fish!
</p>

<p>
The buffet was gradually invaded by the crowd, and, still keeping together,
they vacated their positions there. La Faloise stared brazenly at the women as
though he believed himself to be Mabille. At the end of a garden walk the
little band was surprised to find M. Venot busily conferring with Daguenet, and
with that they indulged in some facile pleasantries which made them very merry.
He was confessing him, giving him advice about the bridal night! Presently they
returned in front of one of the drawing-room doors, within which a polka was
sending the couples whirling to and fro till they seemed to leave a wake behind
them among the crowd of men who remained standing about. In the slight puffs of
air which came from outside the tapers flared up brilliantly, and when a dress
floated by in time to the rat-tat of the measure, a little gust of wind cooled
the sparkling heat which streamed down from the lusters.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Egad, they&rsquo;re not cold in there!&rdquo; muttered La Faloise.
</p>

<p>
They blinked after emerging from the mysterious shadows of the garden. Then
they pointed out to one another the Marquis de Chouard where he stood apart,
his tall figure towering over the bare shoulders which surrounded him. His face
was pale and very stern, and beneath its crown of scant white hair it wore an
expression of lofty dignity. Scandalized by Count Muffat&rsquo;s conduct, he
had publicly broken off all intercourse with him and was by way of never again
setting foot in the house. If he had consented to put in an appearance that
evening it was because his granddaughter had begged him to. But he disapproved
of her marriage and had inveighed indignantly against the way in which the
government classes were being disorganized by the shameful compromises
engendered by modern debauchery.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, it&rsquo;s the end of all things,&rdquo; Mme du Joncquoy whispered
in Mme Chantereau&rsquo;s ear as she sat near the fireplace. &ldquo;That bad
woman has bewitched the unfortunate man. And to think we once knew him such a
true believer, such a noblehearted gentleman!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It appears he is ruining himself,&rdquo; continued Mme Chantereau.
&ldquo;My husband has had a bill of his in his hands. At present he&rsquo;s
living in that house in the Avenue de Villiers; all Paris is talking about it.
Good heavens! I don&rsquo;t make excuses for Sabine, but you must admit that he
gives her infinite cause of complaint, and, dear me, if she throws money out of
the window, too&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;She does not only throw money,&rdquo; interrupted the other. &ldquo;In
fact, between them, there&rsquo;s no knowing where they&rsquo;ll stop;
they&rsquo;ll end in the mire, my dear.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But just then a soft voice interrupted them. It was M. Venot, and he had come
and seated himself behind them, as though anxious to disappear from view.
Bending forward, he murmured:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why despair? God manifests Himself when all seems lost.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He was assisting peacefully at the downfall of the house which he erewhile
governed. Since his stay at Les Fondettes he had been allowing the madness to
increase, for he was very clearly aware of his own powerlessness. He had,
indeed, accepted the whole position&mdash;the count&rsquo;s wild passion for
Nana, Fauchery&rsquo;s presence, even Estelle&rsquo;s marriage with Daguenet.
What did these things matter? He even became more supple and mysterious, for he
nursed a hope of being able to gain the same mastery over the young as over the
disunited couple, and he knew that great disorders lead to great conversions.
Providence would have its opportunity.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Our friend,&rdquo; he continued in a low voice, &ldquo;is always
animated by the best religious sentiments. He has given me the sweetest proofs
of this.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Mme du Joncquoy, &ldquo;he ought first to have made it
up with his wife.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Doubtless. At this moment I have hopes that the reconciliation will be
shortly effected.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Whereupon the two old ladies questioned him.
</p>

<p>
But he grew very humble again. &ldquo;Heaven,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;must be
left to act.&rdquo; His whole desire in bringing the count and the countess
together again was to avoid a public scandal, for religion tolerated many
faults when the proprieties were respected.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;In fact,&rdquo; resumed Mme du Joncquoy, &ldquo;you ought to have
prevented this union with an adventurer.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The little old gentleman assumed an expression of profound astonishment.
&ldquo;You deceive yourself. Monsieur Daguenet is a young man of the greatest
merit. I am acquainted with his thoughts; he is anxious to live down the errors
of his youth. Estelle will bring him back to the path of virtue, be sure of
that.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, Estelle!&rdquo; Mme Chantereau murmured disdainfully. &ldquo;I
believe the dear young thing to be incapable of willing anything; she is so
insignificant!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
This opinion caused M. Venot to smile. However, he went into no explanations
about the young bride and, shutting his eyes, as though to avoid seeming to
take any further interest in the matter, he once more lost himself in his
corner behind the petticoats. Mme Hugon, though weary and absent-minded, had
caught some phrases of the conversation, and she now intervened and summed up
in her tolerant way by remarking to the Marquis de Chouard, who just then bowed
to her:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;These ladies are too severe. Existence is so bitter for every one of us!
Ought we not to forgive others much, my friend, if we wish to merit forgiveness
ourselves?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
For some seconds the marquis appeared embarrassed, for he was afraid of
allusions. But the good lady wore so sad a smile that he recovered almost at
once and remarked:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, there is no forgiveness for certain faults. It is by reason of this
kind of accommodating spirit that a society sinks into the abyss of
ruin.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The ball had grown still more animated. A fresh quadrille was imparting a
slight swaying motion to the drawing-room floor, as though the old dwelling had
been shaken by the impulse of the dance. Now and again amid the wan confusion
of heads a woman&rsquo;s face with shining eyes and parted lips stood sharply
out as it was whirled away by the dance, the light of the lusters gleaming on
the white skin. Mme du Joncquoy declared that the present proceedings were
senseless. It was madness to crowd five hundred people into a room which would
scarcely contain two hundred. In fact, why not sign the wedding contract on the
Place du Carrousel? This was the outcome of the new code of manners, said Mme
Chantereau. In old times these solemnities took place in the bosom of the
family, but today one must have a mob of people; the whole street must be
allowed to enter quite freely, and there must be a great crush, or else the
evening seems a chilly affair. People now advertised their luxury and
introduced the mere foam on the wave of Parisian society into their houses, and
accordingly it was only too natural if illicit proceedings such as they had
been discussing afterward polluted the hearth. The ladies complained that they
could not recognize more than fifty people. Where did all this crowd spring
from? Young girls with low necks were making a great display of their
shoulders. A woman had a golden dagger stuck in her chignon, while a bodice
thickly embroidered with jet beads clothed her in what looked like a coat of
mail. People&rsquo;s eyes kept following another lady smilingly, so singularly
marked were her clinging skirts. All the luxuriant splendor of the departing
winter was there&mdash;the overtolerant world of pleasure, the scratch
gathering a hostess can get together after a first introduction, the sort of
society, in fact, in which great names and great shames jostle together in the
same fierce quest of enjoyment. The heat was increasing, and amid the
overcrowded rooms the quadrille unrolled the cadenced symmetry of its figures.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Very smart&mdash;the countess!&rdquo; La Faloise continued at the garden
door. &ldquo;She&rsquo;s ten years younger than her daughter. By the by,
Foucarmont, you must decide on a point. Vandeuvres once bet that she had no
thighs.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
This affectation of cynicism bored the other gentlemen, and Foucarmont
contented himself by saying:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ask your cousin, dear boy. Here he is.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Jove, it&rsquo;s a happy thought!&rdquo; cried La Faloise. &ldquo;I bet
ten louis she has thighs.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Fauchery did indeed come up. As became a constant inmate of the house, he had
gone round by the dining room in order to avoid the crowded doors. Rose had
taken him up again at the beginning of the winter, and he was now dividing
himself between the singer and the countess, but he was extremely fatigued and
did not know how to get rid of one of them. Sabine flattered his vanity, but
Rose amused him more than she. Besides, the passion Rose felt was a real one:
her tenderness for him was marked by a conjugal fidelity which drove Mignon to
despair.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Listen, we want some information,&rdquo; said La Faloise as he squeezed
his cousin&rsquo;s arm. &ldquo;You see that lady in white silk?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Ever since his inheritance had given him a kind of insolent dash of manner he
had affected to chaff Fauchery, for he had an old grudge to satisfy and wanted
to be revenged for much bygone raillery, dating from the days when he was just
fresh from his native province.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, that lady with the lace.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The journalist stood on tiptoe, for as yet he did not understand.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The countess?&rdquo; he said at last.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Exactly, my good friend. I&rsquo;ve bet ten louis&mdash;now, has she
thighs?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And he fell a-laughing, for he was delighted to have succeeded in snubbing a
fellow who had once come heavily down on him for asking whether the countess
slept with anyone. But Fauchery, without showing the very slightest
astonishment, looked fixedly at him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Get along, you idiot!&rdquo; he said finally as he shrugged his
shoulders.
</p>

<p>
Then he shook hands with the other gentlemen, while La Faloise, in his
discomfiture, felt rather uncertain whether he had said something funny. The
men chatted. Since the races the banker and Foucarmont had formed part of the
set in the Avenue de Villiers. Nana was going on much better, and every evening
the count came and asked how she did. Meanwhile Fauchery, though he listened,
seemed preoccupied, for during a quarrel that morning Rose had roundly
confessed to the sending of the letter. Oh yes, he might present himself at his
great lady&rsquo;s house; he would be well received! After long hesitation he
had come despite everything&mdash;out of sheer courage. But La Faloise&rsquo;s
imbecile pleasantry had upset him in spite of his apparent tranquillity.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter?&rdquo; asked Philippe. &ldquo;You seem in
trouble.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I do? Not at all. I&rsquo;ve been working: that&rsquo;s why I came so
late.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then coldly, in one of those heroic moods which, although unnoticed, are wont
to solve the vulgar tragedies of existence:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;All the same, I haven&rsquo;t made my bow to our hosts. One must be
civil.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He even ventured on a joke, for he turned to La Faloise and said:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Eh, you idiot?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with that he pushed his way through the crowd. The valet&rsquo;s full voice
was no longer shouting out names, but close to the door the count and countess
were still talking, for they were detained by ladies coming in. At length he
joined them, while the gentlemen who were still on the garden steps stood on
tiptoe so as to watch the scene. Nana, they thought, must have been chattering.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The count hasn&rsquo;t noticed him,&rdquo; muttered Georges. &ldquo;Look
out! He&rsquo;s turning round; there, it&rsquo;s done!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The band had again taken up the waltz in the Blonde Venus. Fauchery had begun
by bowing to the countess, who was still smiling in ecstatic serenity. After
which he had stood motionless a moment, waiting very calmly behind the
count&rsquo;s back. That evening the count&rsquo;s deportment was one of lofty
gravity: he held his head high, as became the official and the great dignitary.
And when at last he lowered his gaze in the direction of the journalist he
seemed still further to emphasize the majesty of his attitude. For some seconds
the two men looked at one another. It was Fauchery who first stretched out his
hand. Muffat gave him his. Their hands remained clasped, and the Countess
Sabine with downcast eyes stood smiling before them, while the waltz
continually beat out its mocking, vagabond rhythm.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;But the thing&rsquo;s going on wheels!&rdquo; said Steiner.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Are their hands glued together?&rdquo; asked Foucarmont, surprised at
this prolonged clasp. A memory he could not forget brought a faint glow to
Fanchery&rsquo;s pale cheeks, and in his mind&rsquo;s eye he saw the property
room bathed in greenish twilight and filled with dusty bric-a-brac. And Muffat
was there, eggcup in hand, making a clever use of his suspicions. At this
moment Muffat was no longer suspicious, and the last vestige of his dignity was
crumbling in ruin. Fauchery&rsquo;s fears were assuaged, and when he saw the
frank gaiety of the countess he was seized with a desire to laugh. The thing
struck him as comic.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Aha, here she is at last!&rdquo; cried La Faloise, who did not abandon a
jest when he thought it a good one. &ldquo;D&rsquo;you see Nana coming in over
there?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Hold your tongue, do, you idiot!&rdquo; muttered Philippe.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;But I tell you, it is Nana! They&rsquo;re playing her waltz for her, by
Jove! She&rsquo;s making her entry. And she takes part in the reconciliation,
the devil she does! What? You don&rsquo;t see her? She&rsquo;s squeezing all
three of &rsquo;em to her heart&mdash;my cousin Fauchery, my lady cousin and
her husband, and she&rsquo;s calling &rsquo;em her dear kitties. Oh, those
family scenes give me a turn!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Estelle had come up, and Fauchery complimented her while she stood stiffly up
in her rose-colored dress, gazing at him with the astonished look of a silent
child and constantly glancing aside at her father and mother. Daguenet, too,
exchanged a hearty shake of the hand with the journalist. Together they made up
a smiling group, while M. Venot came gliding in behind them. He gloated over
them with a beatified expression and seemed to envelop them in his pious
sweetness, for he rejoiced in these last instances of self-abandonment which
were preparing the means of grace.
</p>

<p>
But the waltz still beat out its swinging, laughing, voluptuous measure; it was
like a shrill continuation of the life of pleasure which was beating against
the old house like a rising tide. The band blew louder trills from their little
flutes; their violins sent forth more swooning notes. Beneath the Genoa velvet
hangings, the gilding and the paintings, the lusters exhaled a living heat and
a great glow of sunlight, while the crowd of guests, multiplied in the
surrounding mirrors, seemed to grow and increase as the murmur of many voices
rose ever louder. The couples who whirled round the drawing room, arm about
waist, amid the smiles of the seated ladies, still further accentuated the
quaking of the floors. In the garden a dull, fiery glow fell from the Venetian
lanterns and threw a distant reflection of flame over the dark shadows moving
in search of a breath of air about the walks at its farther end. And this
trembling of walls and this red glow of light seemed to betoken a great
ultimate conflagration in which the fabric of an ancient honor was cracking and
burning on every side. The shy early beginnings of gaiety, of which Fauchery
one April evening had heard the vocal expression in the sound of breaking
glass, had little by little grown bolder, wilder, till they had burst forth in
this festival. Now the rift was growing; it was crannying the house and
announcing approaching downfall. Among drunkards in the slums it is black
misery, an empty cupboard, which put an end to ruined families; it is the
madness of drink which empties the wretched beds. Here the waltz tune was
sounding the knell of an old race amid the suddenly ignited ruins of
accumulated wealth, while Nana, although unseen, stretched her lithe limbs
above the dancers&rsquo; heads and sent corruption through their caste,
drenching the hot air with the ferment of her exhalations and the vagabond lilt
of the music.
</p>

<p>
On the evening after the celebration of the church marriage Count Muffat made
his appearance in his wife&rsquo;s bedroom, where he had not entered for the
last two years. At first, in her great surprise, the countess drew back from
him. But she was still smiling the intoxicated smile which she now always wore.
He began stammering in extreme embarrassment; whereupon she gave him a short
moral lecture. However, neither of them risked a decisive explanation. It was
religion, they pretended, which required this process of mutual forgiveness,
and they agreed by a tacit understanding to retain their freedom. Before going
to bed, seeing that the countess still appeared to hesitate, they had a
business conversation, and the count was the first to speak of selling the
Bordes. She consented at once. They both stood in great want of money, and they
would share and share alike. This completed the reconciliation, and Muffat,
remorseful though he was, felt veritably relieved.
</p>

<p>
That very day, as Nana was dozing toward two in the afternoon, Zoé made so bold
as to knock at her bedroom door. The curtains were drawn to, and a hot breath
of wind kept blowing through a window into the fresh twilight stillness within.
During these last days the young woman had been getting up and about again, but
she was still somewhat weak. She opened her eyes and asked:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Who is it?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Zoé was about to reply, but Daguenet pushed by her and announced himself in
person. Nana forthwith propped herself up on her pillow and, dismissing the
lady&rsquo;s maid:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What! Is that you?&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;On the day of your marriage?
What can be the matter?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Taken aback by the darkness, he stood still in the middle of the room. However,
he grew used to it and came forward at last. He was in evening dress and wore a
white cravat and gloves.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, to be sure, it&rsquo;s me!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t
remember?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
No, she remembered nothing, and in his chaffing way he had to offer himself
frankly to her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come now, here&rsquo;s your commission. I&rsquo;ve brought you the
handsel of my innocence!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with that, as he was now by the bedside, she caught him in her bare arms
and shook with merry laughter and almost cried, she thought it so pretty of
him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, that Mimi, how funny he is! He&rsquo;s thought of it after all! And
to think I didn&rsquo;t remember it any longer! So you&rsquo;ve slipped off;
you&rsquo;re just out of church. Yes, certainly, you&rsquo;ve got a scent of
incense about you. But kiss me, kiss me! Oh, harder than that, Mimi dear! Bah!
Perhaps it&rsquo;s for the last time.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
In the dim room, where a vague odor of ether still lingered, their tender
laughter died away suddenly. The heavy, warm breeze swelled the window
curtains, and children&rsquo;s voices were audible in the avenue without. Then
the lateness of the hour tore them asunder and set them joking again. Daguenet
took his departure with his wife directly after the breakfast.
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"></a> CHAPTER XIII</h2>

<p>
Toward the end of September Count Muffat, who was to dine at Nana&rsquo;s that
evening, came at nightfall to inform her of a summons to the Tuileries. The
lamps in the house had not been lit yet, and the servants were laughing
uproariously in the kitchen regions as he softly mounted the stairs, where the
tall windows gleamed in warm shadow. The door of the drawing room up-stairs
opened noiselessly. A faint pink glow was dying out on the ceiling of the room,
and the red hangings, the deep divans, the lacquered furniture, with their
medley of embroidered fabrics and bronzes and china, were already sleeping
under a slowly creeping flood of shadows, which drowned nooks and corners and
blotted out the gleam of ivory and the glint of gold. And there in the
darkness, on the white surface of a wide, outspread petticoat, which alone
remained clearly visible, he saw Nana lying stretched in the arms of Georges.
Denial in any shape or form was impossible. He gave a choking cry and stood
gaping at them.
</p>

<p>
Nana had bounded up, and now she pushed him into the bedroom in order to give
the lad time to escape.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come in,&rdquo; she murmured with reeling senses, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
explain.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She was exasperated at being thus surprised. Never before had she given way
like this in her own house, in her own drawing room, when the doors were open.
It was a long story: Georges and she had had a disagreement; he had been mad
with jealousy of Philippe, and he had sobbed so bitterly on her bosom that she
had yielded to him, not knowing how else to calm him and really very full of
pity for him at heart. And on this solitary occasion, when she had been stupid
enough to forget herself thus with a little rascal who could not even now bring
her bouquets of violets, so short did his mother keep him&mdash;on this
solitary occasion the count turned up and came straight down on them.
&rsquo;Gad, she had very bad luck! That was what one got if one was a
good-natured wench!
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile in the bedroom, into which she had pushed Muffat, the darkness was
complete. Whereupon after some groping she rang furiously and asked for a lamp.
It was Julien&rsquo;s fault too! If there had been a lamp in the drawing room
the whole affair would not have happened. It was the stupid nightfall which had
got the better of her heart.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I beseech you to be reasonable, my pet,&rdquo; she said when Zoé had
brought in the lights.
</p>

<p>
The count, with his hands on his knees, was sitting gazing at the floor. He was
stupefied by what he had just seen. He did not cry out in anger. He only
trembled, as though overtaken by some horror which was freezing him. This dumb
misery touched the young woman, and she tried to comfort him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, yes, I&rsquo;ve done wrong. It&rsquo;s very bad what I did. You
see I&rsquo;m sorry for my fault. It makes me grieve very much because it
annoys you. Come now, be nice, too, and forgive me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She had crouched down at his feet and was striving to catch his eye with a look
of tender submission. She was fain to know whether he was very vexed with her.
Presently, as he gave a long sigh and seemed to recover himself, she grew more
coaxing and with grave kindness of manner added a final reason:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You see, dearie, you must try and understand how it is: I can&rsquo;t
refuse it to my poor friends.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The count consented to give way and only insisted that Georges should be
dismissed once for all. But all his illusions had vanished, and he no longer
believed in her sworn fidelity. Next day Nana would deceive him anew, and he
only remained her miserable possessor in obedience to a cowardly necessity and
to terror at the thought of living without her.
</p>

<p>
This was the epoch in her existence when Nana flared upon Paris with redoubled
splendor. She loomed larger than heretofore on the horizon of vice and swayed
the town with her impudently flaunted splendor and that contempt of money which
made her openly squander fortunes. Her house had become a sort of glowing
smithy, where her continual desires were the flames and the slightest breath
from her lips changed gold into fine ashes, which the wind hourly swept away.
Never had eye beheld such a rage of expenditure. The great house seemed to have
been built over a gulf in which men&mdash;their worldly possessions, their
fortunes, their very names&mdash;were swallowed up without leaving even a
handful of dust behind them. This courtesan, who had the tastes of a parrot and
gobbled up radishes and burnt almonds and pecked at the meat upon her plate,
had monthly table bills amounting to five thousand francs. The wildest waste
went on in the kitchen: the place, metaphorically speaking was one great river
which stove in cask upon cask of wine and swept great bills with it, swollen by
three or four successive manipulators. Victorine and Francois reigned supreme
in the kitchen, whither they invited friends. In addition to these there was
quite a little tribe of cousins, who were cockered up in their homes with cold
meats and strong soup. Julien made the trades-people give him commissions, and
the glaziers never put up a pane of glass at a cost of a franc and a half but
he had a franc put down to himself. Charles devoured the horses&rsquo; oats and
doubled the amount of their provender, reselling at the back door what came in
at the carriage gate, while amid the general pillage, the sack of the town
after the storm, Zoé, by dint of cleverness, succeeded in saving appearances
and covering the thefts of all in order the better to slur over and make good
her own. But the household waste was worse than the household dishonesty.
Yesterday&rsquo;s food was thrown into the gutter, and the collection of
provisions in the house was such that the servants grew disgusted with it. The
glass was all sticky with sugar, and the gas burners flared and flared till the
rooms seemed ready to explode. Then, too, there were instances of negligence
and mischief and sheer accident&mdash;of everything, in fact, which can hasten
the ruin of a house devoured by so many mouths. Upstairs in Madame&rsquo;s
quarters destruction raged more fiercely still. Dresses, which cost ten
thousand francs and had been twice worn, were sold by Zoé; jewels vanished as
though they had crumbled deep down in their drawers; stupid purchases were
made; every novelty of the day was brought and left to lie forgotten in some
corner the morning after or swept up by ragpickers in the street. She could not
see any very expensive object without wanting to possess it, and so she
constantly surrounded herself with the wrecks of bouquets and costly
knickknacks and was the happier the more her passing fancy cost. Nothing
remained intact in her hands; she broke everything, and this object withered,
and that grew dirty in the clasp of her lithe white fingers. A perfect heap of
nameless débris, of twisted shreds and muddy rags, followed her and marked her
passage. Then amid this utter squandering of pocket money cropped up a question
about the big bills and their settlement. Twenty thousand francs were due to
the modiste, thirty thousand to the linen draper, twelve thousand to the
bootmaker. Her stable devoured fifty thousand for her, and in six months she
ran up a bill of a hundred and twenty thousand francs at her ladies&rsquo;
tailor. Though she had not enlarged her scheme of expenditure, which Labordette
reckoned at four hundred thousand francs on an average, she ran up that same
year to a million. She was herself stupefied by the amount and was unable to
tell whither such a sum could have gone. Heaps upon heaps of men, barrowfuls of
gold, failed to stop up the hole, which, amid this ruinous luxury, continually
gaped under the floor of her house.
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile Nana had cherished her latest caprice. Once more exercised by the
notion that her room needed redoing, she fancied she had hit on something at
last. The room should be done in velvet of the color of tea roses, with silver
buttons and golden cords, tassels and fringes, and the hangings should be
caught up to the ceiling after the manner of a tent. This arrangement ought to
be both rich and tender, she thought, and would form a splendid background to
her blonde vermeil-tinted skin. However, the bedroom was only designed to serve
as a setting to the bed, which was to be a dazzling affair, a prodigy. Nana
meditated a bed such as had never before existed; it was to be a throne, an
altar, whither Paris was to come in order to adore her sovereign nudity. It was
to be all in gold and silver beaten work&mdash;it should suggest a great piece
of jewelry with its golden roses climbing on a trelliswork of silver. On the
headboard a band of Loves should peep forth laughing from amid the flowers, as
though they were watching the voluptuous dalliance within the shadow of the bed
curtains. Nana had applied to Labordette who had brought two goldsmiths to see
her. They were already busy with the designs. The bed would cost fifty thousand
francs, and Muffat was to give it her as a New Year&rsquo;s present.
</p>

<p>
What most astonished the young woman was that she was endlessly short of money
amid a river of gold, the tide of which almost enveloped her. On certain days
she was at her wit&rsquo;s end for want of ridiculously small sums&mdash;sums
of only a few louis. She was driven to borrow from Zoé, or she scraped up cash
as well as she could on her own account. But before resignedly adopting extreme
measures she tried her friends and in a joking sort of way got the men to give
her all they had about them, even down to their coppers. For the last three
months she had been emptying Philippe&rsquo;s pockets especially, and now on
days of passionate enjoyment he never came away but he left his purse behind
him. Soon she grew bolder and asked him for loans of two hundred francs, three
hundred francs&mdash;never more than that&mdash;wherewith to pay the interest
of bills or to stave off outrageous debts. And Philippe, who in July had been
appointed paymaster to his regiment, would bring the money the day after,
apologizing at the same time for not being rich, seeing that good Mamma Hugon
now treated her sons with singular financial severity. At the close of three
months these little oft-renewed loans mounted up to a sum of ten thousand
francs. The captain still laughed his hearty-sounding laugh, but he was growing
visibly thinner, and sometimes he seemed absent-minded, and a shade of
suffering would pass over his face. But one look from Nana&rsquo;s eyes would
transfigure him in a sort of sensual ecstasy. She had a very coaxing way with
him and would intoxicate him with furtive kisses and yield herself to him in
sudden fits of self-abandonment, which tied him to her apron strings the moment
he was able to escape from his military duties.
</p>

<p>
One evening, Nana having announced that her name, too, was Thérèse and that her
fête day was the fifteenth of October, the gentlemen all sent her presents.
Captain Philippe brought his himself; it was an old comfit dish in Dresden
china, and it had a gold mount. He found her alone in her dressing room. She
had just emerged from the bath, had nothing on save a great red-and-white
flannel bathing wrap and was very busy examining her presents, which were
ranged on a table. She had already broken a rock-crystal flask in her attempts
to unstopper it.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, you&rsquo;re too nice!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;What is it?
Let&rsquo;s have a peep! What a baby you are to spend your pennies in little
fakements like that!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She scolded him, seeing that he was not rich, but at heart she was delighted to
see him spending his whole substance for her. Indeed, this was the only proof
of love which had power to touch her. Meanwhile she was fiddling away at the
comfit dish, opening it and shutting it in her desire to see how it was made.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Take care,&rdquo; he murmured, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s brittle.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But she shrugged her shoulders. Did he think her as clumsy as a street porter?
And all of a sudden the hinge came off between her fingers and the lid fell and
was broken. She was stupefied and remained gazing at the fragments as she
cried:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s smashed!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then she burst out laughing. The fragments lying on the floor tickled her
fancy. Her merriment was of the nervous kind, the stupid, spiteful laughter of
a child who delights in destruction. Philippe had a little fit of disgust, for
the wretched girl did not know what anguish this curio had cost him. Seeing him
thoroughly upset, she tried to contain herself.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Gracious me, it isn&rsquo;t my fault! It was cracked; those old things
barely hold together. Besides, it was the cover! Didn&rsquo;t you see the bound
it gave?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she once more burst into uproarious mirth.
</p>

<p>
But though he made an effort to the contrary, tears appeared in the young
man&rsquo;s eyes, and with that she flung her arms tenderly round his neck.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;How silly you are! You know I love you all the same. If one never broke
anything the tradesmen would never sell anything. All that sort of
thing&rsquo;s made to be broken. Now look at this fan; it&rsquo;s only held
together with glue!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She had snatched up a fan and was dragging at the blades so that the silk was
torn in two. This seemed to excite her, and in order to show that she scorned
the other presents, the moment she had ruined his she treated herself to a
general massacre, rapping each successive object and proving clearly that not
one was solid in that she had broken them all. There was a lurid glow in her
vacant eyes, and her lips, slightly drawn back, displayed her white teeth.
Soon, when everything was in fragments, she laughed cheerily again and with
flushed cheeks beat on the table with the flat of her hands, lisping like a
naughty little girl:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;All over! Got no more! Got no more!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then Philippe was overcome by the same mad excitement, and, pushing her down,
he merrily kissed her bosom. She abandoned herself to him and clung to his
shoulders with such gleeful energy that she could not remember having enjoyed
herself so much for an age past. Without letting go of him she said
caressingly:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I say, dearie, you ought certainly to bring me ten louis tomorrow.
It&rsquo;s a bore, but there&rsquo;s the baker&rsquo;s bill worrying me
awfully.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He had grown pale. Then imprinting a final kiss on her forehead, he said
simply:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll try.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Silence reigned. She was dressing, and he stood pressing his forehead against
the windowpanes. A minute passed, and he returned to her and deliberately
continued:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Nana, you ought to marry me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
This notion straightway so tickled the young woman that she was unable to
finish tying on her petticoats.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My poor pet, you&rsquo;re ill! D&rsquo;you offer me your hand because I
ask you for ten louis? No, never! I&rsquo;m too fond of you. Good gracious,
what a silly question!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And as Zoé entered in order to put her boots on, they ceased talking of the
matter. The lady&rsquo;s maid at once espied the presents lying broken in
pieces on the table. She asked if she should put these things away, and, Madame
having bidden her get rid of them, she carried the whole collection off in the
folds of her dress. In the kitchen a sorting-out process began, and
Madame&rsquo;s débris were shared among the servants.
</p>

<p>
That day Georges had slipped into the house despite Nana&rsquo;s orders to the
contrary. Francois had certainly seen him pass, but the servants had now got to
laugh among themselves at their good lady&rsquo;s embarrassing situations. He
had just slipped as far as the little drawing room when his brother&rsquo;s
voice stopped him, and, as one powerless to tear himself from the door, he
overheard everything that went on within, the kisses, the offer of marriage. A
feeling of horror froze him, and he went away in a state bordering on
imbecility, feeling as though there were a great void in his brain. It was only
in his own room above his mother&rsquo;s flat in the Rue Richelieu that his
heart broke in a storm of furious sobs. This time there could be no doubt about
the state of things; a horrible picture of Nana in Philippe&rsquo;s arms kept
rising before his mind&rsquo;s eye. It struck him in the light of an incest.
When he fancied himself calm again the remembrance of it all would return, and
in fresh access of raging jealousy he would throw himself on the bed, biting
the coverlet, shouting infamous accusations which maddened him the more. Thus
the day passed. In order to stay shut up in his room he spoke of having a sick
headache. But the night proved more terrible still; a murder fever shook him
amid continual nightmares. Had his brother lived in the house, he would have
gone and killed him with the stab of a knife. When day returned he tried to
reason things out. It was he who ought to die, and he determined to throw
himself out of the window when an omnibus was passing. Nevertheless, he went
out toward ten o&rsquo;clock and traversed Paris, wandered up and down on the
bridges and at the last moment felt an unconquerable desire to see Nana once
more. With one word, perhaps, she would save him. And three o&rsquo;clock was
striking when he entered the house in the Avenue de Villiers.
</p>

<p>
Toward noon a frightful piece of news had simply crushed Mme Hugon. Philippe
had been in prison since the evening of the previous day, accused of having
stolen twelve thousand francs from the chest of his regiment. For the last
three months he had been withdrawing small sums therefrom in the hope of being
able to repay them, while he had covered the deficit with false money. Thanks
to the negligence of the administrative committee, this fraud had been
constantly successful. The old lady, humbled utterly by her child&rsquo;s
crime, had at once cried out in anger against Nana. She knew Philippe&rsquo;s
connection with her, and her melancholy had been the result of this miserable
state of things which kept her in Paris in constant dread of some final
catastrophe. But she had never looked forward to such shame as this, and now
she blamed herself for refusing him money, as though such refusal had made her
accessory to his act. She sank down on an armchair; her legs were seized with
paralysis, and she felt herself to be useless, incapable of action and destined
to stay where she was till she died. But the sudden thought of Georges
comforted her. Georges was still left her; he would be able to act, perhaps to
save them. Thereupon, without seeking aid of anyone else&mdash;for she wished
to keep these matters shrouded in the bosom of her family&mdash;she dragged
herself up to the next story, her mind possessed by the idea that she still had
someone to love about her. But upstairs she found an empty room. The porter
told her that M. Georges had gone out at an early hour. The room was haunted by
the ghost of yet another calamity; the bed with its gnawed bedclothes bore
witness to someone&rsquo;s anguish, and a chair which lay amid a heap of
clothes on the ground looked like something dead. Georges must be at that
woman&rsquo;s house, and so with dry eyes and feet that had regained their
strength Mme Hugon went downstairs. She wanted her sons; she was starting to
reclaim them.
</p>

<p>
Since morning Nana had been much worried. First of all it was the baker, who at
nine o&rsquo;clock had turned up, bill in hand. It was a wretched story. He had
supplied her with bread to the amount of a hundred and thirty-three francs, and
despite her royal housekeeping she could not pay it. In his irritation at being
put off he had presented himself a score of times since the day he had refused
further credit, and the servants were now espousing his cause. Francois kept
saying that Madame would never pay him unless he made a fine scene; Charles
talked of going upstairs, too, in order to get an old unpaid straw bill
settled, while Victorine advised them to wait till some gentleman was with her,
when they would get the money out of her by suddenly asking for it in the
middle of conversation. The kitchen was in a savage mood: the tradesmen were
all kept posted in the course events were taking, and there were gossiping
consultations, lasting three or four hours on a stretch, during which Madame
was stripped, plucked and talked over with the wrathful eagerness peculiar to
an idle, overprosperous servants&rsquo; hall. Julien, the house steward, alone
pretended to defend his mistress. She was quite the thing, whatever they might
say! And when the others accused him of sleeping with her he laughed fatuously,
thereby driving the cook to distraction, for she would have liked to be a man
in order to &ldquo;spit on such women&rsquo;s backsides,&rdquo; so utterly
would they have disgusted her. Francois, without informing Madame of it, had
wickedly posted the baker in the hall, and when she came downstairs at lunch
time she found herself face to face with him. Taking the bill, she told him to
return toward three o&rsquo;clock, whereupon, with many foul expressions, he
departed, vowing that he would have things properly settled and get his money
by hook or by crook.
</p>

<p>
Nana made a very bad lunch, for the scene had annoyed her. Next time the man
would have to be definitely got rid of. A dozen times she had put his money
aside for him, but it had as constantly melted away, sometimes in the purchase
of flowers, at others in the shape of a subscription got up for the benefit of
an old gendarme. Besides, she was counting on Philippe and was astonished not
to see him make his appearance with his two hundred francs. It was regular bad
luck, seeing that the day before yesterday she had again given Satin an outfit,
a perfect trousseau this time, some twelve hundred francs&rsquo; worth of
dresses and linen, and now she had not a louis remaining.
</p>

<p>
Toward two o&rsquo;clock, when Nana was beginning to be anxious, Labordette
presented himself. He brought with him the designs for the bed, and this caused
a diversion, a joyful interlude which made the young woman forget all her
troubles. She clapped her hands and danced about. After which, her heart
bursting wish curiosity, she leaned over a table in the drawing room and
examined the designs, which Labordette proceeded to explain to her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You see,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;this is the body of the bed. In the
middle here there&rsquo;s a bunch of roses in full bloom, and then comes a
garland of buds and flowers. The leaves are to be in yellow and the roses in
red-gold. And here&rsquo;s the grand design for the bed&rsquo;s head; Cupids
dancing in a ring on a silver trelliswork.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But Nana interrupted him, for she was beside herself with ecstasy.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, how funny that little one is, that one in the corner, with his
behind in the air! Isn&rsquo;t he now? And what a sly laugh! They&rsquo;ve all
got such dirty, wicked eyes! You know, dear boy, I shall never dare play any
silly tricks before THEM!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Her pride was flattered beyond measure. The goldsmiths had declared that no
queen anywhere slept in such a bed. However, a difficulty presented itself.
Labordette showed her two designs for the footboard, one of which reproduced
the pattern on the sides, while the other, a subject by itself, represented
Night wrapped in her veil and discovered by a faun in all her splendid nudity.
He added that if she chose this last subject the goldsmiths intended making
Night in her own likeness. This idea, the taste of which was rather risky, made
her grow white with pleasure, and she pictured herself as a silver statuette,
symbolic of the warm, voluptuous delights of darkness.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Of course you will only sit for the head and shoulders,&rdquo; said
Labordette.
</p>

<p>
She looked quietly at him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why? The moment a work of art&rsquo;s in question I don&rsquo;t mind the
sculptor that takes my likeness a blooming bit!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Of course it must be understood that she was choosing the subject. But at this
he interposed.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Wait a moment; it&rsquo;s six thousand francs extra.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s all the same to me, by Jove!&rdquo; she cried, bursting into
a laugh. &ldquo;Hasn&rsquo;t my little rough got the rhino?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nowadays among her intimates she always spoke thus of Count Muffat, and the
gentlemen had ceased to inquire after him otherwise.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Did you see your little rough last night?&rdquo; they used to say.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dear me, I expected to find the little rough here!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
It was a simple familiarity enough, which, nevertheless, she did not as yet
venture on in his presence.
</p>

<p>
Labordette began rolling up the designs as he gave the final explanations. The
goldsmiths, he said, were undertaking to deliver the bed in two months&rsquo;
time, toward the twenty-fifth of December, and next week a sculptor would come
to make a model for the Night. As she accompanied him to the door Nana
remembered the baker and briskly inquired:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By the by, you wouldn&rsquo;t be having ten louis about you?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Labordette made it a solemn rule, which stood him in good stead, never to lend
women money. He used always to make the same reply.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, my girl, I&rsquo;m short. But would you like me to go to your little
rough?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She refused; it was useless. Two days before she had succeeded in getting five
thousand francs out of the count. However, she soon regretted her discreet
conduct, for the moment Labordette had gone the baker reappeared, though it was
barely half-past two, and with many loud oaths roughly settled himself on a
bench in the hall. The young woman listened to him from the first floor. She
was pale, and it caused her especial pain to hear the servants&rsquo; secret
rejoicings swelling up louder and louder till they even reached her ears. Down
in the kitchen they were dying of laughter. The coachman was staring across
from the other side of the court; Francois was crossing the hall without any
apparent reason. Then he hurried off to report progress, after sneering
knowingly at the baker. They didn&rsquo;t care a damn for Madame; the walls
were echoing to their laughter, and she felt that she was deserted on all hands
and despised by the servants&rsquo; hall, the inmates of which were watching
her every movement and liberally bespattering her with the filthiest of chaff.
Thereupon she abandoned the intention of borrowing the hundred and thirty-three
francs from Zoé; she already owed the maid money, and she was too proud to risk
a refusal now. Such a burst of feeling stirred her that she went back into her
room, loudly remarking:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come, come, my girl, don&rsquo;t count on anyone but yourself. Your
body&rsquo;s your own property, and it&rsquo;s better to make use of it than to
let yourself be insulted.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And without even summoning Zoé she dressed herself with feverish haste in order
to run round to the Tricon&rsquo;s. In hours of great embarrassment this was
her last resource. Much sought after and constantly solicited by the old lady,
she would refuse or resign herself according to her needs, and on these
increasingly frequent occasions when both ends would not meet in her royally
conducted establishment, she was sure to find twenty-five louis awaiting her at
the other&rsquo;s house. She used to betake herself to the Tricon&rsquo;s with
the ease born of use, just as the poor go to the pawnshop.
</p>

<p>
But as she left her own chamber Nana came suddenly upon Georges standing in the
middle of the drawing room. Not noticing his waxen pallor and the somber fire
in his wide eyes, she gave a sigh of relief.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, you&rsquo;ve come from your brother.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said the lad, growing yet paler.
</p>

<p>
At this she gave a despairing shrug. What did he want? Why was he barring her
way? She was in a hurry&mdash;yes, she was. Then returning to where he stood:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve no money, have you?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;That&rsquo;s true. How silly of me! Never a stiver; not even their
omnibus fares Mamma doesn&rsquo;t wish it! Oh, what a set of men!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she escaped. But he held her back; he wanted to speak to her. She was
fairly under way and again declared she had no time, but he stopped her with a
word.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Listen, I know you&rsquo;re going to marry my brother.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Gracious! The thing was too funny! And she let herself down into a chair in
order to laugh at her ease.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; continued the lad, &ldquo;and I don&rsquo;t wish it.
It&rsquo;s I you&rsquo;re going to marry. That&rsquo;s why I&rsquo;ve
come.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Eh, what? You too?&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Why, it&rsquo;s a family
disease, is it? No, never! What a fancy, to be sure! Have I ever asked you to
do anything so nasty? Neither one nor t&rsquo;other of you! No, never!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The lad&rsquo;s face brightened. Perhaps he had been deceiving himself! He
continued:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Then swear to me that you don&rsquo;t go to bed with my brother.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, you&rsquo;re beginning to bore me now!&rdquo; said Nana, who had
risen with renewed impatience. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s amusing for a little while,
but when I tell you I&rsquo;m in a hurry&mdash;I go to bed with your brother if
it pleases me. Are you keeping me&mdash;are you paymaster here that you insist
on my making a report? Yes, I go to bed with your brother.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He had caught hold of her arm and squeezed it hard enough to break it as he
stuttered:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t say that! Don&rsquo;t say that!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
With a slight blow she disengaged herself from his grasp.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;He&rsquo;s maltreating me now! Here&rsquo;s a young ruffian for you! My
chicken, you&rsquo;ll leave this jolly sharp. I used to keep you about out of
niceness. Yes, I did! You may stare! Did you think I was going to be your mamma
till I died? I&rsquo;ve got better things to do than to bring up brats.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He listened to her stark with anguish, yet in utter submission. Her every word
cut him to the heart so sharply that he felt he should die. She did not so much
as notice his suffering and continued delightedly to revenge herself on him for
the annoyance of the morning.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s like your brother; he&rsquo;s another pretty Johnny, he is!
He promised me two hundred francs. Oh, dear me; yes, I can wait for &rsquo;em.
It isn&rsquo;t his money I care for! I&rsquo;ve not got enough to pay for hair
oil. Yes, he&rsquo;s leaving me in a jolly fix! Look here, d&rsquo;you want to
know how matters stand? Here goes then: it&rsquo;s all owing to your brother
that I&rsquo;m going out to earn twenty-five louis with another man.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At these words his head spun, and he barred her egress. He cried; he besought
her not to go, clasping his hands together and blurting out:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh no! Oh no!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I want to, I do,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Have you the money?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
No, he had not got the money. He would have given his life to have the money!
Never before had he felt so miserable, so useless, so very childish. All his
wretched being was shaken with weeping and gave proof of such heavy suffering
that at last she noticed it and grew kind. She pushed him away softly.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come, my pet, let me pass; I must. Be reasonable. You&rsquo;re a baby
boy, and it was very nice for a week, but nowadays I must look after my own
affairs. Just think it over a bit. Now your brother&rsquo;s a man; what
I&rsquo;m saying doesn&rsquo;t apply to him. Oh, please do me a favor;
it&rsquo;s no good telling him all this. He needn&rsquo;t know where I&rsquo;m
going. I always let out too much when I&rsquo;m in a rage.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She began laughing. Then taking him in her arms and kissing him on the
forehead:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Good-by, baby,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;it&rsquo;s over, quite over
between us; d&rsquo;you understand? And now I&rsquo;m off!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she left him, and he stood in the middle of the drawing room. Her last
words rang like the knell of a tocsin in his ears: &ldquo;It&rsquo;s over,
quite over!&rdquo; And he thought the ground was opening beneath his feet.
There was a void in his brain from which the man awaiting Nana had disappeared.
Philippe alone remained there in the young woman&rsquo;s bare embrace forever
and ever. She did not deny it: she loved him, since she wanted to spare him the
pain of her infidelity. It was over, quite over. He breathed heavily and gazed
round the room, suffocating beneath a crushing weight. Memories kept recurring
to him one after the other&mdash;memories of merry nights at La Mignotte, of
amorous hours during which he had fancied himself her child, of pleasures
stolen in this very room. And now these things would never, never recur! He was
too small; he had not grown up quickly enough; Philippe was supplanting him
because he was a bearded man. So then this was the end; he could not go on
living. His vicious passion had become transformed into an infinite tenderness,
a sensual adoration, in which his whole being was merged. Then, too, how was he
to forget it all if his brother remained&mdash;his brother, blood of his blood,
a second self, whose enjoyment drove him mad with jealousy? It was the end of
all things; he wanted to die.
</p>

<p>
All the doors remained open, as the servants noisily scattered over the house
after seeing Madame make her exit on foot. Downstairs on the bench in the hall
the baker was laughing with Charles and Francois. Zoé came running across the
drawing room and seemed surprised at sight of Georges. She asked him if he were
waiting for Madame. Yes, he was waiting for her; he had for-gotten to give her
an answer to a question. And when he was alone he set to work and searched.
Finding nothing else to suit his purpose, he took up in the dressing room a
pair of very sharply pointed scissors with which Nana had a mania for
ceaselessly trimming herself, either by polishing her skin or cutting off
little hairs. Then for a whole hour he waited patiently, his hand in his pocket
and his fingers tightly clasped round the scissors.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s Madame,&rdquo; said Zoé, returning. She must have espied
her through the bedroom window.
</p>

<p>
There was a sound of people racing through the house, and laughter died away
and doors were shut. Georges heard Nana paying the baker and speaking in the
curtest way. Then she came upstairs.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What, you&rsquo;re here still!&rdquo; she said as she noticed him.
&ldquo;Aha! We&rsquo;re going to grow angry, my good man!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He followed her as she walked toward her bedroom.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Nana, will you marry me?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She shrugged her shoulders. It was too stupid; she refused to answer any more
and conceived the idea of slamming the door in his face.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Nana, will you marry me?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She slammed the door. He opened it with one hand while he brought the other and
the scissors out of his pocket. And with one great stab he simply buried them
in his breast.
</p>

<p>
Nana, meanwhile, had felt conscious that something dreadful would happen, and
she had turned round. When she saw him stab himself she was seized with
indignation.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, what a fool he is! What a fool! And with my scissors! Will you leave
off, you naughty little rogue? Oh, my God! Oh, my God!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She was scared. Sinking on his knees, the boy had just given himself a second
stab, which sent him down at full length on the carpet. He blocked the
threshold of the bedroom. With that Nana lost her head utterly and screamed
with all her might, for she dared not step over his body, which shut her in and
prevented her from running to seek assistance.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Zoé! Zoé! Come at once. Make him leave off. It&rsquo;s getting
stupid&mdash;a child like that! He&rsquo;s killing himself now! And in my place
too! Did you ever see the like of it?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He was frightening her. He was all white, and his eyes were shut. There was
scarcely any bleeding&mdash;only a little blood, a tiny stain which was oozing
down into his waistcoat. She was making up her mind to step over the body when
an apparition sent her starting back. An old lady was advancing through the
drawing-room door, which remained wide open opposite. And in her terror she
recognized Mme Hugon but could not explain her presence. Still wearing her
gloves and hat, Nana kept edging backward, and her terror grew so great that
she sought to defend herself, and in a shaky voice:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Madame,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;it isn&rsquo;t I; I swear to you it
isn&rsquo;t. He wanted to marry me, and I said no, and he&rsquo;s killed
himself!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Slowly Mme Hugon drew near&mdash;she was in black, and her face showed pale
under her white hair. In the carriage, as she drove thither, the thought of
Georges had vanished and that of Philippe&rsquo;s misdoing had again taken
complete possession of her. It might be that this woman could afford
explanations to the judges which would touch them, and so she conceived the
project of begging her to bear witness in her son&rsquo;s favor. Downstairs the
doors of the house stood open, but as she mounted to the first floor her sick
feet failed her, and she was hesitating as to which way to go when suddenly
horror-stricken cries directed her. Then upstairs she found a man lying on the
floor with bloodstained shirt. It was Georges&mdash;it was her other child.
</p>

<p>
Nana, in idiotic tones, kept saying:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;He wanted to marry me, and I said no, and he&rsquo;s killed
himself.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Uttering no cry, Mme Hugon stooped down. Yes, it was the other one; it was
Georges. The one was brought to dishonor, the other murdered! It caused her no
surprise, for her whole life was ruined. Kneeling on the carpet, utterly
forgetting where she was, noticing no one else, she gazed fixedly at her
boy&rsquo;s face and listened with her hand on his heart. Then she gave a
feeble sigh&mdash;she had felt the heart beating. And with that she lifted her
head and scrutinized the room and the woman and seemed to remember. A fire
glowed forth in her vacant eyes, and she looked so great and terrible in her
silence that Nana trembled as she continued to defend herself above the body
that divided them.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I swear it, madame! If his brother were here he could explain it to
you.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;His brother has robbed&mdash;he is in prison,&rdquo; said the mother in
a hard voice.
</p>

<p>
Nana felt a choking sensation. Why, what was the reason of it all? The other
had turned thief now! They were mad in that family! She ceased struggling in
self-defense; she seemed no longer mistress in her own house and allowed Mme
Hugon to give what orders she liked. The servants had at last hurried up, and
the old lady insisted on their carrying the fainting Georges down to her
carriage. She preferred killing him rather than letting him remain in that
house. With an air of stupefaction Nana watched the retreating servants as they
supported poor, dear Zizi by his legs and shoulders. The mother walked behind
them in a state of collapse; she supported herself against the furniture; she
felt as if all she held dear had vanished in the void. On the landing a sob
escaped her; she turned and twice ejaculated:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, but you&rsquo;ve done us infinite harm! You&rsquo;ve done us
infinite harm!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
That was all. In her stupefaction Nana had sat down; she still wore her gloves
and her hat. The house once more lapsed into heavy silence; the carriage had
driven away, and she sat motionless, not knowing what to do next, her head
swimming after all she had gone through. A quarter of an hour later Count
Muffat found her thus, but at sight of him she relieved her feelings in an
overflowing current of talk. She told him all about the sad incident, repeated
the same details twenty times over, picked up the bloodstained scissors in
order to imitate Zizi&rsquo;s gesture when he stabbed himself. And above all
she nursed the idea of proving her own innocence.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Look you here, dearie, is it my fault? If you were the judge would you
condemn me? I certainly didn&rsquo;t tell Philippe to meddle with the till any
more than I urged that wretched boy to kill himself. I&rsquo;ve been most
unfortunate throughout it all. They come and do stupid things in my place; they
make me miserable; they treat me like a hussy.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she burst into tears. A fit of nervous expansiveness rendered her soft and
doleful, and her immense distress melted her utterly.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And you, too, look as if you weren&rsquo;t satisfied. Now do just ask
Zoé if I&rsquo;m at all mixed up in it. Zoé, do speak: explain to
Monsieur&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The lady&rsquo;s maid, having brought a towel and a basin of water out of the
dressing room, had for some moments past been rubbing the carpet in order to
remove the bloodstains before they dried.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, monsieur,&rdquo; she declared, &ldquo;Madame is utterly
miserable!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Muffat was still stupefied; the tragedy had frozen him, and his imagination was
full of the mother weeping for her sons. He knew her greatness of heart and
pictured her in her widow&rsquo;s weeds, withering solitarily away at Les
Fondettes. But Nana grew ever more despondent, for now the memory of Zizi lying
stretched on the floor, with a red hole in his shirt, almost drove her
senseless.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;He used to be such a darling, so sweet and caressing. Oh, you know, my
pet&mdash;I&rsquo;m sorry if it vexes you&mdash;I loved that baby! I
can&rsquo;t help saying so; the words must out. Besides, now it ought not to
hurt you at all. He&rsquo;s gone. You&rsquo;ve got what you wanted;
you&rsquo;re quite certain never to surprise us again.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And this last reflection tortured her with such regret that he ended by turning
comforter. Well, well, he said, she ought to be brave; she was quite right; it
wasn&rsquo;t her fault! But she checked her lamentations of her own accord in
order to say:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Listen, you must run round and bring me news of him. At once! I wish
it!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He took his hat and went to get news of Georges. When he returned after some
three quarters of an hour he saw Nana leaning anxiously out of a window, and he
shouted up to her from the pavement that the lad was not dead and that they
even hoped to bring him through. At this she immediately exchanged grief for
excess of joy and began to sing and dance and vote existence delightful. Zoé,
meanwhile, was still dissatisfied with her washing. She kept looking at the
stain, and every time she passed it she repeated:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You know it&rsquo;s not gone yet, madame.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
As a matter of fact, the pale red stain kept reappearing on one of the white
roses in the carpet pattern. It was as though, on the very threshold of the
room, a splash of blood were barring the doorway.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Bah!&rdquo; said the joyous Nana. &ldquo;That&rsquo;ll be rubbed out
under people&rsquo;s feet.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
After the following day Count Muffat had likewise forgotten the incident. For a
moment or two, when in the cab which drove him to the Rue Richelieu, he had
busily sworn never to return to that woman&rsquo;s house. Heaven was warning
him; the misfortunes of Philippe and Georges were, he opined, prophetic of his
proper ruin. But neither the sight of Mme Hugon in tears nor that of the boy
burning with fever had been strong enough to make him keep his vow, and the
short-lived horror of the situation had only left behind it a sense of secret
delight at the thought that he was now well quit of a rival, the charm of whose
youth had always exasperated him. His passion had by this time grown exclusive;
it was, indeed, the passion of a man who has had no youth. He loved Nana as one
who yearned to be her sole possessor, to listen to her, to touch her, to be
breathed on by her. His was now a supersensual tenderness, verging on pure
sentiment; it was an anxious affection and as such was jealous of the past and
apt at times to dream of a day of redemption and pardon received, when both
should kneel before God the Father. Every day religion kept regaining its
influence over him. He again became a practicing Christian; he confessed
himself and communicated, while a ceaseless struggle raged within him, and
remorse redoubled the joys of sin and of repentance. Afterward, when his
director gave him leave to spend his passion, he had made a habit of this daily
perdition and would redeem the same by ecstasies of faith, which were full of
pious humility. Very naively he offered heaven, by way of expiatory anguish,
the abominable torment from which he was suffering. This torment grew and
increased, and he would climb his Calvary with the deep and solemn feelings of
a believer, though steeped in a harlot&rsquo;s fierce sensuality. That which
made his agony most poignant was this woman&rsquo;s continued faithlessness. He
could not share her with others, nor did he understand her imbecile caprices.
Undying, unchanging love was what he wished for. However, she had sworn, and he
paid her as having done so. But he felt that she was untruthful, incapable of
common fidelity, apt to yield to friends, to stray passers-by, like a
good-natured animal, born to live minus a shift.
</p>

<p>
One morning when he saw Foucarmont emerging from her bedroom at an unusual
hour, he made a scene about it. But in her weariness of his jealousy she grew
angry directly. On several occasions ere that she had behaved rather prettily.
Thus the evening when he surprised her with Georges she was the first to regain
her temper and to confess herself in the wrong. She had loaded him with
caresses and dosed him with soft speeches in order to make him swallow the
business. But he had ended by boring her to death with his obstinate refusals
to understand the feminine nature, and now she was brutal.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Very well, yes! I&rsquo;ve slept with Foucarmont. What then?
That&rsquo;s flattened you out a bit, my little rough, hasn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
It was the first time she had thrown &ldquo;my little rough&rdquo; in his
teeth. The frank directness of her avowal took his breath away, and when he
began clenching his fists she marched up to him and looked him full in the
face.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;We&rsquo;ve had enough of this, eh? If it doesn&rsquo;t suit you
you&rsquo;ll do me the pleasure of leaving the house. I don&rsquo;t want you to
go yelling in my place. Just you get it into your noodle that I mean to be
quite free. When a man pleases me I go to bed with him. Yes, I
do&mdash;that&rsquo;s my way! And you must make up your mind directly. Yes or
no! If it&rsquo;s no, out you may walk!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She had gone and opened the door, but he did not leave. That was her way now of
binding him more closely to her. For no reason whatever, at the slightest
approach to a quarrel she would tell him he might stop or go as he liked, and
she would accompany her permission with a flood of odious reflections. She said
she could always find better than he; she had only too many from whom to
choose; men in any quantity could be picked up in the street, and men a good
deal smarter, too, whose blood boiled in their veins. At this he would hang his
head and wait for those gentler moods when she wanted money. She would then
become affectionate, and he would forget it all, one night of tender dalliance
making up for the tortures of a whole week. His reconciliation with his wife
had rendered his home unbearable. Fauchery, having again fallen under
Rose&rsquo;s dominion, the countess was running madly after other loves. She
was entering on the forties, that restless, feverish time in the life of women,
and ever hysterically nervous, she now filled her mansion with the maddening
whirl of her fashionable life. Estelle, since her marriage, had seen nothing of
her father; the undeveloped, insignificant girl had suddenly become a woman of
iron will, so imperious withal that Daguenet trembled in her presence. In these
days he accompanied her to mass: he was converted, and he raged against his
father-in-law for ruining them with a courtesan. M. Venot alone still remained
kindly inclined toward the count, for he was biding his time. He had even
succeeded in getting into Nana&rsquo;s immediate circle. In fact, he frequented
both houses, where you encountered his continual smile behind doors. So Muffat,
wretched at home, driven out by ennui and shame, still preferred to live in the
Avenue de Villiers, even though he was abused there.
</p>

<p>
Soon there was but one question between Nana and the count, and that was
&ldquo;money.&rdquo; One day after having formally promised her ten thousand
francs he had dared keep his appointment empty handed. For two days past she
had been surfeiting him with love, and such a breach of faith, such a waste of
caresses, made her ragingly abusive. She was white with fury.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;So you&rsquo;ve not got the money, eh? Then go back where you came from,
my little rough, and look sharp about it! There&rsquo;s a bloody fool for you!
He wanted to kiss me again! Mark my words&mdash;no money, no nothing!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He explained matters; he would be sure to have the money the day after
tomorrow. But she interrupted him violently:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And my bills! They&rsquo;ll sell me up while Monsieur&rsquo;s playing
the fool. Now then, look at yourself. D&rsquo;ye think I love you for your
figure? A man with a mug like yours has to pay the women who are kind enough to
put up with him. By God, if you don&rsquo;t bring me that ten thousand francs
tonight you shan&rsquo;t even have the tip of my little finger to suck. I mean
it! I shall send you back to your wife!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At night he brought the ten thousand francs. Nana put up her lips, and he took
a long kiss which consoled him for the whole day of anguish. What annoyed the
young woman was to have him continually tied to her apron strings. She
complained to M. Venot, begging him to take her little rough off to the
countess. Was their reconciliation good for nothing then? She was sorry she had
mixed herself up in it, since despite everything he was always at her heels. On
the days when, out of anger, she forgot her own interest, she swore to play him
such a dirty trick that he would never again be able to set foot in her place.
But when she slapped her leg and yelled at him she might quite as well have
spat in his face too: he would still have stayed and even thanked her. Then the
rows about money matters kept continually recurring. She demanded money
savagely; she rowed him over wretched little amounts; she was odiously stingy
with every minute of her time; she kept fiercely informing him that she slept
with him for his money, not for any other reasons, and that she did not enjoy
it a bit, that, in fact, she loved another and was awfully unfortunate in
needing an idiot of his sort! They did not even want him at court now, and
there was some talk of requiring him to send in his resignation. The empress
had said, &ldquo;He is too disgusting.&rdquo; It was true enough. So Nana
repeated the phrase by way of closure to all their quarrels.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Look here! You disgust me!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nowadays she no longer minded her p&rsquo;s and q&rsquo;s; she had regained the
most perfect freedom.
</p>

<p>
Every day she did her round of the lake, beginning acquaintanceships which
ended elsewhere. Here was the happy hunting ground par excellence, where
courtesans of the first water spread their nets in open daylight and flaunted
themselves amid the tolerating smiles and brilliant luxury of Paris. Duchesses
pointed her out to one another with a passing look&mdash;rich
shopkeepers&rsquo; wives copied the fashion of her hats. Sometimes her landau,
in its haste to get by, stopped a file of puissant turnouts, wherein sat
plutocrats able to buy up all Europe or Cabinet ministers with plump fingers
tight-pressed to the throat of France. She belonged to this Bois society,
occupied a prominent place in it, was known in every capital and asked about by
every foreigner. The splendors of this crowd were enhanced by the madness of
her profligacy as though it were the very crown, the darling passion, of the
nation. Then there were unions of a night, continual passages of desire, which
she lost count of the morning after, and these sent her touring through the
grand restaurants and on fine days, as often as not, to &ldquo;Madrid.&rdquo;
The staffs of all the embassies visited her, and she, Lucy Stewart, Caroline
Hequet and Maria Blond would dine in the society of gentlemen who murdered the
French language and paid to be amused, engaging them by the evening with orders
to be funny and yet proving so blase and so worn out that they never even
touched them. This the ladies called &ldquo;going on a spree,&rdquo; and they
would return home happy at having been despised and would finish the night in
the arms of the lovers of their choice.
</p>

<p>
When she did not actually throw the men at his head Count Muffat pretended not
to know about all this. However, he suffered not a little from the lesser
indignities of their daily life. The mansion in the Avenue de Villiers was
becoming a hell, a house full of mad people, in which every hour of the day
wild disorders led to hateful complications. Nana even fought with her
servants. One moment she would be very nice with Charles, the coachman. When
she stopped at a restaurant she would send him out beer by the waiter and would
talk with him from the inside of her carriage when he slanged the cabbies at a
block in the traffic, for then he struck her as funny and cheered her up. Then
the next moment she called him a fool for no earthly reason. She was always
squabbling over the straw, the bran or the oats; in spite of her love for
animals she thought her horses ate too much. Accordingly one day when she was
settling up she accused the man of robbing her. At this Charles got in a rage
and called her a whore right out; his horses, he said, were distinctly better
than she was, for they did not sleep with everybody. She answered him in the
same strain, and the count had to separate them and give the coachman the sack.
This was the beginning of a rebellion among the servants. When her diamonds had
been stolen Victorine and Francois left. Julien himself disappeared, and the
tale ran that the master had given him a big bribe and had begged him to go,
because he slept with the mistress. Every week there were new faces in the
servants&rsquo; hall. Never was there such a mess; the house was like a passage
down which the scum of the registry offices galloped, destroying everything in
their path. Zoé alone kept her place; she always looked clean, and her only
anxiety was how to organize this riot until she had got enough together to set
up on her own account in fulfillment of a plan she had been hatching for some
time past.
</p>

<p>
These, again, were only the anxieties he could own to. The count put up with
the stupidity of Mme Maloir, playing bezique with her in spite of her musty
smell. He put up with Mme Lerat and her encumbrances, with Louiset and the
mournful complaints peculiar to a child who is being eaten up with the
rottenness inherited from some unknown father. But he spent hours worse than
these. One evening he had heard Nana angrily telling her maid that a man
pretending to be rich had just swindled her&mdash;a handsome man calling
himself an American and owning gold mines in his own country, a beast who had
gone off while she was asleep without giving her a copper and had even taken a
packet of cigarette papers with him. The count had turned very pale and had
gone downstairs again on tiptoe so as not to hear more. But later he had to
hear all. Nana, having been smitten with a baritone in a music hall and having
been thrown over by him, wanted to commit suicide during a fit of sentimental
melancholia. She swallowed a glass of water in which she had soaked a box of
matches. This made her terribly sick but did not kill her. The count had to
nurse her and to listen to the whole story of her passion, her tearful protests
and her oaths never to take to any man again. In her contempt for those swine,
as she called them, she could not, however, keep her heart free, for she always
had some sweetheart round her, and her exhausted body inclined to
incomprehensible fancies and perverse tastes. As Zoé designedly relaxed her
efforts the service of the house had got to such a pitch that Muffat did not
dare to push open a door, to pull a curtain or to unclose a cupboard. The bells
did not ring; men lounged about everywhere and at every moment knocked up
against one another. He had now to cough before entering a room, having almost
caught the girl hanging round Francis&rsquo; neck one evening that he had just
gone out of the dressing room for two minutes to tell the coachman to put the
horses to, while her hairdresser was finishing her hair. She gave herself up
suddenly behind his back; she took her pleasure in every corner, quickly, with
the first man she met. Whether she was in her chemise or in full dress did not
matter. She would come back to the count red all over, happy at having cheated
him. As for him, he was plagued to death; it was an abominable infliction!
</p>

<p>
In his jealous anguish the unhappy man was comparatively at peace when he left
Nana and Satin alone together. He would have willingly urged her on to this
vice, to keep the men off her. But all was spoiled in this direction too. Nana
deceived Satin as she deceived the count, going mad over some monstrous fancy
or other and picking up girls at the street corners. Coming back in her
carriage, she would suddenly be taken with a little slut that she saw on the
pavement; her senses would be captivated, her imagination excited. She would
take the little slut in with her, pay her and send her away again. Then,
disguised as a man, she would go to infamous houses and look on at scenes of
debauch to while away hours of boredom. And Satin, angry at being thrown over
every moment, would turn the house topsy-turvy with the most awful scenes. She
had at last acquired a complete ascendancy over Nana, who now respected her.
Muffat even thought of an alliance between them. When he dared not say anything
he let Satin loose. Twice she had compelled her darling to take up with him
again, while he showed himself obliging and effaced himself in her favor at the
least sign. But this good understanding lasted no time, for Satin, too, was a
little cracked. On certain days she would very nearly go mad and would smash
everything, wearing herself out in tempest of love and anger, but pretty all
the time. Zoé must have excited her, for the maid took her into corners as if
she wanted to tell her about her great design of which she as yet spoke to no
one.
</p>

<p>
At times, however, Count Muffat was still singularly revolted. He who had
tolerated Satin for months, who had at last shut his eyes to the unknown herd
of men that scampered so quickly through Nana&rsquo;s bedroom, became terribly
enraged at being deceived by one of his own set or even by an acquaintance.
When she confessed her relations with Foucarmont he suffered so acutely, he
thought the treachery of the young man so base, that he wished to insult him
and fight a duel. As he did not know where to find seconds for such an affair,
he went to Labordette. The latter, astonished, could not help laughing.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;A duel about Nana? But, my dear sir, all Paris would be laughing at you.
Men do not fight for Nana; it would be ridiculous.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The count grew very pale and made a violent gesture.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Then I shall slap his face in the open street.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
For an hour Labordette had to argue with him. A blow would make the affair
odious; that evening everyone would know the real reason of the meeting; it
would be in all the papers. And Labordette always finished with the same
expression:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It is impossible; it would be ridiculous.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Each time Muffat heard these words they seemed sharp and keen as a stab. He
could not even fight for the woman he loved; people would have burst out
laughing. Never before had he felt more bitterly the misery of his love, the
contrast between his heavy heart and the absurdity of this life of pleasure in
which it was now lost. This was his last rebellion; he allowed Labordette to
convince him, and he was present afterward at the procession of his friends,
who lived there as if at home.
</p>

<p>
Nana in a few months finished them up greedily, one after the other. The
growing needs entailed by her luxurious way of life only added fuel to her
desires, and she finished a man up at one mouthful. First she had Foucarmont,
who did not last a fortnight. He was thinking of leaving the navy, having saved
about thirty thousand francs in his ten years of service, which he wished to
invest in the United States. His instincts, which were prudential, even
miserly, were conquered; he gave her everything, even his signature to notes of
hand, which pledged his future. When Nana had done with him he was penniless.
But then she proved very kind; she advised him to return to his ship. What was
the good of getting angry? Since he had no money their relations were no longer
possible. He ought to understand that and to be reasonable. A ruined man fell
from her hands like a ripe fruit, to rot on the ground by himself.
</p>

<p>
Then Nana took up with Steiner without disgust but without love. She called him
a dirty Jew; she seemed to be paying back an old grudge, of which she had no
distinct recollection. He was fat; he was stupid, and she got him down and took
two bites at a time in order the quicker to do for this Prussian. As for him,
he had thrown Simonne over. His Bosphorous scheme was getting shaky, and Nana
hastened the downfall by wild expenses. For a month he struggled on, doing
miracles of finance. He filled Europe with posters, advertisements and
prospectuses of a colossal scheme and obtained money from the most distant
climes. All these savings, the pounds of speculators and the pence of the poor,
were swallowed up in the Avenue de Villiers. Again he was partner in an
ironworks in Alsace, where in a small provincial town workmen, blackened with
coal dust and soaked with sweat, day and night strained their sinews and heard
their bones crack to satisfy Nana&rsquo;s pleasures. Like a huge fire she
devoured all the fruits of stock-exchange swindling and the profits of labor.
This time she did for Steiner; she brought him to the ground, sucked him dry to
the core, left him so cleaned out that he was unable to invent a new roguery.
When his bank failed he stammered and trembled at the idea of prosecution. His
bankruptcy had just been published, and the simple mention of money flurried
him and threw him into a childish embarrassment. And this was he who had played
with millions. One evening at Nana&rsquo;s he began to cry and asked her for a
loan of a hundred francs wherewith to pay his maidservant. And Nana, much
affected and amused at the end of this terrible old man who had squeezed Paris
for twenty years, brought it to him and said:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I say, I&rsquo;m giving it you because it seems so funny! But listen to
me, my boy, you are too old for me to keep. You must find something else to
do.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then Nana started on La Faloise at once. He had for some time been longing for
the honor of being ruined by her in order to put the finishing stroke on his
smartness. He needed a woman to launch him properly; it was the one thing still
lacking. In two months all Paris would be talking of him, and he would see his
name in the papers. Six weeks were enough. His inheritance was in landed
estate, houses, fields, woods and farms. He had to sell all, one after the
other, as quickly as he could. At every mouthful Nana swallowed an acre. The
foliage trembling in the sunshine, the wide fields of ripe grain, the vineyards
so golden in September, the tall grass in which the cows stood knee-deep, all
passed through her hands as if engulfed by an abyss. Even fishing rights, a
stone quarry and three mills disappeared. Nana passed over them like an
invading army or one of those swarms of locusts whose flight scours a whole
province. The ground was burned up where her little foot had rested. Farm by
farm, field by field, she ate up the man&rsquo;s patrimony very prettily and
quite inattentively, just as she would have eaten a box of sweet-meats flung
into her lap between mealtimes. There was no harm in it all; they were only
sweets! But at last one evening there only remained a single little wood. She
swallowed it up disdainfully, as it was hardly worth the trouble opening
one&rsquo;s mouth for. La Faloise laughed idiotically and sucked the top of his
stick. His debts were crushing him; he was not worth a hundred francs a year,
and he saw that he would be compelled to go back into the country and live with
his maniacal uncle. But that did not matter; he had achieved smartness; the
Figaro had printed his name twice. And with his meager neck sticking up between
the turndown points of his collar and his figure squeezed into all too short a
coat, he would swagger about, uttering his parrotlike exclamations and
affecting a solemn listlessness suggestive of an emotionless marionette. He so
annoyed Nana that she ended by beating him.
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile Fauchery had returned, his cousin having brought him. Poor Fauchery
had now set up housekeeping. After having thrown over the countess he had
fallen into Rose&rsquo;s hands, and she treated him as a lawful wife would have
done. Mignon was simply Madame&rsquo;s major-domo. Installed as master of the
house, the journalist lied to Rose and took all sorts of precautions when he
deceived her. He was as scrupulous as a good husband, for he really wanted to
settle down at last. Nana&rsquo;s triumph consisted in possessing and in
ruining a newspaper that he had started with a friend&rsquo;s capital. She did
not proclaim her triumph; on the contrary, she delighted in treating him as a
man who had to be circumspect, and when she spoke of Rose it was as &ldquo;poor
Rose.&rdquo; The newspaper kept her in flowers for two months. She took all the
provincial subscriptions; in fact, she took everything, from the column of news
and gossip down to the dramatic notes. Then the editorial staff having been
turned topsy-turvy and the management completely disorganized, she satisfied a
fanciful caprice and had a winter garden constructed in a corner of her house:
that carried off all the type. But then it was no joke after all! When in his
delight at the whole business Mignon came to see if he could not saddle
Fauchery on her altogether, she asked him if he took her for a fool. A
penniless fellow living by his articles and his plays&mdash;not if she knew it!
That sort of foolishness might be all very well for a clever woman like her
poor, dear Rose! She grew distrustful: she feared some treachery on
Mignon&rsquo;s part, for he was quite capable of preaching to his wife, and so
she gave Fauchery his CONGÉ as he now only paid her in fame.
</p>

<p>
But she always recollected him kindly. They had both enjoyed themselves so much
at the expense of that fool of à La Faloise! They would never have thought of
seeing each other again if the delight of fooling such a perfect idiot had not
egged them on! It seemed an awfully good joke to kiss each other under his very
nose. They cut a regular dash with his coin; they would send him off full speed
to the other end of Paris in order to be alone and then when he came back, they
would crack jokes and make allusions he could not understand. One day, urged by
the journalist, she bet that she would smack his face, and that she did the
very same evening and went on to harder blows, for she thought it a good joke
and was glad of the opportunity of showing how cowardly men were. She called
him her &ldquo;slapjack&rdquo; and would tell him to come and have his smack!
The smacks made her hands red, for as yet she was not up to the trick. La
Faloise laughed in his idiotic, languid way, though his eyes were full of
tears. He was delighted at such familiarity; he thought it simply stunning.
</p>

<p>
One night when he had received sundry cuffs and was greatly excited:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Now, d&rsquo;you know,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you ought to marry me. We
should be as jolly as grigs together, eh?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
This was no empty suggestion. Seized with a desire to astonish Paris, he had
been slyly projecting this marriage. &ldquo;Nana&rsquo;s husband!
Wouldn&rsquo;t that sound smart, eh?&rdquo; Rather a stunning apotheosis that!
But Nana gave him a fine snubbing.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Me marry you! Lovely! If such an idea had been tormenting me I should
have found a husband a long time ago! And he&rsquo;d have been a man worth
twenty of you, my pippin! I&rsquo;ve had a heap of proposals. Why, look here,
just reckon &rsquo;em up with me: Philippe, Georges, Foucarmont,
Steiner&mdash;that makes four, without counting the others you don&rsquo;t
know. It&rsquo;s a chorus they all sing. I can&rsquo;t be nice, but they
forthwith begin yelling, &lsquo;Will you marry me? Will you marry
me?&rsquo;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She lashed herself up and then burst out in fine indignation:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh dear, no! I don&rsquo;t want to! D&rsquo;you think I&rsquo;m built
that way? Just look at me a bit! Why, I shouldn&rsquo;t be Nana any longer if I
fastened a man on behind! And, besides, it&rsquo;s too foul!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she spat and hiccuped with disgust, as though she had seen all the dirt in
the world spread out beneath her.
</p>

<p>
One evening La Faloise vanished, and a week later it became known that he was
in the country with an uncle whose mania was botany. He was pasting his
specimens for him and stood a chance of marrying a very plain, pious cousin.
Nana shed no tears for him. She simply said to the count:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Eh, little rough, another rival less! You&rsquo;re chortling today. But
he was becoming serious! He wanted to marry me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He waxed pale, and she flung her arms round his neck and hung there, laughing,
while she emphasized every little cruel speech with a caress.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You can&rsquo;t marry Nana! Isn&rsquo;t that what&rsquo;s fetching you,
eh? When they&rsquo;re all bothering me with their marriages you&rsquo;re
raging in your corner. It isn&rsquo;t possible; you must wait till your wife
kicks the bucket. Oh, if she were only to do that, how you&rsquo;d come rushing
round! How you&rsquo;d fling yourself on the ground and make your offer with
all the grand accompaniments&mdash;sighs and tears and vows! Wouldn&rsquo;t it
be nice, darling, eh?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Her voice had become soft, and she was chaffing him in a ferociously wheedling
manner. He was deeply moved and began blushing as he paid her back her kisses.
Then she cried:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By God, to think I should have guessed! He&rsquo;s thought about it;
he&rsquo;s waiting for his wife to go off the hooks! Well, well, that&rsquo;s
the finishing touch! Why, he&rsquo;s even a bigger rascal than the
others!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Muffat had resigned himself to &ldquo;the others.&rdquo; Nowadays he was
trusting to the last relics of his personal dignity in order to remain
&ldquo;Monsieur&rdquo; among the servants and intimates of the house, the man,
in fact, who because he gave most was the official lover. And his passion grew
fiercer. He kept his position because he paid for it, buying even smiles at a
high price. He was even robbed and he never got his money&rsquo;s worth, but a
disease seemed to be gnawing his vitals from which he could not prevent himself
suffering. Whenever he entered Nana&rsquo;s bedroom he was simply content to
open the windows for a second or two in order to get rid of the odors the
others left behind them, the essential smells of fair-haired men and dark, the
smoke of cigars, of which the pungency choked him. This bedroom was becoming a
veritable thoroughfare, so continually were boots wiped on its threshold. Yet
never a man among them was stopped by the bloodstain barring the door. Zoé was
still preoccupied by this stain; it was a simple mania with her, for she was a
clean girl, and it horrified her to see it always there. Despite everything her
eyes would wander in its direction, and she now never entered Madame&rsquo;s
room without remarking:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s strange that don&rsquo;t go. All the same, plenty of folk
come in this way.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana kept receiving the best news from Georges, who was by that time already
convalescent in his mother&rsquo;s keeping at Les Fondettes, and she used
always to make the same reply.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, hang it, time&rsquo;s all that&rsquo;s wanted. It&rsquo;s apt to
grow paler as feet cross it.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
As a matter of fact, each of the gentlemen, whether Foucarmont, Steiner, La
Faloise or Fauchery, had borne away some of it on their bootsoles. And Muffat,
whom the bloodstain preoccupied as much as it did Zoé, kept studying it in his
own despite, as though in its gradual rosy disappearance he would read the
number of men that passed. He secretly dreaded it and always stepped over it
out of a vivid fear of crushing some live thing, some naked limb lying on the
floor.
</p>

<p>
But in the bedroom within he would grow dizzy and intoxicated and would forget
everything&mdash;the mob of men which constantly crossed it, the sign of
mourning which barred its door. Outside, in the open air of the street, he
would weep occasionally out of sheer shame and disgust and would vow never to
enter the room again. And the moment the portière had closed behind him he was
under the old influence once more and felt his whole being melting in the damp
warm air of the place, felt his flesh penetrated by a perfume, felt himself
overborne by a voluptuous yearning for self-annihilation. Pious and habituated
to ecstatic experiences in sumptuous chapels, he there re-encountered precisely
the same mystical sensations as when he knelt under some painted window and
gave way to the intoxication of organ music and incense. Woman swayed him as
jealously and despotically as the God of wrath, terrifying him, granting him
moments of delight, which were like spasms in their keenness, in return for
hours filled with frightful, tormenting visions of hell and eternal tortures.
In Nana&rsquo;s presence, as in church, the same stammering accents were his,
the same prayers and the same fits of despair&mdash;nay, the same paroxysms of
humility peculiar to an accursed creature who is crushed down in the mire from
whence he has sprung. His fleshly desires, his spiritual needs, were confounded
together and seemed to spring from the obscure depths of his being and to bear
but one blossom on the tree of his existence. He abandoned himself to the power
of love and of faith, those twin levers which move the world. And despite all
the struggles of his reason this bedroom of Nana&rsquo;s always filled him with
madness, and he would sink shuddering under the almighty dominion of sex, just
as he would swoon before the vast unknown of heaven.
</p>

<p>
Then when she felt how humble he was Nana grew tyrannously triumphant. The rage
for debasing things was inborn in her. It did not suffice her to destroy them;
she must soil them too. Her delicate hands left abominable traces and
themselves decomposed whatever they had broken. And he in his imbecile
condition lent himself to this sort of sport, for he was possessed by vaguely
remembered stories of saints who were devoured by vermin and in turn devoured
their own excrements. When once she had him fast in her room and the doors were
shut, she treated herself to a man&rsquo;s infamy. At first they joked
together, and she would deal him light blows and impose quaint tasks on him,
making him lisp like a child and repeat tags of sentences.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Say as I do: &rsquo;tonfound it! Ickle man damn vell don&rsquo;t tare
about it!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He would prove so docile as to reproduce her very accent.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;&rsquo;Tonfound it! Ickle man damn vell don&rsquo;t tare about
it!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Or again she would play bear, walking on all fours on her rugs when she had
only her chemise on and turning round with a growl as though she wanted to eat
him. She would even nibble his calves for the fun of the thing. Then, getting
up again:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s your turn now; try it a bit. I bet you don&rsquo;t play bear
like me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
It was still charming enough. As bear she amused him with her white skin and
her fell of ruddy hair. He used to laugh and go down on all fours, too, and
growl and bite her calves, while she ran from him with an affectation of
terror.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Are we beasts, eh?&rdquo; she would end by saying. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve
no notion how ugly you are, my pet! Just think if they were to see you like
that at the Tuileries!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But ere long these little games were spoiled. It was not cruelty in her case,
for she was still a good-natured girl; it was as though a passing wind of
madness were blowing ever more strongly in the shut-up bedroom. A storm of lust
disordered their brains, plunged them into the delirious imaginations of the
flesh. The old pious terrors of their sleepless nights were now transforming
themselves into a thirst for bestiality, a furious longing to walk on all
fours, to growl and to bite. One day when he was playing bear she pushed him so
roughly that he fell against a piece of furniture, and when she saw the lump on
his forehead she burst into involuntary laughter. After that her experiments on
La Faloise having whetted her appetite, she treated him like an animal,
threshing him and chasing him to an accompaniment of kicks.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Gee up! Gee up! You&rsquo;re a horse. Hoi! Gee up! Won&rsquo;t you hurry
up, you dirty screw?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At other times he was a dog. She would throw her scented handkerchief to the
far end of the room, and he had to run and pick it up with his teeth, dragging
himself along on hands and knees.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Fetch it, Caesar! Look here, I&rsquo;ll give you what for if you
don&rsquo;t look sharp! Well done, Caesar! Good dog! Nice old fellow! Now
behave pretty!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And he loved his abasement and delighted in being a brute beast. He longed to
sink still further and would cry:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Hit harder. On, on! I&rsquo;m wild! Hit away!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She was seized with a whim and insisted on his coming to her one night clad in
his magnificent chamberlain&rsquo;s costume. Then how she did laugh and make
fun of him when she had him there in all his glory, with the sword and the
cocked hat and the white breeches and the full-bottomed coat of red cloth laced
with gold and the symbolic key hanging on its left-hand skirt. This key made
her especially merry and urged her to a wildly fanciful and extremely filthy
discussion of it. Laughing without cease and carried away by her irreverence
for pomp and by the joy of debasing him in the official dignity of his costume,
she shook him, pinched him, shouted, &ldquo;Oh, get along with ye,
Chamberlain!&rdquo; and ended by an accompaniment of swinging kicks behind. Oh,
those kicks! How heartily she rained them on the Tuileries and the majesty of
the imperial court, throning on high above an abject and trembling people.
That&rsquo;s what she thought of society! That was her revenge! It was an
affair of unconscious hereditary spite; it had come to her in her blood. Then
when once the chamberlain was undressed and his coat lay spread on the ground
she shrieked, &ldquo;Jump!&rdquo; And he jumped. She shrieked,
&ldquo;Spit!&rdquo; And he spat. With a shriek she bade him walk on the gold,
on the eagles, on the decorations, and he walked on them. Hi tiddly hi ti!
Nothing was left; everything was going to pieces. She smashed a chamberlain
just as she smashed a flask or a comfit box, and she made filth of him, reduced
him to a heap of mud at a street corner.
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile the goldsmiths had failed to keep their promise, and the bed was not
delivered till one day about the middle of January. Muffat was just then in
Normandy, whither he had gone to sell a last stray shred of property, but Nana
demanded four thousand francs forthwith. He was not due in Paris till the day
after tomorrow, but when his business was once finished he hastened his return
and without even paying a flying visit in the Rue Miromesnil came direct to the
Avenue de Villiers. Ten o&rsquo;clock was striking. As he had a key of a little
door opening on the Rue Cardinet, he went up unhindered. In the drawing room
upstairs Zoé, who was polishing the bronzes, stood dumfounded at sight of him,
and not knowing how to stop him, she began with much circumlocution, informing
him that M. Venot, looking utterly beside himself, had been searching for him
since yesterday and that he had already come twice to beg her to send Monsieur
to his house if Monsieur arrived at Madame&rsquo;s before going home. Muffat
listened to her without in the least understanding the meaning of her recital;
then he noticed her agitation and was seized by a sudden fit of jealousy of
which he no longer believed himself capable. He threw himself against the
bedroom door, for he heard the sound of laughter within. The door gave; its two
flaps flew asunder, while Zoé withdrew, shrugging her shoulders. So much the
worse for Madame! As Madame was bidding good-by to her wits, she might arrange
matters for herself.
</p>

<p>
And on the threshold Muffat uttered a cry at the sight that was presented to
his view.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My God! My God!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The renovated bedroom was resplendent in all its royal luxury. Silver buttons
gleamed like bright stars on the tea-rose velvet of the hangings. These last
were of that pink flesh tint which the skies assume on fine evenings, when
Venus lights her fires on the horizon against the clear background of fading
daylight. The golden cords and tassels hanging in corners and the gold
lace-work surrounding the panels were like little flames of ruddy strands of
loosened hair, and they half covered the wide nakedness of the room while they
emphasized its pale, voluptuous tone. Then over against him there was the gold
and silver bed, which shone in all the fresh splendor of its chiseled
workmanship, a throne this of sufficient extent for Nana to display the
outstretched glory of her naked limbs, an altar of Byzantine sumptuousness,
worthy of the almighty puissance of Nana&rsquo;s sex, which at this very hour
lay nudely displayed there in the religious immodesty befitting an idol of all
men&rsquo;s worship. And close by, beneath the snowy reflections of her bosom
and amid the triumph of the goddess, lay wallowing a shameful, decrepit thing,
a comic and lamentable ruin, the Marquis de Chouard in his nightshirt.
</p>

<p>
The count had clasped his hands together and, shaken by a paroxysmal
shuddering, he kept crying:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My God! My God!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
It was for the Marquis de Chouard, then, that the golden roses flourished on
the side panels, those bunches of golden roses blooming among the golden
leaves; it was for him that the Cupids leaned forth with amorous, roguish
laughter from their tumbling ring on the silver trelliswork. And it was for him
that the faun at his feet discovered the nymph sleeping, tired with dalliance,
the figure of Night copied down to the exaggerated thighs&mdash;which caused
her to be recognizable of all&mdash;from Nana&rsquo;s renowned nudity. Cast
there like the rag of something human which has been spoiled and dissolved by
sixty years of debauchery, he suggested the charnelhouse amid the glory of the
woman&rsquo;s dazzling contours. Seeing the door open, he had risen up, smitten
with sudden terror as became an infirm old man. This last night of passion had
rendered him imbecile; he was entering on his second childhood; and, his speech
failing him, he remained in an attitude of flight, half-paralyzed, stammering,
shivering, his nightshirt half up his skeleton shape, and one leg outside the
clothes, a livid leg, covered with gray hair. Despite her vexation Nana could
not keep from laughing.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do lie down! Stuff yourself into the bed,&rdquo; she said, pulling him
back and burying him under the coverlet, as though he were some filthy thing
she could not show anyone.
</p>

<p>
Then she sprang up to shut the door again. She was decidedly never lucky with
her little rough. He was always coming when least wanted. And why had he gone
to fetch money in Normandy? The old man had brought her the four thousand
francs, and she had let him have his will of her. She pushed back the two flaps
of the door and shouted:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;So much the worse for you! It&rsquo;s your fault. Is that the way to
come into a room? I&rsquo;ve had enough of this sort of thing. Ta ta!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Muffat remained standing before the closed door, thunderstruck by what he had
just seen. His shuddering fit increased. It mounted from his feet to his heart
and brain. Then like a tree shaken by a mighty wind, he swayed to and fro and
dropped on his knees, all his muscles giving way under him. And with hands
despairingly outstretched he stammered:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;This is more than I can bear, my God! More than I can bear!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He had accepted every situation but he could do so no longer. He had come to
the end of his strength and was plunged in the dark void where man and his
reason are together overthrown. In an extravagant access of faith he raised his
hands ever higher and higher, searching for heaven, calling on God.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh no, I do not desire it! Oh, come to me, my God! Succor me; nay, let
me die sooner! Oh no, not that man, my God! It is over; take me, carry me away,
that I may not see, that I may not feel any longer! Oh, I belong to you, my
God! Our Father which art in heaven&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And burning with faith, he continued his supplication, and an ardent prayer
escaped from his lips. But someone touched him on the shoulder. He lifted his
eyes; it was M. Venot. He was surprised to find him praying before that closed
door. Then as though God Himself had responded to his appeal, the count flung
his arms round the little old gentleman&rsquo;s neck. At last he could weep,
and he burst out sobbing and repeated:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My brother, my brother.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
All his suffering humanity found comfort in that cry. He drenched M.
Venot&rsquo;s face with tears; he kissed him, uttering fragmentary
ejaculations.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, my brother, how I am suffering! You only are left me, my brother.
Take me away forever&mdash;oh, for mercy&rsquo;s sake, take me away!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then M. Venot pressed him to his bosom and called him &ldquo;brother&rdquo;
also. But he had a fresh blow in store for him. Since yesterday he had been
searching for him in order to inform him that the Countess Sabine, in a supreme
fit of moral aberration, had but now taken flight with the manager of one of
the departments in a large, fancy emporium. It was a fearful scandal, and all
Paris was already talking about it. Seeing him under the influence of such
religious exaltation, Venot felt the opportunity to be favorable and at once
told him of the meanly tragic shipwreck of his house. The count was not touched
thereby. His wife had gone? That meant nothing to him; they would see what
would happen later on. And again he was seized with anguish, and gazing with a
look of terror at the door, the walls, the ceiling, he continued pouring forth
his single supplication:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Take me away! I cannot bear it any longer! Take me away!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
M. Venot took him away as though he had been a child. From that day forth
Muffat belonged to him entirely; he again became strictly attentive to the
duties of religion; his life was utterly blasted. He had resigned his position
as chamberlain out of respect for the outraged modesty of the Tuileries, and
soon Estelle, his daughter, brought an action against him for the recovery of a
sum of sixty thousand francs, a legacy left her by an aunt to which she ought
to have succeeded at the time of her marriage. Ruined and living narrowly on
the remains of his great fortune, he let himself be gradually devoured by the
countess, who ate up the husks Nana had rejected. Sabine was indeed ruined by
the example of promiscuity set her by her husband&rsquo;s intercourse with the
wanton. She was prone to every excess and proved the ultimate ruin and
destruction of his very hearth. After sundry adventures she had returned home,
and he had taken her back in a spirit of Christian resignation and forgiveness.
She haunted him as his living disgrace, but he grew more and more indifferent
and at last ceased suffering from these distresses. Heaven took him out of his
wife&rsquo;s hands in order to restore him to the arms of God, and so the
voluptuous pleasures he had enjoyed with Nana were prolonged in religious
ecstasies, accompanied by the old stammering utterances, the old prayers and
despairs, the old fits of humility which befit an accursed creature who is
crushed beneath the mire whence he sprang. In the recesses of churches, his
knees chilled by the pavement, he would once more experience the delights of
the past, and his muscles would twitch, and his brain would whirl deliciously,
and the satisfaction of the obscure necessities of his existence would be the
same as of old.
</p>

<p>
On the evening of the final rupture Mignon presented himself at the house in
the Avenue de Villiers. He was growing accustomed to Fauchery and was beginning
at last to find the presence of his wife&rsquo;s husband infinitely
advantageous to him. He would leave all the little household cares to the
journalist and would trust him in the active superintendence of all their
affairs. Nay, he devoted the money gained by his dramatic successes to the
daily expenditure of the family, and as, on his part, Fauchery behaved
sensibly, avoiding ridiculous jealousy and proving not less pliant than Mignon
himself whenever Rose found her opportunity, the mutual understanding between
the two men constantly improved. In fact, they were happy in a partnership
which was so fertile in all kinds of amenities, and they settled down side by
side and adopted a family arrangement which no longer proved a stumbling block.
The whole thing was conducted according to rule; it suited admirably, and each
man vied with the other in his efforts for the common happiness. That very
evening Mignon had come by Fauchery&rsquo;s advice to see if he could not steal
Nana&rsquo;s lady&rsquo;s maid from her, the journalist having formed a high
opinion of the woman&rsquo;s extraordinary intelligence. Rose was in despair;
for a month past she had been falling into the hands of inexperienced girls who
were causing her continual embarrassment. When Zoé received him at the door he
forthwith pushed her into the dining room. But at his opening sentence she
smiled. The thing was impossible, she said, for she was leaving Madame and
establishing herself on her own account. And she added with an expression of
discreet vanity that she was daily receiving offers, that the ladies were
fighting for her and that Mme Blanche would give a pile of gold to have her
back.
</p>

<p>
Zoé was taking the Tricon&rsquo;s establishment. It was an old project and had
been long brooded over. It was her ambition to make her fortune thereby, and
she was investing all her savings in it. She was full of great ideas and
meditated increasing the business and hiring a house and combining all the
delights within its walls. It was with this in view that she had tried to
entice Satin, a little pig at that moment dying in hospital, so terribly had
she done for herself.
</p>

<p>
Mignon still insisted with his offer and spoke of the risks run in the
commercial life, but Zoé, without entering into explanations about the exact
nature of her establishment, smiled a pinched smile, as though she had just put
a sweetmeat in her mouth, and was content to remark:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, luxuries always pay. You see, I&rsquo;ve been with others quite long
enough, and now I want others to be with me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And a fierce look set her lip curling. At last she would be
&ldquo;Madame,&rdquo; and for the sake of earning a few louis all those women
whose slops she had emptied during the last fifteen years would prostrate
themselves before her.
</p>

<p>
Mignon wished to be announced, and Zoé left him for a moment after remarking
that Madame had passed a miserable day. He had only been at the house once
before, and he did not know it at all. The dining room with its Gobelin
tapestry, its sideboard and its plate filled him with astonishment. He opened
the doors familiarly and visited the drawing room and the winter garden,
returning thence into the hall. This overwhelming luxury, this gilded
furniture, these silks and velvets, gradually filled him with such a feeling of
admiration that it set his heart beating. When Zoé came down to fetch him she
offered to show him the other rooms, the dressing room, that is to say, and the
bedroom. In the latter Mignon&rsquo;s feelings overcame him; he was carried
away by them; they filled him with tender enthusiasm.
</p>

<p>
That damned Nana was simply stupefying him, and yet he thought he knew a thing
or two. Amid the downfall of the house and the servants&rsquo; wild, wasteful
race to destruction, massed-up riches still filled every gaping hole and
overtopped every ruined wall. And Mignon, as he viewed this lordly monument of
wealth, began recalling to mind the various great works he had seen. Near
Marseilles they had shown him an aqueduct, the stone arches of which bestrode
an abyss, a Cyclopean work which cost millions of money and ten years of
intense labor. At Cherbourg he had seen the new harbor with its enormous works,
where hundreds of men sweated in the sun while cranes filled the sea with huge
squares of rock and built up a wall where a workman now and again remained
crushed into bloody pulp. But all that now struck him as insignificant. Nana
excited him far more. Viewing the fruit of her labors, he once more experienced
the feelings of respect that had overcome him one festal evening in a sugar
refiner&rsquo;s château. This château had been erected for the refiner, and its
palatial proportions and royal splendor had been paid for by a single
material&mdash;sugar. It was with something quite different, with a little
laughable folly, a little delicate nudity&mdash;it was with this shameful
trifle, which is so powerful as to move the universe, that she alone, without
workmen, without the inventions of engineers, had shaken Paris to its
foundations and had built up a fortune on the bodies of dead men.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, by God, what an implement!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Mignon let the words escape him in his ecstasy, for he felt a return of
personal gratitude.
</p>

<p>
Nana had gradually lapsed into a most mournful condition. To begin with, the
meeting of the marquis and the count had given her a severe fit of feverish
nervousness, which verged at times on laughter. Then the thought of this old
man going away half dead in a cab and of her poor rough, whom she would never
set eyes on again now that she had driven him so wild, brought on what looked
like the beginnings of melancholia. After that she grew vexed to hear about
Satin&rsquo;s illness. The girl had disappeared about a fortnight ago and was
now ready to die at Lariboisière, to such a damnable state had Mme Robert
reduced her. When she ordered the horses to be put to in order that she might
have a last sight of this vile little wretch Zoé had just quietly given her a
week&rsquo;s notice. The announcement drove her to desperation at once! It
seemed to her she was losing a member of her own family. Great heavens! What
was to become of her when left alone? And she besought Zoé to stay, and the
latter, much flattered by Madame&rsquo;s despair, ended by kissing her to show
that she was not going away in anger. No, she had positively to go: the heart
could have no voice in matters of business.
</p>

<p>
But that day was one of annoyances. Nana was thoroughly disgusted and gave up
the idea of going out. She was dragging herself wearily about the little
drawing room when Labordette came up to tell her of a splendid chance of buying
magnificent lace and in the course of his remarks casually let slip the
information that Georges was dead. The announcement froze her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Zizi dead!&rdquo; she cried.
</p>

<p>
And involuntarily her eyes sought the pink stain on the carpet, but it had
vanished at last; passing footsteps had worn it away. Meanwhile Labordette
entered into particulars. It was not exactly known how he died. Some spoke of a
wound reopening, others of suicide. The lad had plunged, they said, into a tank
at Les Fondettes. Nana kept repeating:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dead! Dead!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She had been choking with grief since morning, and now she burst out sobbing
and thus sought relief. Hers was an infinite sorrow: it overwhelmed her with
its depth and immensity. Labordette wanted to comfort her as touching Georges,
but she silenced him with a gesture and blurted out:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t only he; it&rsquo;s everything, everything. I&rsquo;m
very wretched. Oh yes, I know! They&rsquo;ll again be saying I&rsquo;m a hussy.
To think of the mother mourning down there and of the poor man who was groaning
in front of my door this morning and of all the other people that are now
ruined after running through all they had with me! That&rsquo;s it; punish
Nana; punish the beastly thing! Oh, I&rsquo;ve got a broad back! I can hear
them as if I were actually there! &lsquo;That dirty wench who lies with
everybody and cleans out some and drives others to death and causes a whole
heap of people pain!&rsquo;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She was obliged to pause, for tears choked her utterance, and in her anguish
she flung herself athwart a divan and buried her face in a cushion. The
miseries she felt to be around her, miseries of which she was the cause,
overwhelmed her with a warm, continuous stream of self-pitying tears, and her
voice failed as she uttered a little girl&rsquo;s broken plaint:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, I&rsquo;m wretched! Oh, I&rsquo;m wretched! I can&rsquo;t go on like
this: it&rsquo;s choking me. It&rsquo;s too hard to be misunderstood and to see
them all siding against you because they&rsquo;re stronger. However, when
you&rsquo;ve got nothing to reproach yourself with and your conscious is clear,
why, then I say, &lsquo;I won&rsquo;t have it! I won&rsquo;t have
it!&rsquo;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
In her anger she began rebeling against circumstances, and getting up, she
dried her eyes, and walked about in much agitation.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t have it! They can say what they like, but it&rsquo;s not
my fault! Am I a bad lot, eh? I give away all I&rsquo;ve got; I wouldn&rsquo;t
crush a fly! It&rsquo;s they who are bad! Yes, it&rsquo;s they! I never wanted
to be horrid to them. And they came dangling after me, and today they&rsquo;re
kicking the bucket and begging and going to ruin on purpose.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then she paused in front of Labordette and tapped his shoulders.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Look here,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;you were there all along; now speak
the truth: did I urge them on? Weren&rsquo;t there always a dozen of &rsquo;em
squabbling who could invent the dirtiest trick? They used to disgust me, they
did! I did all I knew not to copy them: I was afraid to. Look here, I&rsquo;ll
give you a single instance: they all wanted to marry me! A pretty notion, eh?
Yes, dear boy, I could have been countess or baroness a dozen times over and
more, if I&rsquo;d consented. Well now, I refused because I was reasonable. Oh
yes, I saved &rsquo;em some crimes and other foul acts! They&rsquo;d have
stolen, murdered, killed father and mother. I had only to say one word, and I
didn&rsquo;t say it. You see what I&rsquo;ve got for it today. There&rsquo;s
Daguenet, for instance; I married that chap off! I made a position for the
beggarly fellow after keeping him gratis for weeks! And I met him yesterday,
and he looks the other way! Oh, get along, you swine! I&rsquo;m less dirty than
you!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She had begun pacing about again, and now she brought her fist violently down
on a round table.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;By God it isn&rsquo;t fair! Society&rsquo;s all wrong. They come down on
the women when it&rsquo;s the men who want you to do things. Yes, I can tell
you this now: when I used to go with them&mdash;see? I didn&rsquo;t enjoy it;
no, I didn&rsquo;t enjoy it one bit. It bored me, on my honor. Well then, I ask
you whether I&rsquo;ve got anything to do with it! Yes, they bored me to death!
If it hadn&rsquo;t been for them and what they made of me, dear boy, I should
be in a convent saying my prayers to the good God, for I&rsquo;ve always had my
share of religion. Dash it, after all, if they have dropped their money and
their lives over it, what do I care? It&rsquo;s their fault. I&rsquo;ve had
nothing to do with it!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Certainly not,&rdquo; said Labordette with conviction.
</p>

<p>
Zoé ushered in Mignon, and Nana received him smilingly. She had cried a good
deal, but it was all over now. Still glowing with enthusiasm, he complimented
her on her installation, but she let him see that she had had enough of her
mansion and that now she had other projects and would sell everything up one of
these days. Then as he excused himself for calling on the ground that he had
come about a benefit performance in aid of old Bose, who was tied to his
armchair by paralysis, she expressed extreme pity and took two boxes. Meanwhile
Zoé announced that the carriage was waiting for Madame, and she asked for her
hat and as she tied the strings told them about poor, dear Satin&rsquo;s
mishap, adding:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;m going to the hospital. Nobody ever loved me as she did. Oh,
they&rsquo;re quite right when they accuse the men of heartlessness! Who knows?
Perhaps I shan&rsquo;t see her alive. Never mind, I shall ask to see her: I
want to give her a kiss.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Labordette and Mignon smiled, and as Nana was no longer melancholy she smiled
too. Those two fellows didn&rsquo;t count; they could enter into her feelings.
And they both stood and admired her in silent abstraction while she finished
buttoning her gloves. She alone kept her feet amid the heaped-up riches of her
mansion, while a whole generation of men lay stricken down before her. Like
those antique monsters whose redoubtable domains were covered with skeletons,
she rested her feet on human skulls. She was ringed round with catastrophes.
There was the furious immolation of Vandeuvres; the melancholy state of
Foucarmont, who was lost in the China seas; the smashup of Steiner, who now had
to live like an honest man; the satisfied idiocy of La Faloise, and the tragic
shipwreck of the Muffats. Finally there was the white corpse of Georges, over
which Philippe was now watching, for he had come out of prison but yesterday.
She had finished her labor of ruin and death. The fly that had flown up from
the ordure of the slums, bringing with it the leaven of social rottenness, had
poisoned all these men by merely alighting on them. It was well done&mdash;it
was just. She had avenged the beggars and the wastrels from whose caste she
issued. And while, metaphorically speaking, her sex rose in a halo of glory and
beamed over prostrate victims like a mounting sun shining brightly over a field
of carnage, the actual woman remained as unconscious as a splendid animal, and
in her ignorance of her mission was the good-natured courtesan to the last. She
was still big; she was still plump; her health was excellent, her spirits
capital. But this went for nothing now, for her house struck her as ridiculous.
It was too small; it was full of furniture which got in her way. It was a
wretched business, and the long and the short of the matter was she would have
to make a fresh start. In fact, she was meditating something much better, and
so she went off to kiss Satin for the last time. She was in all her finery and
looked clean and solid and as brand new as if she had never seen service
before.
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"></a> CHAPTER XIV</h2>

<p>
Nana suddenly disappeared. It was a fresh plunge, an escapade, a flight into
barbarous regions. Before her departure she had treated herself to a new
sensation: she had held a sale and had made a clean sweep of
everything&mdash;house, furniture, jewelry, nay, even dresses and linen. Prices
were cited&mdash;the five days&rsquo; sale produced more than six hundred
thousand francs. For the last time Paris had seen her in a fairy piece. It was
called Melusine, and it played at the Theatre de la Gaîté, which the penniless
Bordenave had taken out of sheer audacity. Here she again found herself in
company with Prullière and Fontan. Her part was simply spectacular, but it was
the great attraction of the piece, consisting, as it did, of three POSES
PLASTIQUES, each of which represented the same dumb and puissant fairy. Then
one fine morning amid his grand success, when Bordenave, who was mad after
advertisement, kept firing the Parisian imagination with colossal posters, it
became known that she must have started for Cairo the previous day. She had
simply had a few words with her manager. Something had been said which did not
please her; the whole thing was the caprice of a woman who is too rich to let
herself be annoyed. Besides, she had indulged an old infatuation, for she had
long meditated visiting the Turks.
</p>

<p>
Months passed&mdash;she began to be forgotten. When her name was mentioned
among the ladies and gentlemen, the strangest stories were told, and everybody
gave the most contradictory and at the same time prodigious information. She
had made a conquest of the viceroy; she was reigning, in the recesses of a
palace, over two hundred slaves whose heads she now and then cut off for the
sake of a little amusement. No, not at all! She had ruined herself with a great
big nigger! A filthy passion this, which had left her wallowing without a
chemise to her back in the crapulous debauchery of Cairo. A fortnight later
much astonishment was produced when someone swore to having met her in Russia.
A legend began to be formed: she was the mistress of a prince, and her diamonds
were mentioned. All the women were soon acquainted with them from the current
descriptions, but nobody could cite the precise source of all this information.
There were finger rings, earrings, bracelets, a REVIERE of phenomenal width, a
queenly diadem surmounted by a central brilliant the size of one&rsquo;s thumb.
In the retirement of those faraway countries she began to gleam forth as
mysteriously as a gem-laden idol. People now mentioned her without laughing,
for they were full of meditative respect for this fortune acquired among the
barbarians.
</p>

<p>
One evening in July toward eight o&rsquo;clock, Lucy, while getting out of her
carriage in the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore, noticed Caroline Hequet, who had
come out on foot to order something at a neighboring tradesman&rsquo;s. Lucy
called her and at once burst out with:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Have you dined? Are you disengaged? Oh, then come with me, my dear.
Nana&rsquo;s back.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The other got in at once, and Lucy continued:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And you know, my dear, she may be dead while we&rsquo;re
gossiping.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dead! What an idea!&rdquo; cried Caroline in stupefaction. &ldquo;And
where is she? And what&rsquo;s it of?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;At the Grand Hotel, of smallpox. Oh, it&rsquo;s a long story!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Lucy had bidden her coachman drive fast, and while the horses trotted rapidly
along the Rue Royale and the boulevards, she told what had happened to Nana in
jerky, breathless sentences.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You can&rsquo;t imagine it. Nana plumps down out of Russia. I
don&rsquo;t know why&mdash;some dispute with her prince. She leaves her traps
at the station; she lands at her aunt&rsquo;s&mdash;you remember the old thing.
Well, and then she finds her baby dying of smallpox. The baby dies next day,
and she has a row with the aunt about some money she ought to have sent, of
which the other one has never seen a sou. Seems the child died of that: in
fact, it was neglected and badly cared for. Very well; Nana slopes, goes to a
hotel, then meets Mignon just as she was thinking of her traps. She has all
sorts of queer feelings, shivers, wants to be sick, and Mignon takes her back
to her place and promises to look after her affairs. Isn&rsquo;t it odd, eh?
Doesn&rsquo;t it all happen pat? But this is the best part of the story: Rose
finds out about Nana&rsquo;s illness and gets indignant at the idea of her
being alone in furnished apartments. So she rushes off, crying, to look after
her. You remember how they used to detest one another&mdash;like regular
furies! Well then, my dear, Rose has had Nana transported to the Grand Hotel,
so that she should, at any rate, die in a smart place, and now she&rsquo;s
already passed three nights there and is free to die of it after. It&rsquo;s
Labordette who told me all about it. Accordingly I wanted to see for
myself&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; interrupted Caroline in great excitement
&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll go up to her.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They had arrived at their destination. On the boulevard the coachman had had to
rein in his horses amid a block of carriages and people on foot. During the day
the Corps Legislatif had voted for war, and now a crowd was streaming down all
the streets, flowing along all the pavements, invading the middle of the
roadway. Beyond the Madeleine the sun had set behind a blood-red cloud, which
cast a reflection as of a great fire and set the lofty windows flaming.
Twilight was falling, and the hour was oppressively melancholy, for now the
avenues were darkening away into the distance but were not as yet dotted over
by the bright sparks of the gas lamps. And among the marching crowds distant
voices swelled and grew ever louder, and eyes gleamed from pale faces, while a
great spreading wind of anguish and stupor set every head whirling.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s Mignon,&rdquo; said Lucy. &ldquo;He&rsquo;ll give us
news.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Mignon was standing under the vast porch of the Grand Hotel. He looked nervous
and was gazing at the crowd. After Lucy&rsquo;s first few questions he grew
impatient and cried out:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;How should I know? These last two days I haven&rsquo;t been able to tear
Rose away from up there. It&rsquo;s getting stupid, when all&rsquo;s said, for
her to be risking her life like that! She&rsquo;ll be charming if she gets over
it, with holes in her face! It&rsquo;ll suit us to a tee!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The idea that Rose might lose her beauty was exasperating him. He was giving up
Nana in the most downright fashion, and he could not in the least understand
these stupid feminine devotions. But Fauchery was crossing the boulevard, and
he, too, came up anxiously and asked for news. The two men egged each other on.
They addressed one another familiarly in these days.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Always the same business, my sonny,&rdquo; declared Mignon. &ldquo;You
ought to go upstairs; you would force her to follow you.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come now, you&rsquo;re kind, you are!&rdquo; said the journalist.
&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you go upstairs yourself?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then as Lucy began asking for Nana&rsquo;s number, they besought her to make
Rose come down; otherwise they would end by getting angry.
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless, Lucy and Caroline did not go up at once. They had caught sight of
Fontan strolling about with his hands in his pockets and greatly amused by the
quaint expressions of the mob. When he became aware that Nana was lying ill
upstairs he affected sentiment and remarked:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The poor girl! I&rsquo;ll go and shake her by the hand. What&rsquo;s the
matter with her, eh?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Smallpox,&rdquo; replied Mignon.
</p>

<p>
The actor had already taken a step or two in the direction of the court, but he
came back and simply murmured with a shiver:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, damn it!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The smallpox was no joke. Fontan had been near having it when he was five years
old, while Mignon gave them an account of one of his nieces who had died of it.
As to Fauchery, he could speak of it from personal experience, for he still
bore marks of it in the shape of three little lumps at the base of his nose,
which he showed them. And when Mignon again egged him on to the ascent, on the
pretext that you never had it twice, he violently combated this theory and with
infinite abuse of the doctors instanced various cases. But Lucy and Caroline
interrupted them, for the growing multitude filled them with astonishment.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Just look! Just look what a lot of people!&rdquo; The night was
deepening, and in the distance the gas lamps were being lit one by one.
Meanwhile interested spectators became visible at windows, while under the
trees the human flood grew every minute more dense, till it ran in one enormous
stream from the Madeleine to the Bastille. Carriages rolled slowly along. A
roaring sound went up from this compact and as yet inarticulate mass. Each
member of it had come out, impelled by the desire to form a crowd, and was now
trampling along, steeping himself in the pervading fever. But a great movement
caused the mob to flow asunder. Among the jostling, scattering groups a band of
men in workmen&rsquo;s caps and white blouses had come in sight, uttering a
rhythmical cry which suggested the beat of hammers upon an anvil.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;To Ber-lin! To Ber-lin! To Ber-lin!&rdquo; And the crowd stared in
gloomy distrust yet felt themselves already possessed and inspired by heroic
imaginings, as though a military band were passing.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh yes, go and get your throats cut!&rdquo; muttered Mignon, overcome by
an access of philosophy.
</p>

<p>
But Fontan thought it very fine, indeed, and spoke of enlisting. When the enemy
was on the frontier all citizens ought to rise up in defense of the fatherland!
And with that he assumed an attitude suggestive of Bonaparte at Austerlitz.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Look here, are you coming up with us?&rdquo; Lucy asked him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh dear, no! To catch something horrid?&rdquo; he said.
</p>

<p>
On a bench in front of the Grand Hotel a man sat hiding his face in a
handkerchief. On arriving Fauchery had indicated him to Mignon with a wink of
the eye. Well, he was still there; yes, he was always there. And the journalist
detained the two women also in order to point him out to them. When the man
lifted his head they recognized him; an exclamation escaped them. It was the
Count Muffat, and he was giving an upward glance at one of the windows.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You know, he&rsquo;s been waiting there since this morning,&rdquo;
Mignon informed them. &ldquo;I saw him at six o&rsquo;clock, and he
hasn&rsquo;t moved since. Directly Labordette spoke about it he came there with
his handkerchief up to his face. Every half-hour he comes dragging himself to
where we&rsquo;re standing to ask if the person upstairs is doing better, and
then he goes back and sits down. Hang it, that room isn&rsquo;t healthy!
It&rsquo;s all very well being fond of people, but one doesn&rsquo;t want to
kick the bucket.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The count sat with uplifted eyes and did not seem conscious of what was going
on around him. Doubtless he was ignorant of the declaration of war, and he
neither felt nor saw the crowd.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Look, here he comes!&rdquo; said Fauchery. &ldquo;Now you&rsquo;ll
see.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The count had, in fact, quitted his bench and was entering the lofty porch. But
the porter, who was getting to know his face at last, did not give him time to
put his question. He said sharply:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;She&rsquo;s dead, monsieur, this very minute.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nana dead! It was a blow to them all. Without a word Muffat had gone back to
the bench, his face still buried in his handkerchief. The others burst into
exclamations, but they were cut short, for a fresh band passed by, howling,
&ldquo;À BERLIN! À BERLIN! À BERLIN!&rdquo; Nana dead! Hang it, and such a fine
girl too! Mignon sighed and looked relieved, for at last Rose would come down.
A chill fell on the company. Fontan, meditating a tragic role, had assumed a
look of woe and was drawing down the corners of his mouth and rolling his eyes
askance, while Fauchery chewed his cigar nervously, for despite his cheap
journalistic chaff he was really touched. Nevertheless, the two women continued
to give vent to their feelings of surprise. The last time Lucy had seen her was
at the Gaîté; Blanche, too, had seen her in Melusine. Oh, how stunning it was,
my dear, when she appeared in the depths of the crystal grot! The gentlemen
remembered the occasion perfectly. Fontan had played the Prince Cocorico. And
their memories once stirred up, they launched into interminable particulars.
How ripping she looked with that rich coloring of hers in the crystal grot!
Didn&rsquo;t she, now? She didn&rsquo;t say a word: the authors had even
deprived her of a line or two, because it was superfluous. No, never a word! It
was grander that way, and she drove her public wild by simply showing herself.
You wouldn&rsquo;t find another body like hers! Such shoulders as she had, and
such legs and such a figure! Strange that she should be dead! You know, above
her tights she had nothing on but a golden girdle which hardly concealed her
behind and in front. All round her the grotto, which was entirely of glass,
shone like day. Cascades of diamonds were flowing down; strings of brilliant
pearls glistened among the stalactites in the vault overhead, and amid the
transparent atmosphere and flowing fountain water, which was crossed by a wide
ray of electric light, she gleamed like the sun with that flamelike skin and
hair of hers. Paris would always picture her thus&mdash;would see her shining
high up among crystal glass like the good God Himself. No, it was too stupid to
let herself die under such conditions! She must be looking pretty by this time
in that room up there!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And what a lot of pleasures bloody well wasted!&rdquo; said Mignon in
melancholy tones, as became a man who did not like to see good and useful
things lost.
</p>

<p>
He sounded Lucy and Caroline in order to find out if they were going up after
all. Of course they were going up; their curiosity had increased. Just then
Blanche arrived, out of breath and much exasperated at the way the crowds were
blocking the pavement, and when she heard the news there was a fresh outburst
of exclamations, and with a great rustling of skirts the ladies moved toward
the staircase. Mignon followed them, crying out:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Tell Rose that I&rsquo;m waiting for her. She&rsquo;ll come at once,
eh?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;They do not exactly know whether the contagion is to be feared at the
beginning or near the end,&rdquo; Fontan was explaining to Fauchery. &ldquo;A
medical I know was assuring me that the hours immediately following death are
particularly dangerous. There are miasmatic exhalations then. Ah, but I do
regret this sudden ending; I should have been so glad to shake hands with her
for the last time.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What good would it do you now?&rdquo; said the journalist.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, what good?&rdquo; the two others repeated.
</p>

<p>
The crowd was still on the increase. In the bright light thrown from
shop-windows and beneath the wavering glare of the gas two living streams were
distinguishable as they flowed along the pavement, innumerable hats apparently
drifting on their surface. At that hour the popular fever was gaining ground
rapidly, and people were flinging themselves in the wake of the bands of men in
blouses. A constant forward movement seemed to sweep the roadway, and the cry
kept recurring; obstinately, abruptly, there rang from thousands of throats:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;À BERLIN! À BERLIN! À BERLIN!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The room on the fourth floor upstairs cost twelve francs a day, since Rose had
wanted something decent and yet not luxurious, for sumptuousness is not
necessary when one is suffering. Hung with Louis XIII cretonne, which was
adorned with a pattern of large flowers, the room was furnished with the
mahogany commonly found in hotels. On the floor there was a red carpet
variegated with black foliage. Heavy silence reigned save for an occasional
whispering sound caused by voices in the corridor.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I assure you we&rsquo;re lost. The waiter told us to turn to the right.
What a barrack of a house!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Wait a bit; we must have a look. Room number 401; room number
401!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s this way: 405, 403. We ought to be there. Ah, at last,
401! This way! Hush now, hush!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The voices were silent. Then there was a slight coughing and a moment or so of
mental preparation. Then the door opened slowly, and Lucy entered, followed by
Caroline and Blanche. But they stopped directly; there were already five women
in the room; Gaga was lying back in the solitary armchair, which was a red
velvet Voltaire. In front of the fireplace Simonne and Clarisse were now
standing talking to Léa de Horn, who was seated, while by the bed, to the left
of the door, Rose Mignon, perched on the edge of a chest, sat gazing fixedly at
the body where it lay hidden in the shadow of the curtains. All the others had
their hats and gloves on and looked as if they were paying a call: she alone
sat there with bare hands and untidy hair and cheeks rendered pale by three
nights of watching. She felt stupid in the face of this sudden death, and her
eyes were swollen with weeping. A shaded lamp standing on the corner of the
chest of drawers threw a bright flood of light over Gaga.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What a sad misfortune, is it not?&rdquo; whispered Lucy as she shook
hands with Rose. &ldquo;We wanted to bid her good-by.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she turned round and tried to catch sight of her, but the lamp was too far
off, and she did not dare bring it nearer. On the bed lay stretched a gray
mass, but only the ruddy chignon was distinguishable and a pale blotch which
might be the face. Lucy added:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I never saw her since that time at the Gaîté, when she was at the end of
the grotto.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At this Rose awoke from her stupor and smiled as she said:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, she&rsquo;s changed; she&rsquo;s changed.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then she once more lapsed into contemplation and neither moved nor spoke.
Perhaps they would be able to look at her presently! And with that the three
women joined the others in front of the fireplace. Simonne and Clarisse were
discussing the dead woman&rsquo;s diamonds in low tones. Well, did they really
exist&mdash;those diamonds? Nobody had seen them; it must be a bit of humbug.
But Léa de Horn knew someone who knew all about them. Oh, they were monster
stones! Besides, they weren&rsquo;t all; she had brought back lots of other
precious property from Russia&mdash;embroidered stuffs, for instance, valuable
knickknacks, a gold dinner service, nay, even furniture. &ldquo;Yes, my dear,
fifty-two boxes, enormous cases some of them, three truckloads of them!&rdquo;
They were all lying at the station. &ldquo;Wasn&rsquo;t it hard lines,
eh?&mdash;to die without even having time to unpack one&rsquo;s traps?&rdquo;
Then she had a lot of tin, besides&mdash;something like a million! Lucy asked
who was going to inherit it all. Oh, distant relations&mdash;the aunt, without
doubt! It would be a pretty surprise for that old body. She knew nothing about
it yet, for the sick woman had obstinately refused to let them warn her, for
she still owed her a grudge over her little boy&rsquo;s death. Thereupon they
were all moved to pity about the little boy, and they remembered seeing him at
the races. Oh, it was a wretchedly sickly baby; it looked so old and so sad. In
fact, it was one of those poor brats who never asked to be born!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;He&rsquo;s happier under the ground,&rdquo; said Blanche.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Bah, and so&rsquo;s she!&rdquo; added Caroline. &ldquo;Life isn&rsquo;t
so funny!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
In that gloomy room melancholy ideas began to take possession of their
imaginations. They felt frightened. It was silly to stand talking so long, but
a longing to see her kept them rooted to the spot. It was very hot&mdash;the
lamp glass threw a round, moonlike patch of light upon the ceiling, but the
rest of the room was drowned in steamy darkness. Under the bed a deep plate
full of phenol exhaled an insipid smell. And every few moments tiny gusts of
wind swelled the window curtains. The window opened on the boulevard, whence
rose a dull roaring sound.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Did she suffer much?&rdquo; asked Lucy, who was absorbed in
contemplation of the clock, the design of which represented the three Graces as
nude young women, smiling like opera dancers.
</p>

<p>
Gaga seemed to wake up.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My word, yes! I was present when she died. I promise you it was not at
all pleasant to see. Why, she was taken with a shuddering fit&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But she was unable to proceed with her explanation, for a cry arose outside:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;À BERLIN! À BERLIN! À BERLIN!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And Lucy, who felt suffocated, flung wide the window and leaned upon the sill.
It was pleasant there; the air came fresh from the starry sky. Opposite her the
windows were all aglow with light, and the gas sent dancing reflections over
the gilt lettering of the shop signs.
</p>

<p>
Beneath these, again, a most amusing scene presented itself. The streams of
people were discernible rolling torrentwise along the sidewalks and in the
roadway, where there was a confused procession of carriages. Everywhere there
were vast moving shadows in which lanterns and lampposts gleamed like sparks.
But the band which now came roaring by carried torches, and a red glow streamed
down from the direction of the Madeleine, crossed the mob like a trail of fire
and spread out over the heads in the distance like a vivid reflection of a
burning house. Lucy called Blanche and Caroline, forgetting where she was and
shouting:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do come! You get a capital view from this window!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They all three leaned out, greatly interested. The trees got in their way, and
occasionally the torches disappeared under the foliage. They tried to catch a
glimpse of the men of their own party below, but a protruding balcony hid the
door, and they could only make out Count Muffat, who looked like a dark parcel
thrown down on the bench where he sat. He was still burying his face in his
handkerchief. A carriage had stopped in front, and yet another woman hurried
up, in whom Lucy recognized Maria Blond. She was not alone; a stout man got
down after her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s that thief of a Steiner,&rdquo; said Caroline. &ldquo;How is
it they haven&rsquo;t sent him back to Cologne yet? I want to see how he looks
when he comes in.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They turned round, but when after the lapse of ten minutes Maria Blond
appeared, she was alone. She had twice mistaken the staircase. And when Lucy,
in some astonishment, questioned her:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What, he?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;My dear, don&rsquo;t you go fancying
that he&rsquo;ll come upstairs! It&rsquo;s a great wonder he&rsquo;s escorted
me as far as the door. There are nearly a dozen of them smoking cigars.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
As a matter of fact, all the gentlemen were meeting downstairs. They had come
strolling thither in order to have a look at the boulevards, and they hailed
one another and commented loudly on that poor girl&rsquo;s death. Then they
began discussing politics and strategy. Bordenave, Daguenet, Labordette,
Prullière and others, besides, had swollen the group, and now they were all
listening to Fontan, who was explaining his plan for taking Berlin within a
week.
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile Maria Blond was touched as she stood by the bedside and murmured, as
the others had done before her:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Poor pet! The last time I saw her was in the grotto at the Gaîté.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, she&rsquo;s changed; she&rsquo;s changed!&rdquo; Rose Mignon
repeated with a smile of gloomiest dejection.
</p>

<p>
Two more women arrived. These were Tatan Nene and Louise Violaine. They had
been wandering about the Grand Hotel for twenty minutes past, bandied from
waiter to waiter, and had ascended and descended more than thirty flights of
stairs amid a perfect stampede of travelers who were hurrying to leave Paris
amid the panic caused by the war and the excitement on the boulevards.
Accordingly they just dropped down on chairs when they came in, for they were
too tired to think about the dead. At that moment a loud noise came from the
room next door, where people were pushing trunks about and striking against
furniture to an accompaniment of strident, outlandish syllables. It was a young
Austrian couple, and Gaga told how during her agony the neighbors had played a
game of catch as catch can and how, as only an unused door divided the two
rooms, they had heard them laughing and kissing when one or the other was
caught.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come, it&rsquo;s time we were off,&rdquo; said Clarisse. &ldquo;We
shan&rsquo;t bring her to life again. Are you coming, Simonne?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They all looked at the bed out of the corners of their eyes, but they did not
budge an inch. Nevertheless, they began getting ready and gave their skirts
various little pats. Lucy was again leaning out of window. She was alone now,
and a sorrowful feeling began little by little to overpower her, as though an
intense wave of melancholy had mounted up from the howling mob. Torches still
kept passing, shaking out clouds of sparks, and far away in the distance the
various bands stretched into the shadows, surging unquietly to and fro like
flocks being driven to the slaughterhouse at night. A dizzy feeling emanated
from these confused masses as the human flood rolled them along&mdash;a dizzy
feeling, a sense of terror and all the pity of the massacres to come. The
people were going wild; their voices broke; they were drunk with a fever of
excitement which sent them rushing toward the unknown &ldquo;out there&rdquo;
beyond the dark wall of the horizon.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;À BERLIN! À BERLIN! À BERLIN!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Lucy turned round. She leaned her back against the window, and her face was
very pale.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Good God! What&rsquo;s to become of us?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The ladies shook their heads. They were serious and very anxious about the turn
events were taking.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;For my part,&rdquo; said Caroline Hequet in her decisive way, &ldquo;I
start for London the day after tomorrow. Mamma&rsquo;s already over there
getting a house ready for me. I&rsquo;m certainly not going to let myself be
massacred in Paris.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Her mother, as became a prudent woman, had invested all her daughters&rsquo;
money in foreign lands. One never knows how a war may end! But Maria Blond grew
vexed at this. She was a patriot and spoke of following the army.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a coward for you! Yes, if they wanted me I should put on
man&rsquo;s clothes just to have a good shot at those pigs of Prussians! And if
we all die after? What of that? Our wretched skins aren&rsquo;t so
valuable!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Blanche de Sivry was exasperated.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Please don&rsquo;t speak ill of the Prussians! They are just like other
men, and they&rsquo;re not always running after the women, like your Frenchmen.
They&rsquo;ve just expelled the little Prussian who was with me. He was an
awfully rich fellow and so gentle: he couldn&rsquo;t have hurt a soul.
It&rsquo;s disgraceful; I&rsquo;m ruined by it. And, you know, you
mustn&rsquo;t say a word or I go and find him out in Germany!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
After that, while the two were at loggerheads, Gaga began murmuring in dolorous
tones:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s all over with me; my luck&rsquo;s always bad. It&rsquo;s only
a week ago that I finished paying for my little house at Juvisy. Ah, God knows
what trouble it cost me! I had to go to Lili for help! And now here&rsquo;s the
war declared, and the Prussians&rsquo;ll come and they&rsquo;ll burn
everything. How am I to begin again at my time of life, I should like to
know?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Bah!&rdquo; said Clarisse. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t care a damn about it. I
shall always find what I want.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Certainly you will,&rdquo; added Simonne. &ldquo;It&rsquo;ll be a joke.
Perhaps, after all, it&rsquo;ll be good biz.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And her smile hinted what she thought. Tatan Nene and Louise Violaine were of
her opinion. The former told them that she had enjoyed the most roaring jolly
good times with soldiers. Oh, they were good fellows and would have done any
mortal thing for the girls. But as the ladies had raised their voices unduly
Rose Mignon, still sitting on the chest by the bed, silenced them with a softly
whispered &ldquo;Hush!&rdquo; They stood quite still at this and glanced
obliquely toward the dead woman, as though this request for silence had
emanated from the very shadows of the curtains. In the heavy, peaceful
stillness which ensued, a void, deathly stillness which made them conscious of
the stiff dead body lying stretched close by them, the cries of the mob burst
forth:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;À BERLIN! À BERLIN! À BERLIN!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But soon they forgot. Léa de Horn, who had a political salon where former
ministers of Louis Philippe were wont to indulge in delicate epigrams, shrugged
her shoulders and continued the conversation in a low tone:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What a mistake this war is! What a bloodthirsty piece of
stupidity!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At this Lucy forthwith took up the cudgels for the empire. She had been the
mistress of a prince of the imperial house, and its defense became a point of
family honor with her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do leave them alone, my dear. We couldn&rsquo;t let ourselves be further
insulted! Why, this war concerns the honor of France. Oh, you know I
don&rsquo;t say that because of the prince. He WAS just mean! Just imagine, at
night when he was going to bed he hid his gold in his boots, and when we played
at bezique he used beans, because one day I pounced down on the stakes for fun.
But that doesn&rsquo;t prevent my being fair. The emperor was right.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Léa shook her head with an air of superiority, as became a woman who was
repeating the opinions of important personages. Then raising her voice:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;This is the end of all things. They&rsquo;re out of their minds at the
Tuileries. France ought to have driven them out yesterday. Don&rsquo;t you
see?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They all violently interrupted her. What was up with her? Was she mad about the
emperor? Were people not happy? Was business doing badly? Paris would never
enjoy itself so thoroughly again.
</p>

<p>
Gaga was beside herself; she woke up and was very indignant.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Be quiet! It&rsquo;s idiotic! You don&rsquo;t know what you&rsquo;re
saying. I&mdash;I&rsquo;ve seen Louis Philippe&rsquo;s reign: it was full of
beggars and misers, my dear. And then came &rsquo;48! Oh, it was a pretty
disgusting business was their republic! After February I was simply dying of
starvation&mdash;yes, I, Gaga. Oh, if only you&rsquo;d been through it all you
would go down on your knees before the emperor, for he&rsquo;s been a father to
us; yes, a father to us.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She had to be soothed but continued with pious fervor:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;O my God, do Thy best to give the emperor the victory. Preserve the
empire to us!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They all repeated this aspiration, and Blanche confessed that she burned
candles for the emperor. Caroline had been smitten by him and for two whole
months had walked where he was likely to pass but had failed to attract his
attention. And with that the others burst forth into furious denunciations of
the Republicans and talked of exterminating them on the frontiers so that
Napoleon III, after having beaten the enemy, might reign peacefully amid
universal enjoyment.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;That dirty Bismarck&mdash;there&rsquo;s another cad for you!&rdquo;
Maria Blond remarked.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;To think that I should have known him!&rdquo; cried Simonne. &ldquo;If
only I could have foreseen, I&rsquo;m the one that would have put some poison
in his glass.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But Blanche, on whose heart the expulsion of her Prussian still weighed,
ventured to defend Bismarck. Perhaps he wasn&rsquo;t such a bad sort. To every
man his trade!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You know,&rdquo; she added, &ldquo;he adores women.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What the hell has that got to do with us?&rdquo; said Clarisse.
&ldquo;We don&rsquo;t want to cuddle him, eh?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;There&rsquo;s always too many men of that sort!&rdquo; declared Louise
Violaine gravely. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s better to do without &rsquo;em than to mix
oneself up with such monsters!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And the discussion continued, and they stripped Bismarck, and, in her
Bonapartist zeal, each of them gave him a sounding kick, while Tatan Nene kept
saying:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Bismarck! Why, they&rsquo;ve simply driven me crazy with the chap! Oh, I
hate him! I didn&rsquo;t know that there Bismarck! One can&rsquo;t know
everybody.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Never mind,&rdquo; said Léa de Horn by way of conclusion, &ldquo;that
Bismarck will give us a jolly good threshing.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But she could not continue. The ladies were all down on her at once. Eh, what?
A threshing? It was Bismarck they were going to escort home with blows from the
butt ends of their muskets. What was this bad Frenchwoman going to say next?
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Hush,&rdquo; whispered Rose, for so much noise hurt her.
</p>

<p>
The cold influence of the corpse once more overcame them, and they all paused
together. They were embarrassed; the dead woman was before them again; a dull
thread of coming ill possessed them. On the boulevard the cry was passing,
hoarse and wild:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;À BERLIN! À BERLIN! À BERLIN!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Presently, when they were making up their minds to go, a voice was heard
calling from the passage:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Rose! Rose!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Gaga opened the door in astonishment and disappeared for a moment. When she
returned:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My dear,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s Fauchery. He&rsquo;s out
there at the end of the corridor. He won&rsquo;t come any further, and
he&rsquo;s beside himself because you still stay near that body.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Mignon had at last succeeded in urging the journalist upstairs. Lucy, who was
still at the window, leaned out and caught sight of the gentlemen out on the
pavement. They were looking up, making energetic signals to her. Mignon was
shaking his fists in exasperation, and Steiner, Fontan, Bordenave and the rest
were stretching out their arms with looks of anxious reproach, while Daguenet
simply stood smoking a cigar with his hands behind his back, so as not to
compromise himself.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s true, dear,&rdquo; said Lucy, leaving the window open;
&ldquo;I promised to make you come down. They&rsquo;re all calling us
now.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Rose slowly and painfully left the chest.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I&rsquo;m coming down; I&rsquo;m coming down,&rdquo; she whispered.
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s very certain she no longer needs me. They&rsquo;re going to
send in a Sister of Mercy.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she turned round, searching for her hat and shawl. Mechanically she filled
a basin of water on the toilet table and while washing her hands and face
continued:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know! It&rsquo;s been a great blow to me. We used scarcely
to be nice to one another. Ah well! You see I&rsquo;m quite silly over it now.
Oh! I&rsquo;ve got all sorts of strange ideas&mdash;I want to die
myself&mdash;I feel the end of the world&rsquo;s coming. Yes, I need
air.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The corpse was beginning to poison the atmosphere of the room. And after long
heedlessness there ensued a panic.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s be off; let&rsquo;s be off, my little pets!&rdquo; Gaga kept
saying. &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t wholesome here.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They went briskly out, casting a last glance at the bed as they passed it. But
while Lucy, Blanche and Caroline still remained behind, Rose gave a final look
round, for she wanted to leave the room in order. She drew a curtain across the
window, and then it occurred to her that the lamp was not the proper thing and
that a taper should take its place. So she lit one of the copper candelabra on
the chimney piece and placed it on the night table beside the corpse. A
brilliant light suddenly illumined the dead woman&rsquo;s face. The women were
horror-struck. They shuddered and escaped.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, she&rsquo;s changed; she&rsquo;s changed!&rdquo; murmured Rose
Mignon, who was the last to remain.
</p>

<p>
She went away; she shut the door. Nana was left alone with upturned face in the
light cast by the candle. She was fruit of the charnel house, a heap of matter
and blood, a shovelful of corrupted flesh thrown down on the pillow. The
pustules had invaded the whole of the face, so that each touched its neighbor.
Fading and sunken, they had assumed the grayish hue of mud; and on that
formless pulp, where the features had ceased to be traceable, they already
resembled some decaying damp from the grave. One eye, the left eye, had
completely foundered among bubbling purulence, and the other, which remained
half open, looked like a deep, black, ruinous hole. The nose was still
suppurating. Quite a reddish crush was peeling from one of the cheeks and
invading the mouth, which it distorted into a horrible grin. And over this
loathsome and grotesque mask of death the hair, the beautiful hair, still
blazed like sunlight and flowed downward in rippling gold. Venus was rotting.
It seemed as though the poison she had assimilated in the gutters and on the
carrion tolerated by the roadside, the leaven with which she had poisoned a
whole people, had but now remounted to her face and turned it to corruption.
</p>

<p>
The room was empty. A great despairing breath came up from the boulevard and
swelled the curtain.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;À BERLIN! À BERLIN! À BERLIN!&rdquo;
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"></a> THE MILLER&rsquo;S
DAUGHTER</h2>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"></a> CHAPTER I</h2>

<h3> THE BETROTHAL</h3>

<p>
Père Merlier&rsquo;s mill, one beautiful summer evening, was arranged for a
grand fête. In the courtyard were three tables, placed end to end, which
awaited the guests. Everyone knew that Francoise, Merlier&rsquo;s daughter, was
that night to be betrothed to Dominique, a young man who was accused of
idleness but whom the fair sex for three leagues around gazed at with sparkling
eyes, such a fine appearance had he.
</p>

<p>
Père Merlier&rsquo;s mill was pleasing to look upon. It stood exactly in the
center of Rocreuse, where the highway made an elbow. The village had but one
street, with two rows of huts, a row on each side of the road; but at the elbow
meadows spread out, and huge trees which lined the banks of the Morelle covered
the extremity of the valley with lordly shade. There was not, in all Lorraine,
a corner of nature more adorable. To the right and to the left thick woods,
centenarian forests, towered up from gentle slopes, filling the horizon with a
sea of verdure, while toward the south the plain stretched away, of marvelous
fertility, displaying as far as the eye could reach patches of ground divided
by green hedges. But what constituted the special charm of Rocreuse was the
coolness of that cut of verdure in the most sultry days of July and August. The
Morelle descended from the forests of Gagny and seemed to have gathered the
cold from the foliage beneath which it flowed for leagues; it brought with it
the murmuring sounds, the icy and concentrated shade of the woods. And it was
not the sole source of coolness: all sorts of flowing streams gurgled through
the forest; at each step springs bubbled up; one felt, on following the narrow
pathways, that there must exist subterranean lakes which pierced through
beneath the moss and availed themselves of the smallest crevices at the feet of
trees or between the rocks to burst forth in crystalline fountains. The
whispering voices of these brooks were so numerous and so loud that they
drowned the song of the bullfinches. It was like some enchanted park with
cascades falling from every portion.
</p>

<p>
Below the meadows were damp. Gigantic chestnut trees cast dark shadows. On the
borders of the meadows long hedges of poplars exhibited in lines their rustling
branches. Two avenues of enormous plane trees stretched across the fields
toward the ancient Château de Gagny, then a mass of ruins. In this constantly
watered district the grass grew to an extraordinary height. It resembled a
garden between two wooded hills, a natural garden, of which the meadows were
the lawns, the giant trees marking the colossal flower beds. When the
sun&rsquo;s rays at noon poured straight downward the shadows assumed a bluish
tint; scorched grass slept in the heat, while an icy shiver passed beneath the
foliage.
</p>

<p>
And there it was that Père Merlier&rsquo;s mill enlivened with its ticktack a
corner of wild verdure. The structure, built of plaster and planks, seemed as
old as the world. It dipped partially in the Morelle, which rounded at that
point into a transparent basin. A sluice had been made, and the water fell from
a height of several meters upon the mill wheel, which cracked as it turned,
with the asthmatic cough of a faithful servant grown old in the house. When
Père Merlier was advised to change it he shook his head, saying that a new
wheel would be lazier and would not so well understand the work, and he mended
the old one with whatever he could put his hands on: cask staves, rusty iron,
zinc and lead. The wheel appeared gayer than ever for it, with its profile
grown odd, all plumed with grass and moss. When the water beat upon it with its
silvery flood it was covered with pearls; its strange carcass wore a sparkling
attire of necklaces of mother-of-pearl.
</p>

<p>
The part of the mill which dipped in the Morelle had the air of a barbaric arch
stranded there. A full half of the structure was built on piles. The water
flowed beneath the floor, and deep places were there, renowned throughout the
district for the enormous eels and crayfish caught in them. Below the fall the
basin was as clear as a mirror, and when the wheel did not cover it with foam
schools of huge fish could be seen swimming with the slowness of a squadron.
Broken steps led down to the river near a stake to which a boat was moored. A
wooden gallery passed above the wheel. Windows opened, pierced irregularly. It
was a pell-mell of corners, of little walls, of constructions added too late,
of beams and of roofs, which gave the mill the aspect of an old, dismantled
citadel. But ivy had grown; all sorts of clinging plants stopped the too-wide
chinks and threw a green cloak over the ancient building. The young ladies who
passed by sketched Père Merlier&rsquo;s mill in their albums.
</p>

<p>
On the side facing the highway the structure was more solid. A stone gateway
opened upon the wide courtyard, which was bordered to the right and to the left
by sheds and stables. Beside a well an immense elm covered half the courtyard
with its shadow. In the background the building displayed the four windows of
its second story, surmounted by a pigeon house. Père Merlier&rsquo;s sole
vanity was to have this front plastered every ten years. It had just received a
new coating and dazzled the village when the sun shone on it at noon.
</p>

<p>
For twenty years Père Merlier had been mayor of Rocreuse. He was esteemed for
the fortune he had acquired. His wealth was estimated at something like eighty
thousand francs, amassed sou by sou. When he married Madeleine Guillard, who
brought him the mill as her dowry, he possessed only his two arms. But
Madeleine never repented of her choice, so briskly did he manage the business.
Now his wife was dead, and he remained a widower with his daughter Francoise.
Certainly he might have rested, allowed the mill wheel to slumber in the moss,
but that would have been too dull for him, and in his eyes the building would
have seemed dead. He toiled on for pleasure.
</p>

<p>
Père Merlier was a tall old man with a long, still face, who never laughed but
who possessed, notwithstanding, a very gay heart. He had been chosen mayor
because of his money and also on account of the imposing air he could assume
during a marriage ceremony.
</p>

<p>
Francoise Merlier was just eighteen. She did not pass for one of the handsome
girls of the district, as she was not robust. Up to her fifteenth year she had
been even ugly.
</p>

<p>
The Rocreuse people had not been able to understand why the daughter of Père
and Mere Merlier, both of whom had always enjoyed excellent health, grew ill
and with an air of regret. But at fifteen, though yet delicate, her little face
became one of the prettiest in the world. She had black hair, black eyes, and
was as rosy as a peach; her lips constantly wore a smile; there were dimples in
her cheeks, and her fair forehead seemed crowned with sunlight. Although not
considered robust in the district, she was far from thin; the idea was simply
that she could not lift a sack of grain, but she would become plump as she grew
older&mdash;she would eventually be as round and dainty as a quail. Her
father&rsquo;s long periods of silence had made her thoughtful very young. If
she smiled constantly it was to please others. By nature she was serious.
</p>

<p>
Of course all the young men of the district paid court to her, more on account
of her ecus than her pretty ways. At last she made a choice which scandalized
the community.
</p>

<p>
On the opposite bank of the Morelle lived a tall youth named Dominique Penquer.
He did not belong to Rocreuse. Ten years before he had arrived from Belgium as
the heir of his uncle, who had left him a small property upon the very border
of the forest of Gagny, just opposite the mill, a few gunshots distant. He had
come to sell this property, he said, and return home. But the district charmed
him, it appeared, for he did not quit it. He was seen cultivating his little
field, gathering a few vegetables upon which he subsisted. He fished and
hunted; many times the forest guards nearly caught him and were on the point of
drawing up procès-verbaux against him. This free existence, the resources of
which the peasants could not clearly discover, at length gave him a bad
reputation. He was vaguely styled a poacher. At any rate, he was lazy, for he
was often found asleep on the grass when he should have been at work. The hut
he inhabited beneath the last trees on the edge of the forest did not seem at
all like the dwelling of an honest young fellow. If he had had dealings with
the wolves of the ruins of Gagny the old women would not have been the least
bit surprised. Nevertheless, the young girls sometimes risked defending him,
for this doubtful man was superb; supple and tall as a poplar, he had a very
white skin, with flaxen hair and beard which gleamed like gold in the sun.
</p>

<p>
One fine morning Francoise declared to Père Merlier that she loved Dominique
and would never wed any other man.
</p>

<p>
It may well be imagined what a blow this was to Père Merlier. He said nothing,
according to his custom, but his face grew thoughtful and his internal gaiety
no longer sparkled in his eyes. He looked gruff for a week. Francoise also was
exceedingly grave. What tormented Père Merlier was to find out how this rogue
of a poacher had managed to fascinate his daughter. Dominique had never visited
the mill. The miller watched and saw the gallant on the other side of the
Morelle, stretched out upon the grass and feigning to be asleep. Francoise
could see him from her chamber window. Everything was plain: they had fallen in
love by casting sheep&rsquo;s eyes at each other over the mill wheel.
</p>

<p>
Another week went by. Francoise became more and more grave. Père Merlier still
said nothing. Then one evening he himself silently brought in Dominique.
Francoise at that moment was setting the table. She did not seem astonished;
she contented herself with putting on an additional plate, knife and fork, but
the little dimples were again seen in her cheeks, and her smile reappeared.
That morning Père Merlier had sought out Dominique in his hut on the border of
the wood.
</p>

<p>
There the two men had talked for three hours with doors and windows closed.
What was the purport of their conversation no one ever knew. Certain it was,
however, that Père Merlier, on taking his departure, already called Dominique
his son-in-law. Without doubt the old man had found the youth he had gone to
seek a worthy youth in the lazy fellow who stretched himself out upon the grass
to make the girls fall in love with him.
</p>

<p>
All Rocreuse clamored. The women at the doors had plenty to say on the subject
of the folly of Père Merlier, who had thus introduced a reprobate into his
house. The miller let people talk on. Perhaps he remembered his own marriage.
He was without a sou when he wedded Madeleine and her mill; this, however, had
not prevented him from making a good husband. Besides, Dominique cut short the
gossip by going so vigorously to work that all the district was amazed. The
miller&rsquo;s assistant had just been drawn to serve as a soldier, and
Dominique would not suffer another to be engaged. He carried the sacks, drove
the cart, fought with the old mill wheel when it refused to turn, and all this
with such good will that people came to see him out of curiosity. Père Merlier
had his silent laugh. He was excessively proud of having formed a correct
estimate of this youth. There is nothing like love to give courage to young
folks. Amid all these heavy labors Francoise and Dominique adored each other.
They did not indulge in lovers&rsquo; talks, but there was a smiling gentleness
in their glances.
</p>

<p>
Up to that time Père Merlier had not spoken a single word on the subject of
marriage, and they respected this silence, awaiting the old man&rsquo;s will.
Finally one day toward the middle of July he caused three tables to be placed
in the courtyard, beneath the great elm, and invited his friends of Rocreuse to
come in the evening and drink a glass of wine with him.
</p>

<p>
When the courtyard was full and all had their glasses in their hands, Père
Merlier raised his very high and said:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I have the pleasure to announce to you that Francoise will wed this
young fellow here in a month, on Saint Louis&rsquo;s Day.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then they drank noisily. Everybody smiled. But Père Merlier, again lifting his
voice, exclaimed:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Dominique, embrace your fiancee. It is your right.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They embraced, blushing to the tips of their ears, while all the guests laughed
joyously. It was a genuine fête. They emptied a small cask of wine. Then when
all were gone but intimate friends the conversation was carried on without
noise. The night had fallen, a starry and cloudless night. Dominique and
Francoise, seated side by side on a bench, said nothing.
</p>

<p>
An old peasant spoke of the war the emperor had declared against Prussia. All
the village lads had already departed. On the preceding day troops had again
passed through the place. There was going to be hard fighting.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Bah!&rdquo; said Père Merlier with the selfishness of a happy man.
&ldquo;Dominique is a foreigner; he will not go to the war. And if the
Prussians come here he will be on hand to defend his wife!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The idea that the Prussians might come there seemed a good joke. They were
going to receive a sound whipping, and the affair would soon be over.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I have afready seen them; I have already seen them,&rdquo; repeated the
old peasant in a hollow voice.
</p>

<p>
There was silence. Then they drank again. Francoise and Dominique had heard
nothing; they had gently taken each other by the hand behind the bench, so that
nobody could see them, and it seemed so delightful that they remained where
they were, their eyes plunged into the depths of the shadows.
</p>

<p>
What a warm and superb night it was! The village slumbered on both edges of the
white highway in infantile quietude. From time to time was heard the crowing of
some chanticleer aroused too soon. From the huge wood near by came long
breaths, which passed over the roofs like caresses. The meadows, with their
dark shadows, assumed a mysterious and dreamy majesty, while all the springs,
all the flowing waters which gurgled in the darkness, seemed to be the cool and
rhythmical respiration of the sleeping country. Occasionally the ancient mill
wheel, lost in a doze, appeared to dream like those old watchdogs that bark
while snoring; it cracked; it talked to itself, rocked by the fall of the
Morelle, the surface of which gave forth the musical and continuous sound of an
organ pipe. Never had more profound peace descended upon a happier corner of
nature.
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"></a> CHAPTER II</h2>

<h3> THE ATTACK ON THE MILL</h3>

<p>
A month later, on the day preceding that of Saint Louis, Rocreuse was in a
state of terror. The Prussians had beaten the emperor and were advancing by
forced marches toward the village. For a week past people who hurried along the
highway had been announcing them thus: &ldquo;They are at Lormiere&mdash;they
are at Novelles!&rdquo; And on hearing that they were drawing near so rapidly,
Rocreuse every morning expected to see them descend from the wood of Gagny.
They did not come, however, and that increased the fright. They would surely
fall upon the village during the night and slaughter everybody.
</p>

<p>
That morning, a little before sunrise, there was an alarm. The inhabitants were
awakened by the loud tramp of men on the highway. The women were already on
their knees, making the sign of the cross, when some of the people, peering
cautiously through the partially opened windows, recognized the red pantaloons.
It was a French detachment. The captain immediately asked for the mayor of the
district and remained at the mill after having talked with Père Merlier.
</p>

<p>
The sun rose gaily that morning. It would be hot at noon. Over the wood floated
a golden brightness, while in the distance white vapors arose from the meadows.
The neat and pretty village awoke amid the fresh air, and the country, with its
river and its springs, had the moist sweetness of a bouquet. But that beautiful
day caused nobody to smile. The captain was seen to take a turn around the
mill, examine the neighboring houses, pass to the other side of the Morelle and
from there study the district with a field glass; Père Merlier, who accompanied
him, seemed to be giving him explanations. Then the captain posted soldiers
behind the walls, behind the trees and in the ditches. The main body of the
detachment encamped in the courtyard of the mill. Was there going to be a
battle? When Père Merlier returned he was questioned. He nodded his head
without speaking. Yes, there was going to be a battle!
</p>

<p>
Francoise and Dominique were in the courtyard; they looked at him. At last he
took his pipe from his mouth and said:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, my poor young ones, you cannot get married tomorrow!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Dominique, his lips pressed together, with an angry frown on his forehead, at
times raised himself on tiptoe and fixed his eyes upon the wood of Gagny, as if
he wished to see the Prussians arrive. Francoise, very pale and serious, came
and went, furnishing the soldiers with what they needed. The troops were making
soup in a corner of the courtyard; they joked while waiting for it to get
ready.
</p>

<p>
The captain was delighted. He had visited the chambers and the huge hall of the
mill which looked out upon the river. Now, seated beside the well, he was
conversing with Père Merlier.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Your mill is a real fortress,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;We can hold it
without difficulty until evening. The bandits are late. They ought to be
here.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The miller was grave. He saw his mill burning like a torch, but he uttered no
complaint, thinking such a course useless. He merely said:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You had better hide the boat behind the wheel; there is a place there
just fit for that purpose. Perhaps it will be useful to have the boat.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The captain gave the requisite order. This officer was a handsome man of forty;
he was tall and had an amiable countenance. The sight of Francoise and
Dominique seemed to please him. He contemplated them as if he had forgotten the
coming struggle. He followed Francoise with his eyes, and his look told plainly
that he thought her charming. Then turning toward Dominique, he asked suddenly:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why are you not in the army, my good fellow?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I am a foreigner,&rdquo; answered the young man.
</p>

<p>
The captain evidently did not attach much weight to this reason. He winked his
eye and smiled. Francoise was more agreeable company than a cannon. On seeing
him smile, Dominique added:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I am a foreigner, but I can put a ball in an apple at five hundred
meters. There is my hunting gun behind you.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You may have use for it,&rdquo; responded the captain dryly.
</p>

<p>
Francoise had approached, somewhat agitated. Without heeding the strangers
present Dominique took and grasped in his the two hands she extended to him, as
if to put herself under his protection. The captain smiled again but said not a
word. He remained seated, his sword across his knees and his eyes plunged into
space, lost in a reverie.
</p>

<p>
It was already ten o&rsquo;clock. The heat had become very great. A heavy
silence prevailed. In the courtyard, in the shadows of the sheds, the soldiers
had begun to eat their soup. Not a sound came from the village; all its
inhabitants had barricaded the doors and windows of their houses. A dog, alone
upon the highway, howled. From the neighboring forests and meadows, swooning in
the heat, came a prolonged and distant voice made up of all the scattered
breaths. A cuckoo sang. Then the silence grew more intense.
</p>

<p>
Suddenly in that slumbering air a shot was heard. The captain leaped briskly to
his feet; the soldiers left their plates of soup, yet half full. In a few
seconds everybody was at the post of duty; from bottom to top the mill was
occupied. Meanwhile the captain, who had gone out upon the road, had discovered
nothing; to the right and to the left the highway stretched out, empty and
white. A second shot was heard, and still nothing visible, not even a shadow.
But as he was returning the captain perceived in the direction of Gagny,
between two trees, a light puff of smoke whirling away like thistledown. The
wood was calm and peaceful.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The bandits have thrown themselves into the forest,&rdquo; he muttered.
&ldquo;They know we are here.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then the firing continued, growing more and more vigorous, between the French
soldiers posted around the mill and the Prussians hidden behind the trees. The
balls whistled above the Morelle without damaging either side. The fusillade
was irregular, the shots coming from every bush, and still only the little
puffs of smoke, tossed gently by the breeze, were seen. This lasted nearly two
hours. The officer hummed a tune with an air of indifference. Francoise and
Dominique, who had remained in the courtyard, raised themselves on tiptoe and
looked over a low wall. They were particularly interested in a little soldier
posted on the shore of the Morelle, behind the remains of an old bateau; he
stretched himself out flat on the ground, watched, fired and then glided into a
ditch a trifle farther back to reload his gun; and his movements were so droll,
so tricky and so supple, that they smiled as they looked at him. He must have
perceived the head of a Prussian, for he arose quickly and brought his weapon
to his shoulder, but before he could fire he uttered a cry, fell and rolled
into the ditch, where for an instant his legs twitched convulsively like the
claws of a chicken just killed. The little soldier had received a ball full in
the breast. He was the first man slain. Instinctively Francoise seized
Dominique&rsquo;s hand and clasped it with a nervous contraction.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Move away,&rdquo; said the captain. &ldquo;You are within range of the
balls.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At that moment a sharp little thud was heard in the old elm, and a fragment of
a branch came whirling down. But the two young folks did not stir; they were
nailed to the spot by anxiety to see what was going on. On the edge of the wood
a Prussian had suddenly come out from behind a tree as from a theater stage
entrance, beating the air with his hands and falling backward. Nothing further
moved; the two corpses seemed asleep in the broad sunlight; not a living soul
was seen in the scorching country. Even the crack of the fusillade had ceased.
The Morelle alone whispered in its clear tones.
</p>

<p>
Père Merlier looked at the captain with an air of surprise, as if to ask him if
the struggle was over.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;They are getting ready for something worse,&rdquo; muttered the officer.
&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t trust appearances. Move away from there.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He had not finished speaking when there was a terrible discharge of musketry.
The great elm was riddled, and a host of leaves shot into the air. The
Prussians had happily fired too high. Dominique dragged, almost carried,
Francoise away, while Père Merlier followed them, shouting:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Go down into the cellar; the walls are solid!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But they did not heed him; they entered the huge hall where ten soldiers were
waiting in silence, watching through the chinks in the closed window shutters.
The captain was alone in the courtyard, crouching behind the little wall, while
the furious discharges continued. Without, the soldiers he had posted gave
ground only foot by foot. However, they re-entered one by one, crawling, when
the enemy had dislodged them from their hiding places. Their orders were to
gain time and not show themselves, that the Prussians might remain in ignorance
as to what force was before them. Another hour went by. As a sergeant arrived,
saying that but two or three more men remained without, the captain glanced at
his watch, muttering:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Half-past two o&rsquo;clock. We must hold the position four hours
longer.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He caused the great gate of the courtyard to be closed, and every preparation
was made for an energetic resistance. As the Prussians were on the opposite
side of the Morelle, an immediate assault was not to be feared. There was a
bridge two kilometers away, but they evidently were not aware of its existence,
and it was hardly likely that they would attempt to ford the river. The
officer, therefore, simply ordered the highway to be watched. Every effort
would be made in the direction of the country.
</p>

<p>
Again the fusillade had ceased. The mill seemed dead beneath the glowing sun.
Not a shutter was open; no sound came from the interior. At length, little by
little, the Prussians showed themselves at the edge of the forest of Gagny.
They stretched their necks and grew bold. In the mill several soldiers had
already raised their guns to their shoulders, but the captain cried:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, no; wait. Let them come nearer.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They were exceedingly prudent, gazing at the mill with a suspicious air. The
silent and somber old structure with its curtains of ivy filled them with
uneasiness. Nevertheless, they advanced. When fifty of them were in the
opposite meadow the officer uttered the single word:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Fire!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
A crash was heard; isolated shots followed. Francoise, all of a tremble, had
mechanically put her hands to her ears. Dominique, behind the soldiers, looked
on; when the smoke had somewhat lifted he saw three Prussians stretched upon
their backs in the center of the meadow. The others had thrown themselves
behind the willows and poplars. Then the siege began.
</p>

<p>
For more than an hour the mill was riddled with balls. They dashed against the
old walls like hail. When they struck the stones they were heard to flatten and
fall into the water. They buried themselves in the wood with a hollow sound.
Occasionally a sharp crack announced that the mill wheel had been hit. The
soldiers in the interior were careful of their shots; they fired only when they
could take aim. From time to time the captain consulted his watch. As a ball
broke a shutter and plowed into the ceiling he said to himself:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Four o&rsquo;clock. We shall never be able to hold out!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Little by little the terrible fusillade weakened the old mill. A shutter fell
into the water, pierced like a bit of lace, and it was necessary to replace it
with a mattress. Père Merlier constantly exposed himself to ascertain the
extent of the damage done to his poor wheel, the cracking of which made his
heart ache. All would be over with it this time; never could he repair it.
Dominique had implored Francoise to withdraw, but she refused to leave him; she
was seated behind a huge oaken clothespress, which protected her. A ball,
however, struck the clothespress, the sides of which gave forth a hollow sound.
Then Dominique placed himself in front of Francoise. He had not yet fired a
shot; he held his gun in his hand but was unable to approach the windows, which
were altogether occupied by the soldiers. At each discharge the floor shook.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Attention! Attention!&rdquo; suddenly cried the captain.
</p>

<p>
He had just seen a great dark mass emerge from the wood. Immediately a
formidable platoon fire opened. It was like a waterspout passing over the mill.
Another shutter was shattered, and through the gaping opening of the window the
balls entered. Two soldiers rolled upon the floor. One of them lay like a
stone; they pushed the body against the wall because it was in the way. The
other twisted in agony, begging his comrades to finish him, but they paid no
attention to him. The balls entered in a constant stream; each man took care of
himself and strove to find a loophole through which to return the fire. A third
soldier was hit; he uttered not a word; he fell on the edge of a table, with
eyes fixed and haggard. Opposite these dead men Francoise, stricken with
horror, had mechanically pushed away her chair to sit on the floor against the
wall; she thought she would take up less room there and not be in so much
danger. Meanwhile the soldiers had collected all the mattresses of the
household and partially stopped up the windows with them. The hall was filled
with wrecks, with broken weapons and demolished furniture.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Five o&rsquo;clock,&rdquo; said the captain. &ldquo;Keep up your
courage! They are about to try to cross the river!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At that moment Francoise uttered a cry. A ball which had ricocheted had grazed
her forehead. Several drops of blood appeared. Dominique stared at her; then,
approaching the window, he fired his first shot. Once started, he did not stop.
He loaded and fired without heeding what was passing around him, but from time
to time he glanced at Francoise. He was very deliberate and aimed with care.
The Prussians, keeping beside the poplars, attempted the passage of the
Morelle, as the captain had predicted, but as soon as a man strove to cross he
fell, shot in the head by Dominique. The captain, who had his eyes on the young
man, was amazed. He complimented him, saying that he should be glad to have
many such skillful marksmen. Dominique did not hear him. A ball cut his
shoulder; another wounded his arm, but he continued to fire.
</p>

<p>
There were two more dead men. The mangled mattresses no longer stopped the
windows. The last discharge seemed as if it would have carried away the mill.
The position had ceased to be tenable. Nevertheless, the captain said firmly:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Hold your ground for half an hour more!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Now he counted the minutes. He had promised his chiefs to hold the enemy in
check there until evening, and he would not give an inch before the hour he had
fixed on for the retreat. He preserved his amiable air and smiled upon
Francoise to reassure her. He had picked up the gun of a dead soldier and
himself was firing.
</p>

<p>
Only four soldiers remained in the hall. The Prussians appeared in a body on
the other side of the Morelle, and it was clear that they intended speedily to
cross the river. A few minutes more elapsed. The stubborn captain would not
order the retreat. Just then a sergeant hastened to him and said:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;They are upon the highway; they will take us in the rear!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The Prussians must have found the bridge. The captain pulled out his watch and
looked at it.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Five minutes longer,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;They cannot get here before
that time!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then at six o&rsquo;clock exactly he at last consented to lead his men out
through a little door which opened into a lane. From there they threw
themselves into a ditch; they gained the forest of Sauval. Before taking his
departure the captain bowed very politely to Père Merlier and made his excuses,
adding:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Amuse them! We will return!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Dominique was now alone in the hall. He was still firing, hearing nothing,
understanding nothing. He felt only the need of defending Francoise. He had not
the least suspicion in the world that the soldiers had retreated. He aimed and
killed his man at every shot. Suddenly there was a loud noise. The Prussians
had entered the courtyard from behind. Dominique fired a last; shot, and they
fell upon him while his gun was yet smoking.
</p>

<p>
Four men held him. Others vociferated around him in a frightful language. They
were ready to slaughter him on the spot. Francoise, with a supplicating look,
had cast herself before him. But an officer entered and ordered the prisoner to
be delivered up to him. After exchanging a few words in German with the
soldiers he turned toward Dominique and said to him roughly in very good
French:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You will be shot in two hours!&rdquo;
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"></a> CHAPTER III</h2>

<h3> THE FLIGHT</h3>

<p>
It was a settled rule of the German staff that every Frenchman, not belonging
to the regular army, taken with arms in his hands should be shot. The militia
companies themselves were not recognized as belligerents. By thus making
terrible examples of the peasants who defended their homes, the Germans hoped
to prevent the levy en masse, which they feared.
</p>

<p>
The officer, a tall, lean man of fifty, briefly questioned Dominique. Although
he spoke remarkably pure French he had a stiffness altogether Prussian.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do you belong to this district?&rdquo; he asked.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No; I am a Belgian,&rdquo; answered the young man.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why then did you take up arms? The fighting did not concern you!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Dominique made no reply. At that moment the officer saw Francoise who was
standing by, very pale, listening; upon her white forehead her slight wound had
put a red bar. He looked at the young folks, one after the other, seemed to
understand matters and contented himself with adding:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You do not deny having fired, do you?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I fired as often as I could!&rdquo; responded Dominique tranquilly.
</p>

<p>
This confession was useless, for he was black with powder, covered with sweat
and stained with a few drops of blood which had flowed from the scratch on his
shoulder.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said the officer. &ldquo;You will be shot in two
hours!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Francoise did not cry out. She clasped her hands and raised them with a gesture
of mute despair. The officer noticed this gesture. Two soldiers had taken
Dominique to a neighboring apartment, where they were to keep watch over him.
The young girl had fallen upon a chair, totally overcome; she could not weep;
she was suffocating. The officer had continued to examine her. At last he spoke
to her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Is that young man your brother?&rdquo; he demanded.
</p>

<p>
She shook her head negatively. The German stood stiffly on his feet with out a
smile. Then after a short silence he again asked:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Has he lived long in the district?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She nodded affirmatively.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;In that case, he ought to be thoroughly acquainted with the neighboring
forests.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
This time she spoke.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;He is thoroughly acquainted with them, monsieur,&rdquo; she said,
looking at him with considerable surprise.
</p>

<p>
He said nothing further to her but turned upon his heel, demanding that the
mayor of the village should be brought to him. But Francoise had arisen with a
slight blush on her countenance; thinking that she had seized the aim of the
officer&rsquo;s questions, she had recovered hope. She herself ran to find her
father.
</p>

<p>
Père Merlier, as soon as the firing had ceased, had quickly descended to the
wooden gallery to examine his wheel. He adored his daughter; he had a solid
friendship for Dominique, his future son-in-law, but his wheel also held a
large place in his heart. Since the two young ones, as he called them, had come
safe and sound out of the fight, he thought of his other tenderness, which had
suffered greatly. Bent over the huge wooden carcass, he was studying its wounds
with a sad air. Five buckets were shattered to pieces; the central framework
was riddled. He thrust his fingers in the bullet holes to measure their depth;
he thought how he could repair all these injuries. Francoise found him already
stopping up the clefts with rubbish and moss.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Father,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;you are wanted.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she wept at last as she told him what she had just heard. Père Merlier
tossed his head. People were not shot in such a summary fashion. The matter
must be looked after. He re-entered the mill with his silent and tranquil air.
When the officer demanded of him provisions for his men he replied that the
inhabitants of Rocreuse were not accustomed to be treated roughly and that
nothing would be obtained from them if violence were employed. He would see to
everything but on condition that he was not interfered with. The officer at
first seemed irritated by his calm tone; then he gave way before the old
man&rsquo;s short and clear words. He even called him back and asked him:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What is the name of that wood opposite?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The forest of Sauval.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What is its extent?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The miller looked at him fixedly.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I do not know,&rdquo; he answered.
</p>

<p>
And he went away. An hour later the contribution of war in provisions and
money, demanded by the officer, was in the courtyard of the mill. Night came
on. Francoise watched with anxiety the movements of the soldiers. She hung
about the room in which Dominique was imprisoned. Toward seven o&rsquo;clock
she experienced a poignant emotion. She saw the officer enter the
prisoner&rsquo;s apartment and for a quarter of an hour heard their voices in
loud conversation. For an instant the officer reappeared upon the threshold to
give an order in German, which she did not understand, but when twelve men
ranged themselves in the courtyard, their guns on their shoulders, she trembled
and felt as if about to faint. All then was over: the execution was going to
take place. The twelve men stood there ten minutes, Dominique&rsquo;s voice
continuing to be raised in a tone of violent refusal. Finally the officer came
out, saying, as he roughly shut the door:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Very well; reflect. I give you until tomorrow morning.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with a gesture he ordered the twelve men to break ranks. Francoise was
stupefied. Père Merlier, who had been smoking his pipe and looking at the
platoon simply with an air of curiosity, took her by the arm with paternal
gentleness. He led her to her chamber.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Be calm,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and try to sleep. Tomorrow, when it is
light, we will see what can be done.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
As he withdrew he prudently locked her in. It was his opinion that women were
good for nothing and that they spoiled everything when they took a hand in a
serious affair. But Francoise did not retire. She sat for a long while upon the
side of her bed, listening to the noises of the house. The German soldiers
encamped in the courtyard sang and laughed; they must have been eating and
drinking until eleven o&rsquo;clock, for the racket did not cease an instant.
In the mill itself heavy footsteps resounded from time to time, without doubt
those of the sentinels who were being relieved. But she was interested most by
the sounds she could distinguish in the apartment beneath her chamber. Many
times she stretched herself out at full length and put her ear to the floor.
That apartment was the one in which Dominique was confined. He must have been
walking back and forth from the window to the wall, for she long heard the
regular cadence of his steps. Then deep silence ensued; he had doubtless seated
himself. Finally every noise ceased and all was as if asleep. When slumber
appeared to her to have settled on the house she opened her window as gently as
possible and leaned her elbows on the sill.
</p>

<p>
Without, the night had a warm serenity. The slender crescent of the moon, which
was sinking behind the forest of Sauval, lit up the country with the glimmer of
a night lamp. The lengthened shadows of the tall trees barred the meadows with
black, while the grass in uncovered spots assumed the softness of greenish
velvet. But Francoise did not pause to admire the mysterious charms of the
night. She examined the country, searching for the sentinels whom the Germans
had posted obliquely. She clearly saw their shadows extending like the rounds
of a ladder along the Morelle. Only one was before the mill, on the other shore
of the river, beside a willow, the branches of which dipped in the water.
Francoise saw him plainly. He was a tall man and was standing motionless, his
face turned toward the sky with the dreamy air of a shepherd.
</p>

<p>
When she had carefully inspected the locality she again seated herself on her
bed. She remained there an hour, deeply absorbed. Then she listened once more:
there was not a sound in the mill. She returned to the window and glanced out,
but doubtless one of the horns of the moon, which was still visible behind the
trees, made her uneasy, for she resumed her waiting attitude. At last she
thought the proper time had come. The night was as black as jet; she could no
longer see the sentinel opposite; the country spread out like a pool of ink.
She strained her ear for an instant and made her decision. Passing near the
window was an iron ladder, the bars fastened to the wall, which mounted from
the wheel to the garret and formerly enabled the millers to reach certain
machinery; afterward the mechanism had been altered, and for a long while the
ladder had been hidden under the thick ivy which covered that side of the mill.
</p>

<p>
Francoise bravely climbed out of her window and grasped one of the bars of the
ladder. She began to descend. Her skirts embarrassed her greatly. Suddenly a
stone was detached from the wall and fell into the Morelle with a loud splash.
She stopped with an icy shiver of fear. Then she realized that the waterfall
with its continuous roar would drown every noise she might make, and she
descended more courageously, feeling the ivy with her foot, assuring herself
that the rounds were firm. When she was at the height of the chamber which
served as Dominique&rsquo;s prison she paused. An unforeseen difficulty nearly
caused her to lose all her courage: the window of the chamber was not directly
below that of her apartment. She hung off from the ladder, but when she
stretched out her arm her hand encountered only the wall. Must she, then,
ascend without pushing her plan to completion? Her arms were fatigued; the
murmur of the Morelle beneath her commenced to make her dizzy. Then she tore
from the wall little fragments of plaster and threw them against
Dominique&rsquo;s window. He did not hear; he was doubtless asleep. She
crumbled more plaster from the wall, scraping the skin off her fingers. She was
utterly exhausted; she felt herself falling backward, when Dominique at last
softly opened the window.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It is I!&rdquo; she murmured. &ldquo;Catch me quickly; I&rsquo;m
falling!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
It was the first time that she had addressed him familiarly. Leaning out, he
seized her and drew her into the chamber. There she gave vent to a flood of
tears, stifling her sobs that she might not be heard. Then by a supreme effort
she calmed herself.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Are you guarded?&rdquo; she asked in a low voice.
</p>

<p>
Dominique, still stupefied at seeing her thus, nodded his head affirmatively,
pointing to the door. On the other side they heard someone snoring; the
sentinel, yielding to sleep, had thrown himself on the floor against the door,
arguing that by disposing himself thus the prisoner could not escape.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You must fly,&rdquo; resumed Francoise excitedly. &ldquo;I have come to
beg you to do so and to bid you farewell.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But he did not seem to hear her. He repeated:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What? Is it you; is it you? Oh, what fear you caused me! You might have
killed yourself!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He seized her hands; he kissed them.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;How I love you, Francoise!&rdquo; he murmured. &ldquo;You are as
courageous as good. I had only one dread: that I should die without seeing you
again. But you are here, and now they can shoot me. When I have passed a
quarter of an hour with you I shall be ready.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Little by little he had drawn her to him, and she leaned her head upon his
shoulder. The danger made them dearer to each other. They forgot everything in
that warm clasp.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, Francoise,&rdquo; resumed Dominique in a caressing voice,
&ldquo;this is Saint Louis&rsquo;s Day, the day, so long awaited, of our
marriage. Nothing has been able to separate us, since we are both here alone,
faithful to the appointment. Is not this our wedding morning?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; she repeated, &ldquo;it is our wedding morning.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They tremblingly exchanged a kiss. But all at once she disengaged herself from
Dominique&rsquo;s arms; she remembered the terrible reality.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You must fly; you must fly,&rdquo; she whispered. &ldquo;There is not a
minute to be lost!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And as he stretched out his arms in the darkness to clasp her again, she said
tenderly:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, I implore you to listen to me! If you die I shall die also! In an
hour it will be light. I want you to go at once.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then rapidly she explained her plan. The iron ladder descended to the mill
wheel; there he could climb down the buckets and get into the boat which was
hidden away in a nook. Afterward it would be easy for him to reach the other
bank of the river and escape.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;But what of the sentinels?&rdquo; he asked.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;There is only one, opposite, at the foot of the first willow.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What if he should see me and attempt to give an alarm?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Francoise shivered. She placed in his hand a knife she had brought with her.
There was a brief silence.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What is to become of your father and yourself?&rdquo; resumed Dominique.
&ldquo;No, I cannot fly! When I am gone those soldiers will, perhaps, massacre
you both! You do not know them. They offered me my life if I would consent to
guide them through the forest of Sauval. When they discover my escape they will
be capable of anything!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The young girl did not stop to argue. She said simply in reply to all the
reasons he advanced:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Out of love for me, fly! If you love me, Dominique, do not remain here
another moment!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then she promised to climb back to her chamber. No one would know that she had
helped him. She finally threw her arms around him to convince him with an
embrace, with a burst of extraordinary love. He was vanquished. He asked but
one more question:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Can you swear to me that your father knows what you have done and that
he advises me to fly?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My father sent me!&rdquo; answered Francoise boldly.
</p>

<p>
She told a falsehood. At that moment she had only one immense need: to know
that he was safe, to escape from the abominable thought that the sun would be
the signal for his death. When he was far away every misfortune might fall upon
her; that would seem delightful to her from the moment he was secure. The
selfishness of her tenderness desired that he should live before everything.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said Dominique; &ldquo;I will do what you wish.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They said nothing more. Dominique reopened the window. But suddenly a sound
froze them. The door was shaken, and they thought that it was about to be
opened. Evidently a patrol had heard their voices. Standing locked in each
other&rsquo;s arms, they waited in unspeakable anguish. The door was shaken a
second time, but it did not open. They uttered low sighs of relief; they
comprehended that the soldier who was asleep against the door must have turned
over. In fact, silence succeeded; the snoring was resumed.
</p>

<p>
Dominique exacted that Francoise should ascend to her chamber before he
departed. He clasped her in his arms and bade her a mute adieu. Then he aided
her to seize the ladder and clung to it in his turn. But he refused to descend
a single round until convinced that she was in her apartment. When Francoise
had entered her window she let fall in a voice as light as a breath:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Au revoir, my love!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She leaned her elbows on the sill and strove to follow Dominique with her eyes.
The night was yet very dark. She searched for the sentinel but could not see
him; the willow alone made a pale stain in the midst of the gloom. For an
instant she heard the sound produced by Dominique&rsquo;s body in passing along
the ivy. Then the wheel cracked, and there was a slight agitation in the water
which told her that the young man had found the boat. A moment afterward she
distinguished the somber silhouette of the bateau on the gray surface of the
Morelle. Terrible anguish seized upon her. Each instant she thought she heard
the sentinel&rsquo;s cry of alarm; the smallest sounds scattered through the
gloom seemed to her the hurried tread of soldiers, the clatter of weapons, the
charging of guns. Nevertheless, the seconds elapsed and the country maintained
its profound peace. Dominique must have reached the other side of the river.
Francoise saw nothing more. The silence was majestic. She heard a shuffling of
feet, a hoarse cry and the hollow fall of a body. Afterward the silence grew
deeper. Then as if she had felt Death pass by, she stood, chilled through and
through, staring into the thick night.
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"></a> CHAPTER IV</h2>

<h3> A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE</h3>

<p>
At dawn a clamor of voices shook the mill. Père Merlier opened the door of
Francoise&rsquo;s chamber. She went down into the courtyard, pale and very
calm. But there she could not repress a shiver as she saw the corpse of a
Prussian soldier stretched out on a cloak beside the well.
</p>

<p>
Around the body troops gesticulated, uttering cries of fury. Many of them shook
their fists at the village. Meanwhile the officer had summoned Père Merlier as
the mayor of the commune.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Look!&rdquo; he said to him in a voice almost choking with anger.
&ldquo;There lies one of our men who was found assassinated upon the bank of
the river. We must make a terrible example, and I count on you to aid us in
discovering the murderer.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;As you choose,&rdquo; answered the miller with his usual stoicism,
&ldquo;but you will find it no easy task.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The officer stooped and drew aside a part of the cloak which hid the face of
the dead man. Then appeared a horrible wound. The sentinel had been struck in
the throat, and the weapon had remained in the cut. It was a kitchen knife with
a black handle.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Examine that knife,&rdquo; said the officer to Père Merlier;
&ldquo;perhaps it will help us in our search.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The old man gave a start but recovered control of himself immediately. He
replied without moving a muscle of his face:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Everybody in the district has similar knives. Doubtless your man was
weary of fighting and put an end to his own life. It looks like it!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Mind what you say!&rdquo; cried the officer furiously. &ldquo;I do not
know what prevents me from setting fire to the four corners of the
village!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Happily in his rage he did not notice the deep trouble pictured on
Francoise&rsquo;s countenance. She had been forced to sit down on a stone bench
near the well. Despite herself her eyes were fixed upon the corpse stretched
our on the ground almost at her feet. It was that of a tall and handsome man
who resembled Dominique, with flaxen hair and blue eyes. This resemblance made
her heart ache. She thought that perhaps the dead soldier had left behind him
in Germany a sweetheart who would weep her eyes out for him. She recognized her
knife in the throat of the murdered man. She had killed him.
</p>

<p>
The officer was talking of striking Rocreuse with terrible measures, when
soldiers came running to him. Dominique&rsquo;s escape had just been
discovered. It caused an extreme agitation. The officer went to the apartment
in which the prisoner had been confined, looked out of the window which had
remained open, understood everything and returned, exasperated.
</p>

<p>
Père Merlier seemed greatly vexed by Dominique&rsquo;s flight.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The imbecile!&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;He has ruined all!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Francoise heard him and was overcome with anguish. But the miller did not
suspect her of complicity in the affair. He tossed his head, saying to her in
an undertone:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;We are in a nice scrape!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It was that wretch who assassinated the soldier! I am sure of it!&rdquo;
cried the officer. &ldquo;He has undoubtedly reached the forest. But he must be
found for us or the village shall pay for him!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Turning to the miller, he said:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;See here, you ought to know where he is hidden!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Père Merlier laughed silently, pointing to the wide stretch of wooden hills.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do you expect to find a man in there?&rdquo; he said.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, there must be nooks there with which you are acquainted. I will give
you ten men. You must guide them.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;As you please. But it will take a week to search all the wood in the
vicinity.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The old man&rsquo;s tranquillity enraged the officer. In fact, the latter
comprehended the asburdity of this search. At that moment he saw Francoise,
pale and trembling, on the bench. The anxious attitude of the young girl struck
him. He was silent for an instant, during which he in turn examined the miller
and his daughter.
</p>

<p>
At length he demanded roughly of the old man:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Is not that fellow your child&rsquo;s lover?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Père Merlier grew livid and seemed about to hurl himself upon the officer to
strangle him. He stiffened himself but made no answer. Francoise buried her
face in her hands.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, that&rsquo;s it!&rdquo; continued the Prussian. &ldquo;And you or
your daughter helped him to escape! One of you is his accomplice! For the last
time, will you give him up to us?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The miller uttered not a word. He turned away and looked into space with an air
of indifference, as if the officer had not addressed him. This brought the
latter&rsquo;s rage to a head.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Very well!&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;You shall be shot in his
place!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And he again ordered out the platoon of execution. Père Merlier remained as
stoical as ever. He hardly even shrugged his shoulders; all this drama appeared
to him in bad taste. Without doubt he did not believe that they would shoot a
man so lightly. But when the platoon drew up before him he said gravely:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;So it is serious, is it? Go on with your bloody work then! If you must
have a victim I will do as well as another!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But Francoise started up, terrified, stammering:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;In pity, monsieur, do no harm to my father! Kill me in his stead! I
aided Dominique to fly! I alone am guilty!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Hush, my child!&rdquo; cried Père Merlier. &ldquo;Why do you tell an
untruth? She passed the night locked in her chamber, monsieur. She tells a
falsehood, I assure you!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, I do not tell a falsehood!&rdquo; resumed the young girl ardently.
&ldquo;I climbed out of my window and went down the iron ladder; I urged
Dominique to fly. This is the truth, the whole truth!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The old man became very pale. He saw clearly in her eyes that she did not lie,
and her story terrified him. Ah, these children with their hearts, how they
spoil everything! Then he grew angry and exclaimed:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;She is mad; do not heed her. She tells you stupid tales. Come, finish
your work!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She still protested. She knelt, clasping her hands. The officer tranquilly
watched this dolorous struggle.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;MON DIEU!&rdquo; he said at last. &ldquo;I take your father because I
have not the other. Find the fugitive and the old man shall be set at
liberty!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She gazed at him with staring eyes, astonished at the atrocity of the
proposition.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;How horrible!&rdquo; she murmured. &ldquo;Where do you think I can find
Dominique at this hour? He has departed; I know no more about him.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come, make your choice&mdash;him or your father.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, MON DIEU! How can I choose? If I knew where Dominique was I could
not choose! You are cutting my heart. I would rather die at once. Yes, it would
be the sooner over. Kill me, I implore you, kill me!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
This scene of despair and tears finally made the officer impatient. He cried
out:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Enough! I will be merciful. I consent to give you two hours. If in that
time your lover is not here your father will be shot in his place!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He caused Père Merlier to be taken to the chamber which had served as
Dominique&rsquo;s prison. The old man demanded tobacco and began to smoke. Upon
his impassible face not the slightest emotion was visible. But when alone, as
he smoked, he shed two big tears which ran slowly down his cheeks. His poor,
dear child, how she was suffering!
</p>

<p>
Francoise remained in the middle of the courtyard. Prussian soldiers passed,
laughing. Some of them spoke to her, uttered jokes she could not understand.
She stared at the door through which her father had disappeared. With a slow
movement she put her hand to her forehead, as if to prevent it from bursting.
</p>

<p>
The officer turned upon his heel, saying:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You have two hours. Try to utilize them.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She had two hours. This phrase buzzed in her ears. Then mechanically she
quitted the courtyard; she walked straight ahead. Where should she
go?&mdash;what should she do? She did not even try to make a decision because
she well understood the inutility of her efforts. However, she wished to see
Dominique. They could have an understanding together; they might, perhaps, find
an expedient. And amid the confusion of her thoughts she went down to the shore
of the Morelle, which she crossed below the sluice at a spot where there were
huge stones. Her feet led her beneath the first willow, in the corner of the
meadow. As she stooped she saw a pool of blood which made her turn pale. It was
there the murder had been committed. She followed the track of Dominique in the
trodden grass; he must have run, for she perceived a line of long footprints
stretching across the meadow. Then farther on she lost these traces. But in a
neighboring field she thought she found them again. The new trail conducted her
to the edge of the forest, where every indication was effaced.
</p>

<p>
Francoise, nevertheless, plunged beneath the trees. It solaced her to be alone.
She sat down for an instant, but at the thought that time was passing she
leaped to her feet. How long had it been since she left the mill? Five
minutes?&mdash;half an hour? She had lost all conception of time. Perhaps
Dominique had concealed himself in a copse she knew of, where they had one
afternoon eaten filberts together. She hastened to the copse, searched it. Only
a blackbird flew away, uttering its soft, sad note. Then she thought he might
have taken refuge in a hollow of the rocks, where it had sometimes been his
custom to lie in wait for game, but the hollow of the rocks was empty. What
good was it to hunt for him? She would never find him, but little by little the
desire to discover him took entire possession of her, and she hastened her
steps. The idea that he might have climbed a tree suddenly occurred to her. She
advanced with uplifted eyes, and that he might be made aware of her presence
she called him every fifteen or twenty steps. Cuckoos answered; a breath of
wind which passed through the branches made her believe that he was there and
was descending. Once she even imagined she saw him; she stopped, almost choked,
and wished to fly. What was she to say to him? Had she come to take him back to
be shot? Oh no, she would not tell him what had happened. She would cry out to
him to escape, not to remain in the neighborhood. Then the thought that her
father was waiting for her gave her a sharp pain. She fell upon the turf,
weeping, crying aloud:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;MON DIEU! MON DIEU! Why am I here?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She was mad to have come. And as if seized with fear, she ran; she sought to
leave the forest. Three times she deceived herself; she thought she never again
would find the mill, when she entered a meadow just opposite Rocreuse. As soon
as she saw the village she paused. Was she going to return alone? She was still
hesitating when a voice softly called:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Francoise! Francoise!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she saw Dominique, who had raised his head above the edge of a ditch. Just
God! She had found him! Did heaven wish his death? She restrained a cry; she
let herself glide into the ditch.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Are you searching for me?&rdquo; asked the young man.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she answered, her brain in a whirl, not knowing what she
said.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What has happened?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She lowered her eyes, stammered:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Nothing. I was uneasy; I wanted to see you.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then, reassured, he explained to her that he had resolved not to go away. He
was doubtful about the safety of herself and her father. Those Prussian
wretches were fully capable of taking vengeance upon women and old men. But
everything was getting on well. He added with a laugh:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Our wedding will take place in a week&mdash;I am sure of it.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then as she remained overwhelmed, he grew grave again and said:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;But what ails you? You are concealing something from me!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No; I swear it to you. I am out of breath from running.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He embraced her, saying that it was imprudent for them to be talking, and he
wished to climb out of the ditch to return to the forest. She restrained him.
She trembled.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Listen,&rdquo; she said: &ldquo;it would, perhaps, be wise for you to
remain where you are. No one is searching for you; you have nothing to
fear.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Francoise, you are concealing something from me,&rdquo; he repeated.
</p>

<p>
Again she swore that she was hiding nothing. She had simply wished to know that
he was near her. And she stammered forth still further reasons. She seemed so
strange to him that he now could not be induced to flee. Besides, he had faith
in the return of the French. Troops had been seen in the direction of Sauval.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, let them hurry; let them get here as soon as possible,&rdquo; she
murmured fervently.
</p>

<p>
At that moment eleven o&rsquo;clock sounded from the belfry of Rocreuse. The
strokes were clear and distinct. She arose with a terrified look; two hours had
passed since she quitted the mill.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Hear me,&rdquo; she said rapidly: &ldquo;if we have need of you I will
wave my handkerchief from my chamber window.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And she departed on a run, while Dominique, very uneasy, stretched himself out
upon the edge of the ditch to watch the mill. As she was about to enter
Rocreuse, Francoise met an old beggar, Père Bontemps, who knew everybody in the
district. He bowed to her; he had just seen the miller in the midst of the
Prussians; then, making the sign of the cross and muttering broken words, he
went on his way.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The two hours have passed,&rdquo; said the officer when Francoise
appeared.
</p>

<p>
Père Merlier was there, seated upon the bench beside the well. He was smoking.
The young girl again begged, wept, sank on her knees. She wished to gain time.
The hope of seeing the French return had increased in her, and while lamenting
she thought she heard in the distance, the measured tramp of an army. Oh, if
they would come, if they would deliver them all?
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Listen, monsieur,&rdquo; she said: &ldquo;an hour, another hour; you can
grant us another hour!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But the officer remained inflexible. He even ordered two men to seize her and
take her away, that they might quietly proceed with the execution of the old
man. Then a frightful struggle took place in Francoise&rsquo;s heart. She could
not allow her father to be thus assassinated. No, no; she would die rather with
Dominique. She was running toward her chamber when Dominique himself entered
the courtyard.
</p>

<p>
The officer and the soldiers uttered a shout of triumph. But the young man,
calmly, with a somewhat severe look, went up to Francoise, as if she had been
the only person present.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You did wrong,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Why did you not bring me back? It
remained for Père Bontemps to tell me everything. But I am here!&rdquo;
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"></a> CHAPTER V</h2>

<h3> THE RETURN OF THE FRENCH</h3>

<p>
It was three o&rsquo;clock in the afternoon. Great black clouds, the trail of
some neighboring storm, had slowly filled the sky. The yellow heavens, the
brass covered uniforms, had changed the valley of Rocreuse, so gay in the
sunlight, into a den of cutthroats full of sinister gloom. The Prussian officer
had contented himself with causing Dominique to be imprisoned without
announcing what fate he reserved for him. Since noon Francoise had been torn by
terrible anguish. Despite her father&rsquo;s entreaties she would not quit the
courtyard. She was awaiting the French. But the hours sped on; night was
approaching, and she suffered the more as all the time gained did not seem to
be likely to change the frightful denouement.
</p>

<p>
About three o&rsquo;clock the Prussians made their preparations for departure.
For an instant past the officer had, as on the previous day, shut himself up
with Dominique. Francoise realized that the young man&rsquo;s life was in
balance. She clasped her hands; she prayed. Père Merlier, beside her,
maintained silence and the rigid attitude of an old peasant who does not
struggle against fate.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, MON DIEU! Oh, MON DIEU!&rdquo; murmured Francoise. &ldquo;They are
going to kill him!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The miller drew her to him and took her on his knees as if she had been a
child.
</p>

<p>
At that moment the officer came out, while behind him two men brought
Dominique.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Never! Never!&rdquo; cried the latter. &ldquo;I am ready to die!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Think well,&rdquo; resumed the officer. &ldquo;The service you refuse me
another will render us. I am generous: I offer you your life. I want you simply
to guide us through the forest to Montredon. There must be pathways leading
there.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Dominique was silent.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;So you persist in your infatuation, do you?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Kill me and end all this!&rdquo; replied the young man.
</p>

<p>
Francoise, her hands clasped, supplicated him from afar. She had forgotten
everything; she would have advised him to commit an act of cowardice. But Père
Merlier seized her hands that the Prussians might not see her wild gestures.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;He is right,&rdquo; he whispered: &ldquo;it is better to die!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The platoon of execution was there. The officer awaited a sign of weakness on
Dominique&rsquo;s part. He still expected to conquer him. No one spoke. In the
distance violent crashes of thunder were heard. Oppressive heat weighed upon
the country. But suddenly, amid the silence, a cry broke forth:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The French! The French!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Yes, the French were at hand. Upon the Sauval highway, at the edge of the wood,
the line of red pantaloons could be distinguished. In the mill there was an
extraordinary agitation. The Prussian soldiers ran hither and thither with
guttural exclamations. Not a shot had yet been fired.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The French! The French!&rdquo; cried Francoise, clapping her hands.
</p>

<p>
She was wild with joy. She escaped from her father&rsquo;s grasp; she laughed
and tossed her arms in the air. At last they had come and come in time, since
Dominique was still alive!
</p>

<p>
A terrible platoon fire, which burst upon her ears like a clap of thunder,
caused her to turn. The officer muttered between his teeth:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Before everything, let us settle this affair!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And with his own hand pushing Dominique against the wall of a shed he ordered
his men to fire. When Francoise looked Dominique lay upon the ground with blood
streaming from his neck and shoulders.
</p>

<p>
She did not weep; she stood stupefied. Her eyes grew fixed, and she sat down
under the shed, a few paces from the body. She stared at it, wringing her
hands. The Prussians had seized Père Merlier as a hostage.
</p>

<p>
It was a stirring combat. The officer had rapidly posted his men, comprehending
that he could not beat a retreat without being cut to pieces. Hence he would
fight to the last. Now the Prussians defended the mill, and the French attacked
it. The fusillade began with unusual violence. For half an hour it did not
cease. Then a hollow sound was heard, and a ball broke a main branch of the old
elm. The French had cannon. A battery, stationed just above the ditch in which
Dominique had hidden himself, swept the wide street of Rocreuse. The struggle
could not last long.
</p>

<p>
Ah, the poor mill! Balls pierced it in every part. Half of the roof was carried
away. Two walls were battered down. But it was on the side of the Morelle that
the destruction was most lamentable. The ivy, torn from the tottering edifice,
hung like rags; the river was encumbered with wrecks of all kinds, and through
a breach was visible Francoise&rsquo;s chamber with its bed, the white curtains
of which were carefully closed. Shot followed shot; the old wheel received two
balls and gave vent to an agonizing groan; the buckets were borne off by the
current; the framework was crushed. The soul of the gay mill had left it!
</p>

<p>
Then the French began the assault. There was a furious fight with swords and
bayonets. Beneath the rust-colored sky the valley was choked with the dead. The
broad meadows had a wild look with their tall, isolated trees and their hedges
of poplars which stained them with shade. To the right and to the left the
forests were like the walls of an ancient ampitheater which enclosed the
fighting gladiators, while the springs, the fountains and the flowing brooks
seemed to sob amid the panic of the country.
</p>

<p>
Beneath the shed Francoise still sat near Dominique&rsquo;s body; she had not
moved. Père Merlier had received a slight wound. The Prussians were
exterminated, but the ruined mill was on fire in a dozen places. The French
rushed into the courtyard, headed by their captain. It was his first success of
the war. His face beamed with triumph. He waved his sword, shouting:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Victory! Victory!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
On seeing the wounded miller, who was endeavoring to comfort Francoise, and
noticing the body of Dominique, his joyous look changed to one of sadness. Then
he knelt beside the young man and, tearing open his blouse, put his hand to his
heart.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Thank God!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;It is yet beating! Send for the
surgeon!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At the captain&rsquo;s words Francoise leaped to her feet.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;There is hope!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Oh, tell me there is
hope!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At that moment the surgeon appeared. He made a hasty examination and said:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;The young man is severely hurt, but life is not extinct; he can be
saved!&rdquo; By the surgeon&rsquo;s orders Dominique was transported to a
neighboring cottage, where he was placed in bed. His wounds were dressed;
restoratives were administered, and he soon recovered consciousness. When he
opened his eyes he saw Francoise sitting beside him and through the open window
caught sight of Père Merlier talking with the French captain. He passed his
hand over his forehead with a bewildered air and said:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;They did not kill me after all!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied Francoise. &ldquo;The French came, and their surgeon
saved you.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Père Merlier turned and said through the window:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No talking yet, my young ones!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
In due time Dominique was entirely restored, and when peace again blessed the
land he wedded his beloved Francoise.
</p>

<p>
The mill was rebuilt, and Père Merlier had a new wheel upon which to bestow
whatever tenderness was not engrossed by his daughter and her husband.
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"></a> CAPTAIN BURLE</h2>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"></a> CHAPTER I</h2>

<h3> THE SWINDLE</h3>

<p>
It was nine o&rsquo;clock. The little town of Vauchamp, dark and silent, had
just retired to bed amid a chilly November rain. In the Rue des Recollets, one
of the narrowest and most deserted streets of the district of Saint-Jean, a
single window was still alight on the third floor of an old house, from whose
damaged gutters torrents of water were falling into the street. Mme Burle was
sitting up before a meager fire of vine stocks, while her little grandson
Charles pored over his lessons by the pale light of a lamp.
</p>

<p>
The apartment, rented at one hundred and sixty francs per annum, consisted of
four large rooms which it was absolutely impossible to keep warm during the
winter. Mme Burle slept in the largest chamber, her son Captain and
Quartermaster Burle occupying a somewhat smaller one overlooking the street,
while little Charles had his iron cot at the farther end of a spacious drawing
room with mildewed hangings, which was never used. The few pieces of furniture
belonging to the captain and his mother, furniture of the massive style of the
First Empire, dented and worn by continuous transit from one garrison town to
another, almost disappeared from view beneath the lofty ceilings whence
darkness fell. The flooring of red-colored tiles was cold and hard to the feet;
before the chairs there were merely a few threadbare little rugs of
poverty-stricken aspect, and athwart this desert all the winds of heaven blew
through the disjointed doors and windows.
</p>

<p>
Near the fireplace sat Mme Burle, leaning back in her old yellow velvet
armchair and watching the last vine branch smoke, with that stolid, blank stare
of the aged who live within themselves. She would sit thus for whole days
together, with her tall figure, her long stern face and her thin lips that
never smiled. The widow of a colonel who had died just as he was on the point
of becoming a general, the mother of a captain whom she had followed even in
his campaigns, she had acquired a military stiffness of bearing and formed for
herself a code of honor, duty and patriotism which kept her rigid, desiccated,
as it were, by the stern application of discipline. She seldom, if ever,
complained. When her son had become a widower after five years of married life
she had undertaken the education of little Charles as a matter of course,
performing her duties with the severity of a sergeant drilling recruits. She
watched over the child, never tolerating the slightest waywardness or
irregularity, but compelling him to sit up till midnight when his exercises
were not finished, and sitting up herself until he had completed them. Under
such implacable despotism Charles, whose constitution was delicate, grew up
pale and thin, with beautiful eyes, inordinately large and clear, shining in
his white, pinched face.
</p>

<p>
During the long hours of silence Mme Burle dwelt continuously upon one and the
same idea: she had been disappointed in her son. This thought sufficed to
occupy her mind, and under its influence she would live her whole life over
again, from the birth of her son, whom she had pictured rising amid glory to
the highest rank, till she came down to mean and narrow garrison life, the
dull, monotonous existence of nowadays, that stranding in the post of a
quartermaster, from which Burle would never rise and in which he seemed to sink
more and more heavily. And yet his first efforts had filled her with pride, and
she had hoped to see her dreams realized. Burle had only just left Saint-Cyr
when he distinguished himself at the battle of Solferino, where he had captured
a whole battery of the enemy&rsquo;s artillery with merely a handful of men.
For this feat he had won the cross; the papers had recorded his heroism, and he
had become known as one of the bravest soldiers in the army. But gradually the
hero had grown stout, embedded in flesh, timorous, lazy and satisfied. In 1870,
still a captain, he had been made a prisoner in the first encounter, and he
returned from Germany quite furious, swearing that he would never be caught
fighting again, for it was too absurd. Being prevented from leaving the army,
as he was incapable of embracing any other profession, he applied for and
obtained the position of captain quartermaster, &ldquo;a kennel,&rdquo; as he
called it, &ldquo;in which he would be left to kick the bucket in peace.&rdquo;
That day Mme Burle experienced a great internal disruption. She felt that it
was all over, and she ever afterward preserved a rigid attitude with tightened
lips.
</p>

<p>
A blast of wind shook the Rue des Recollets and drove the rain angrily against
the windowpanes. The old lady lifted her eyes from the smoking vine roots now
dying out, to make sure that Charles was not falling asleep over his Latin
exercise. This lad, twelve years of age, had become the old lady&rsquo;s
supreme hope, the one human being in whom she centered her obstinate yearning
for glory. At first she had hated him with all the loathing she had felt for
his mother, a weak and pretty young lacemaker whom the captain had been foolish
enough to marry when he found out that she would not listen to his passionate
addresses on any other condition. Later on, when the mother had died and the
father had begun to wallow in vice, Mme Burle dreamed again in presence of that
little ailing child whom she found it so hard to rear. She wanted to see him
robust, so that he might grow into the hero that Burle had declined to be, and
for all her cold ruggedness she watched him anxiously, feeling his limbs and
instilling courage into his soul. By degrees, blinded by her passionate
desires, she imagined that she had at last found the man of the family. The
boy, whose temperament was of a gentle, dreamy character, had a physical horror
of soldiering, but as he lived in mortal dread of his grandmother and was
extremely shy and submissive, he would echo all she said and resignedly express
his intention of entering the army when he grew up.
</p>

<p>
Mme Burle observed that the exercise was not progressing. In fact, little
Charles, overcome by the deafening noise of the storm, was dozing, albeit his
pen was between his fingers and his eyes were staring at the paper. The old
lady at once struck the edge of the table with her bony hand; whereupon the lad
started, opened his dictionary and hurriedly began to turn over the leaves.
Then, still preserving silence, his grandmother drew the vine roots together on
the hearth and unsuccessfully attempted to rekindle the fire.
</p>

<p>
At the time when she had still believed in her son she had sacrificed her small
income, which he had squandered in pursuits she dared not investigate. Even now
he drained the household; all its resources went to the streets, and it was
through him that she lived in penury, with empty rooms and cold kitchen. She
never spoke to him of all those things, for with her sense of discipline he
remained the master. Only at times she shuddered at the sudden fear that Burle
might someday commit some foolish misdeed which would prevent Charles from
entering the army.
</p>

<p>
She was rising up to fetch a fresh piece of wood in the kitchen when a fearful
hurricane fell upon the house, making the doors rattle, tearing off a shutter
and whirling the water in the broken gutters like a spout against the window.
In the midst of the uproar a ring at the bell startled the old lady. Who could
it be at such an hour and in such weather? Burle never returned till after
midnight, if he came home at all. However, she went to the door. An officer
stood before her, dripping with rain and swearing savagely.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Hell and thunder!&rdquo; he growled. &ldquo;What cursed weather!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
It was Major Laguitte, a brave old soldier who had served under Colonel Burle
during Mme Burle&rsquo;s palmy days. He had started in life as a drummer boy
and, thanks to his courage rather than his intellect, had attained to the
command of a battalion, when a painful infirmity&mdash;the contraction of the
muscles of one of his thighs, due to a wound&mdash;obliged him to accept the
post of major. He was slightly lame, but it would have been imprudent to tell
him so, as he refused to own it.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What, you, Major?&rdquo; said Mme Burle with growing astonishment.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, thunder,&rdquo; grumbled Laguitte, &ldquo;and I must be
confoundedly fond of you to roam the streets on such a night as this. One would
think twice before sending even a parson out.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He shook himself, and little rivulets fell from his huge boots onto the floor.
Then he looked round him.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I particularly want to see Burle. Is the lazy beggar already in
bed?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, he is not in yet,&rdquo; said the old woman in her harsh voice.
</p>

<p>
The major looked furious, and, raising his voice, he shouted: &ldquo;What, not
at home? But in that case they hoaxed me at the cafe, Melanie&rsquo;s
establishment, you know. I went there, and a maid grinned at me, saying that
the captain had gone home to bed. Curse the girl! I suspected as much and felt
like pulling her ears!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
After this outburst he became somewhat calmer, stamping about the room in an
undecided way, withal seeming greatly disturbed. Mme Burle looked at him
attentively.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Is it the captain personally whom you want to see?&rdquo; she said at
last.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he answered.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Can I not tell him what you have to say?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She did not insist but remained standing without taking her eyes off the major,
who did not seem able to make up his mind to leave. Finally in a fresh burst of
rage he exclaimed with an oath: &ldquo;It can&rsquo;t be helped. As I am here
you may as well know&mdash;after all, it is, perhaps, best.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He sat down before the chimney piece, stretching out his muddy boots as if a
bright fire had been burning. Mme Burle was about to resume her own seat when
she remarked that Charles, overcome by fatigue, had dropped his head between
the open pages of his dictionary. The arrival of the major had at first
interested him, but, seeing that he remained unnoticed, he had been unable to
struggle against his sleepiness. His grandmother turned toward the table to
slap his frail little hands, whitening in the lamplight, when Laguitte stopped
her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No&mdash;no!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Let the poor little man sleep. I
haven&rsquo;t got anything funny to say. There&rsquo;s no need for him to hear
me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The old lady sat down in her armchair; deep silence reigned, and they looked at
one another.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, yes,&rdquo; said the major at last, punctuating his words with an
angry motion of his chin, &ldquo;he has been and done it; that hound Burle has
been and done it!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Not a muscle of Mme Burle&rsquo;s face moved, but she became livid, and her
figure stiffened. Then the major continued: &ldquo;I had my doubts. I had
intended mentioning the subject to you. Burle was spending too much money, and
he had an idiotic look which I did not fancy. Thunder and lightning! What a
fool a man must be to behave so filthily!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then he thumped his knee furiously with his clenched fist and seemed to choke
with indignation. The old woman put the straightforward question:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;He has stolen?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You can&rsquo;t have an idea of it. You see, I never examined his
accounts; I approved and signed them. You know how those things are managed.
However, just before the inspection&mdash;as the colonel is a crotchety old
maniac&mdash;I said to Burle: &lsquo;I say, old man, look to your accounts; I
am answerable, you know,&rsquo; and then I felt perfectly secure. Well, about a
month ago, as he seemed queer and some nasty stories were circulating, I peered
a little closer into the books and pottered over the entries. I thought
everything looked straight and very well kept&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
At this point he stopped, convulsed by such a fit of rage that he had to
relieve himself by a volley of appalling oaths. Finally he resumed: &ldquo;It
isn&rsquo;t the swindle that angers me; it is his disgusting behavior to me. He
has gammoned me, Madame Burle. By God! Does he take me for an old fool?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;So he stole?&rdquo; the mother again questioned.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;This evening,&rdquo; continued the major more quietly, &ldquo;I had just
finished my dinner when Gagneux came in&mdash;you know Gagneux, the butcher at
the corner of the Place aux Herbes? Another dirty beast who got the meat
contract and makes our men eat all the diseased cow flesh in the neighborhood!
Well, I received him like a dog, and then he let it all out&mdash;blurted out
the whole thing, and a pretty mess it is! It appears that Burle only paid him
in driblets and had got himself into a muddle&mdash;a confusion of figures
which the devil himself couldn&rsquo;t disentangle. In short, Burle owes the
butcher two thousand francs, and Gagneux threatens that he&rsquo;ll inform the
colonel if he is not paid. To make matters worse, Burle, just to blind me,
handed me every week a forged receipt which he had squarely signed with
Gagneux&rsquo;s name. To think he did that to me, his old friend! Ah, curse
him!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
With increasing profanity the major rose to his feet, shook his fist at the
ceiling and then fell back in his chair. Mme Burle again repeated: &ldquo;He
has stolen. It was inevitable.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then without a word of judgment or condemnation she added simply: &ldquo;Two
thousand francs&mdash;we have not got them. There are barely thirty francs in
the house.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I expected as much,&rdquo; said Laguitte. &ldquo;And do you know where
all the money goes? Why, Melanie gets it&mdash;yes, Melanie, a creature who has
turned Burle into a perfect fool. Ah, those women! Those fiendish women! I
always said they would do for him! I cannot conceive what he is made of! He is
only five years younger than I am, and yet he is as mad as ever. What a woman
hunter he is!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Another long silence followed. Outside the rain was increasing in violence, and
throughout the sleepy little town one could hear the crashing of slates and
chimney pots as they were dashed by the blast onto the pavements of the
streets.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come,&rdquo; suddenly said the major, rising, &ldquo;my stopping here
won&rsquo;t mend matters. I have warned you&mdash;and now I&rsquo;m off.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What is to be done? To whom can we apply?&rdquo; muttered the old woman
drearily.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t give way&mdash;we must consider. If I only had the two
thousand francs&mdash;but you know that I am not rich.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The major stopped short in confusion. This old bachelor, wifeless and
childless, spent his pay in drink and gambled away at ecarte whatever money his
cognac and absinthe left in his pocket. Despite that, however, he was
scrupulously honest from a sense of discipline.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Never mind,&rdquo; he added as he reached the threshold.
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll begin by stirring him up. I shall move heaven and earth!
What! Burle, Colonel Burle&rsquo;s son, condemned for theft! That cannot be! I
would sooner burn down the town. Now, thunder and lightning, don&rsquo;t worry;
it is far more annoying for me than for you.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He shook the old lady&rsquo;s hand roughly and vanished into the shadows of the
staircase, while she held the lamp aloft to light the way. When she returned
and replaced the lamp on the table she stood for a moment motionless in front
of Charles, who was still asleep with his face lying on the dictionary. His
pale cheeks and long fair hair made him look like a girl, and she gazed at him
dreamily, a shade of tenderness passing over her harsh countenance. But it was
only a passing emotion; her features regained their look of cold, obstinate
determination, and, giving the youngster a sharp rap on his little hand, she
said:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Charles&mdash;your lessons.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The boy awoke, dazed and shivering, and again rapidly turned over the leaves.
At the same moment Major Laguitte, slamming the house door behind him, received
on his head a quantity of water falling from the gutters above, whereupon he
began to swear in so loud a voice that he could be heard above the storm. And
after that no sound broke upon the pelting downpour save the slight rustle of
the boy&rsquo;s pen traveling over the paper. Mme Burle had resumed her seat
near the chimney piece, still rigid, with her eyes fixed on the dead embers,
preserving, indeed, her habitual attitude and absorbed in her one idea.
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"></a> CHAPTER II</h2>

<h3> THE CAFE</h3>

<p>
The Café de Paris, kept by Melanie Cartier, a widow, was situated on the Place
du Palais, a large irregular square planted with meager, dusty elm trees. The
place was so well known in Vauchamp that it was customary to say, &ldquo;Are
you coming to Melanie&rsquo;s?&rdquo; At the farther end of the first room,
which was a spacious one, there was another called &ldquo;the divan,&rdquo; a
narrow apartment having sham leather benches placed against the walls, while at
each corner there stood a marble-topped table. The widow, deserting her seat in
the front room, where she left her little servant Phrosine, spent her evenings
in the inner apartment, ministering to a few customers, the usual frequenters
of the place, those who were currently styled &ldquo;the gentlemen of the
divan.&rdquo; When a man belonged to that set it was as if he had a label on
his back; he was spoken of with smiles of mingled contempt and envy.
</p>

<p>
Mme Cartier had become a widow when she was five and twenty. Her husband, a
wheelwright, who on the death of an uncle had amazed Vauchamp by taking the
Café de Paris, had one fine day brought her back with him from Montpellier,
where he was wont to repair twice a year to purchase liqueurs. As he was
stocking his establishment he selected, together with divers beverages, a woman
of the sort he wanted&mdash;of an engaging aspect and apt to stimulate the
trade of the house. It was never known where he had picked her up, but he
married her after trying her in the cafe during six months or so. Opinions were
divided in Vauchamp as to her merits, some folks declaring that she was superb,
while others asserted that she looked like a drum-major. She was a tall woman
with large features and coarse hair falling low over her forehead. However,
everyone agreed that she knew very well how to fool the sterner sex. She had
fine eyes and was wont to fix them with a bold stare on the gentlemen of the
divan, who colored and became like wax in her hands. She also had the
reputation of possessing a wonderfully fine figure, and southerners appreciate
a statuesque style of beauty.
</p>

<p>
Cartier had died in a singular way. Rumor hinted at a conjugal quarrel, a kick,
producing some internal tumor. Whatever may have been the truth, Melanie found
herself encumbered with the cafe, which was far from doing a prosperous
business. Her husband had wasted his uncle&rsquo;s inheritance in drinking his
own absinthe and wearing out the cloth of his own billiard table. For a while
it was believed that the widow would have to sell out, but she liked the life
and the establishment just as it was. If she could secure a few customers the
bigger room might remain deserted. So she limited herself to repapering the
divan in white and gold and recovering the benches. She began by entertaining a
chemist. Then a vermicelli maker, a lawyer and a retired magistrate put in an
appearance; and thus it was that the cafe remained open, although the waiter
did not receive twenty orders a day. No objections were raised by the
authorities, as appearances were kept up; and, indeed, it was not deemed
advisable to interfere, for some respectable folks might have been worried.
</p>

<p>
Of an evening five or six well-to-do citizens would enter the front room and
play at dominoes there. Although Cartier was dead and the Café de Paris had got
a queer name, they saw nothing and kept up their old habits. In course of time,
the waiter having nothing to do, Melanie dismissed him and made Phrosine light
the solitary gas burner in the corner where the domino players congregated.
Occasionally a party of young men, attracted by the gossip that circulated
through the town, would come in, wildly excited and laughing loudly and
awkwardly. But they were received there with icy dignity. As a rule they did
not even see the widow, and even if she happened to be present she treated them
with withering disdain, so that they withdrew, stammering and confused. Melanie
was too astute to indulge in any compromising whims. While the front room
remained obscure, save in the corner where the few townsfolk rattled their
dominoes, she personally waited on the gentlemen of the divan, showing herself
amiable without being free, merely venturing in moments of familiarity to lean
on the shoulder of one or another of them, the better to watch a skillfully
played game of ecarte.
</p>

<p>
One evening the gentlemen of the divan, who had ended by tolerating each
other&rsquo;s presence, experienced a disagreeable surprise on finding Captain
Burle at home there. He had casually entered the cafe that same morning to get
a glass of vermouth, so it seemed, and he had found Melanie there. They had
conversed, and in the evening when he returned Phrosine immediately showed him
to the inner room.
</p>

<p>
Two days later Burle reigned there supreme; still he had not frightened the
chemist, the vermicelli maker, the lawyer or the retired magistrate away. The
captain, who was short and dumpy, worshiped tall, plump women. In his regiment
he had been nicknamed &ldquo;Petticoat Burle&rdquo; on account of his constant
philandering. Whenever the officers, and even the privates, met some
monstrous-looking creature, some giantess puffed out with fat, whether she were
in velvet or in rags, they would invariably exclaim, &ldquo;There goes one to
Petticoat Burle&rsquo;s taste!&rdquo; Thus Melanie, with her opulent presence,
quite conquered him. He was lost&mdash;quite wrecked. In less than a fortnight
he had fallen to vacuous imbecility. With much the expression of a whipped
hound in the tiny sunken eyes which lighted up his bloated face, he was
incessantly watching the widow in mute adoration before her masculine features
and stubby hair. For fear that he might be dismissed, he put up with the
presence of the other gentlemen of the divan and spent his pay in the place
down to the last copper. A sergeant reviewed the situation in one sentence:
&ldquo;Petticoat Burle is done for; he&rsquo;s a buried man!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
It was nearly ten o&rsquo;clock when Major Laguitte furiously flung the door of
the cafe open. For a moment those inside could see the deluged square
transformed into a dark sea of liquid mud, bubbling under the terrible
downpour. The major, now soaked to the skin and leaving a stream behind him,
strode up to the small counter where Phrosine was reading a novel.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You little wretch,&rdquo; he yelled, &ldquo;you have dared to gammon an
officer; you deserve&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And then he lifted his hand as if to deal a blow such as would have felled an
ox. The little maid shrank back, terrified, while the amazed domino players
looked, openmouthed. However, the major did not linger there&mdash;he pushed
the divan door open and appeared before Melanie and Burle just as the widow was
playfully making the captain sip his grog in small spoonfuls, as if she were
feeding a pet canary. Only the ex-magistrate and the chemist had come that
evening, and they had retired early in a melancholy frame of mind. Then
Melanie, being in want of three hundred francs for the morrow, had taken
advantage of the opportunity to cajole the captain.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come.&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;open your mouth; ain&rsquo;t it nice, you
greedy piggy-wiggy?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Burle, flushing scarlet, with glazed eyes and sunken figure, was sucking the
spoon with an air of intense enjoyment.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Good heavens!&rdquo; roared the major from the threshold. &ldquo;You now
play tricks on me, do you? I&rsquo;m sent to the roundabout and told that you
never came here, and yet all the while here you are, addling your silly
brains.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Burle shuddered, pushing the grog away, while Melanie stepped angrily in front
of him as if to shield him with her portly figure, but Laguitte looked at her
with that quiet, resolute expression well known to women who are familiar with
bodily chastisement.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Leave us,&rdquo; he said curtly.
</p>

<p>
She hesitated for the space of a second. She almost felt the gust of the
expected blow, and then, white with rage, she joined Phrosine in the outer
room.
</p>

<p>
When the two men were alone Major Laguitte walked up to Burle, looked at him
and, slightly stooping, yelled into his face these two words: &ldquo;You
pig!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The captain, quite dazed, endeavored to retort, but he had not time to do so.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Silence!&rdquo; resumed the major. &ldquo;You have bamboozled a friend.
You palmed off on me a lot of forged receipts which might have sent both of us
to the gallows. Do you call that proper behavior? Is that the sort of trick to
play a friend of thirty years&rsquo; standing?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Burle, who had fallen back in his chair, was livid; his limbs shook as if with
ague. Meanwhile the major, striding up and down and striking the tables wildly
with his fists, continued: &ldquo;So you have become a thief like the veriest
scribbling cur of a clerk, and all for the sake of that creature here! If at
least you had stolen for your mother&rsquo;s sake it would have been honorable!
But, curse it, to play tricks and bring the money into this shanty is what I
cannot understand! Tell me&mdash;what are you made of at your age to go to the
dogs as you are going all for the sake of a creature like a grenadier!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;YOU gamble&mdash;&rdquo; stammered the captain.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, I do&mdash;curse it!&rdquo; thundered the major, lashed into still
greater fury by this remark. &ldquo;And I am a pitiful rogue to do so, because
it swallows up all my pay and doesn&rsquo;t redound to the honor of the French
army. However, I don&rsquo;t steal. Kill yourself, if it pleases you; starve
your mother and the boy, but respect the regimental cashbox and don&rsquo;t
drag your friends down with you.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He stopped. Burle was sitting there with fixed eyes and a stupid air. Nothing
was heard for a moment save the clatter of the major&rsquo;s heels.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;And not a single copper,&rdquo; he continued aggressively. &ldquo;Can
you picture yourself between two gendarmes, eh?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He then grew a little calmer, caught hold of Burle&rsquo;s wrists and forced
him to rise.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come!&rdquo; he said gruffly. &ldquo;Something must be done at once, for
I cannot go to bed with this affair on my mind&mdash;I have an idea.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
In the front room Melanie and Phrosine were talking eagerly in low voices. When
the widow saw the two men leaving the divan she moved toward Burle and said
coaxingly: &ldquo;What, are you going already, Captain?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, he&rsquo;s going,&rdquo; brutally answered Laguitte, &ldquo;and I
don&rsquo;t intend to let him set foot here again.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The little maid felt frightened and pulled her mistress back by the skirt of
her dress; in doing so she imprudently murmured the word &ldquo;drunkard&rdquo;
and thereby brought down the slap which the major&rsquo;s hand had been itching
to deal for some time past. Both women having stooped, however, the blow only
fell on Phrosine&rsquo;s back hair, flattening her cap and breaking her comb.
The domino players were indignant.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s cut it,&rdquo; shouted Laguitte, and he pushed Burle on the
pavement. &ldquo;If I remained I should smash everyone in the place.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
To cross the square they had to wade up to their ankles in mud. The rain,
driven by the wind, poured off their faces. The captain walked on in silence,
while the major kept on reproaching him with his cowardice and its disastrous
consequences. Wasn&rsquo;t it sweet weather for tramping the streets? If he
hadn&rsquo;t been such an idiot they would both be warmly tucked in bed instead
of paddling about in the mud. Then he spoke of Gagneux&mdash;a scoundrel whose
diseased meat had on three separate occasions made the whole regiment ill. In a
week, however, the contract would come to an end, and the fiend himself would
not get it renewed.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It rests with me,&rdquo; the major grumbled. &ldquo;I can select
whomsoever I choose, and I&rsquo;d rather cut off my right arm than put that
poisoner in the way of earning another copper.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Just then he slipped into a gutter and, half choked by a string of oaths, he
gasped:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You understand&mdash;I am going to rout up Gagneux. You must stop
outside while I go in. I must know what the rascal is up to and if he&rsquo;ll
dare to carry out his threat of informing the colonel tomorrow. A
butcher&mdash;curse him! The idea of compromising oneself with a butcher! Ah,
you aren&rsquo;t over-proud, and I shall never forgive you for all this.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They had now reached the Place aux Herbes. Gagneux&rsquo;s house was quite
dark, but Laguitte knocked so loudly that he was eventually admitted. Burle
remained alone in the dense obscurity and did not even attempt to seek any
shelter. He stood at a corner of the market under the pelting rain, his head
filled with a loud buzzing noise which prevented him from thinking. He did not
feel impatient, for he was unconscious of the flight of time. He stood there
looking at the house, which, with its closed door and windows, seemed quite
lifeless. When at the end of an hour the major came out again it appeared to
the captain as if he had only just gone in.
</p>

<p>
Laguitte was so grimly mute that Burle did not venture to question him. For a
moment they sought each other, groping about in the dark; then they resumed
their walk through the somber streets, where the water rolled as in the bed of
a torrent. They moved on in silence side by side, the major being so abstracted
that he even forgot to swear. However, as they again crossed the Place du
Palais, at the sight of the Café de Paris, which was still lit up, he dropped
his hand on Burle&rsquo;s shoulder and said, &ldquo;If you ever re-enter that
hole I&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No fear!&rdquo; answered the captain without letting his friend finish
his sentence.
</p>

<p>
Then he stretched out his hand.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; said Laguitte, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll see you home; I&rsquo;ll
at least make sure that you&rsquo;ll sleep in your bed tonight.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
They went on, and as they ascended the Rue des Recollets they slackened their
pace. When the captain&rsquo;s door was reached and Burle had taken out his
latchkey he ventured to ask:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; answered the major gruffly, &ldquo;I am as dirty a rogue as
you are. Yes! I have done a scurrilous thing. The fiend take you! Our soldiers
will eat carrion for three months longer.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then he explained that Gagneux, the disgusting Gagneux, had a horribly level
head and that he had persuaded him&mdash;the major&mdash;to strike a bargain.
He would refrain from informing the colonel, and he would even make a present
of the two thousand francs and replace the forged receipts by genuine ones, on
condition that the major bound himself to renew the meat contract. It was a
settled thing.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; continued Laguitte, &ldquo;calculate what profits the brute
must make out of the meat to part with such a sum as two thousand
francs.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Burle, choking with emotion, grasped his old friend&rsquo;s hands, stammering
confused words of thanks. The vileness of the action committed for his sake
brought tears into his eyes.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I never did such a thing before,&rdquo; growled Laguitte, &ldquo;but I
was driven to it. Curse it, to think that I haven&rsquo;t those two thousand
francs in my drawer! It is enough to make one hate cards. It is my own fault. I
am not worth much; only, mark my words, don&rsquo;t begin again, for, curse
it&mdash;I shan&rsquo;t.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The captain embraced him, and when he had entered the house the major stood a
moment before the closed door to make certain that he had gone upstairs to bed.
Then as midnight was striking and the rain was still belaboring the dark town,
he slowly turned homeward. The thought of his men almost broke his heart, and,
stopping short, he said aloud in a voice full of compassion:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Poor devils! what a lot of cow beef they&rsquo;ll have to swallow for
those two thousand francs!&rdquo;
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"></a> CHAPTER III</h2>

<h3> AGAIN?</h3>

<p>
The regiment was altogether nonplused: Petticoat Burle had quarreled with
Melanie. When a week had elapsed it became a proved and undeniable fact; the
captain no longer set foot inside the Café de Paris, where the chemist, it was
averred, once more reigned in his stead, to the profound sorrow of the retired
magistrate. An even more incredible statement was that Captain Burle led the
life of a recluse in the Rue des Recollets. He was becoming a reformed
character; he spent his evenings at his own fireside, hearing little Charles
repeat his lessons. His mother, who had never breathed a word to him of his
manipulations with Gagneux, maintained her old severity of demeanor as she sat
opposite to him in her armchair, but her looks seemed to imply that she
believed him reclaimed.
</p>

<p>
A fortnight later Major Laguitte came one evening to invite himself to dinner.
He felt some awkwardness at the prospect of meeting Burle again, not on his own
account but because he dreaded awakening painful memories. However, as the
captain was mending his ways he wished to shake hands and break a crust with
him. He thought this would please his old friend.
</p>

<p>
When Laguitte arrived Burle was in his room, so it was the old lady who
received the major. The latter, after announcing that he had come to have a
plate of soup with them, added, lowering his voice:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, how goes it?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It is all right,&rdquo; answered the old lady.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Nothing queer?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Absolutely nothing. Never away&mdash;in bed at nine&mdash;and looking
quite happy.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, confound it,&rdquo; replied the major, &ldquo;I knew very well he
only wanted a shaking. He has some heart left, the dog!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
When Burle appeared he almost crushed the major&rsquo;s hands in his grasp, and
standing before the fire, waiting for the dinner, they conversed peacefully,
honestly, together, extolling the charms of home life. The captain vowed he
wouldn&rsquo;t exchange his home for a kingdom and declared that when he had
removed his braces, put on his slippers and settled himself in his armchair, no
king was fit to hold a candle to him. The major assented and examined him. At
all events his virtuous conduct had not made him any thinner; he still looked
bloated; his eyes were bleared, and his mouth was heavy. He seemed to be half
asleep as he repeated mechanically: &ldquo;Home life! There&rsquo;s nothing
like home life, nothing in the world!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No doubt,&rdquo; said the major; &ldquo;still, one mustn&rsquo;t
exaggerate&mdash;take a little exercise and come to the cafe now and
then.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;To the cafe, why?&rdquo; asked Burle. &ldquo;Do I lack anything here?
No, no, I remain at home.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
When Charles had laid his books aside Laguitte was surprised to see a maid come
in to lay the cloth.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;So you keep a servant now,&rdquo; he remarked to Mme Burle.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I had to get one,&rdquo; she answered with a sigh. &ldquo;My legs are
not what they used to be, and the household was going to rack and ruin.
Fortunately Cabrol let me have his daughter. You know old Cabrol, who sweeps
the market? He did not know what to do with Rose&mdash;I am teaching her how to
work.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Just then the girl left the room.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;How old is she?&rdquo; asked the major.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Barely seventeen. She is stupid and dirty, but I only give her ten
francs a month, and she eats nothing but soup.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
When Rose returned with an armful of plates Laguitte, though he did not care
about women, began to scrutinize her and was amazed at seeing so ugly a
creature. She was very short, very dark and slightly deformed, with a face like
an ape&rsquo;s: a flat nose, a huge mouth and narrow greenish eyes. Her broad
back and long arms gave her an appearance of great strength.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;What a snout!&rdquo; said Laguitte, laughing, when the maid had again
left the room to fetch the cruets.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Never mind,&rdquo; said Burle carelessly, &ldquo;she is very obliging
and does all one asks her. She suits us well enough as a scullion.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The dinner was very pleasant. It consisted of boiled beef and mutton hash.
Charles was encouraged to relate some stories of his school, and Mme Burle
repeatedly asked him the same question: &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you want to be a
soldier?&rdquo; A faint smile hovered over the child&rsquo;s wan lips as he
answered with the frightened obedience of a trained dog, &ldquo;Oh yes,
Grandmother.&rdquo; Captain Burle, with his elbows on the table, was
masticating slowly with an absent-minded expression. The big room was getting
warmer; the single lamp placed on the table left the corners in vague gloom.
There was a certain amount of heavy comfort, the familiar intimacy of penurious
people who do not change their plates at every course but become joyously
excited at the unexpected appearance of a bowl of whipped egg cream at the
close of the meal.
</p>

<p>
Rose, whose heavy tread shook the floor as she paced round the table, had not
yet opened her mouth. At last she stopped behind the captain&rsquo;s chair and
asked in a gruff voice: &ldquo;Cheese, sir?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Burle started. &ldquo;What, eh? Oh yes&mdash;cheese. Hold the plate
tight.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He cut a piece of Gruyere, the girl watching him the while with her narrow
eyes. Laguitte laughed; Rose&rsquo;s unparalleled ugliness amused him
immensely. He whispered in the captain&rsquo;s ear, &ldquo;She is ripping!
There never was such a nose and such a mouth! You ought to send her to the
colonel&rsquo;s someday as a curiosity. It would amuse him to see her.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
More and more struck by this phenomenal ugliness, the major felt a paternal
desire to examine the girl more closely.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come here,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I want some cheese too.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She brought the plate, and Laguitte, sticking the knife in the Gruyere, stared
at her, grinning the while because he discovered that she had one nostril
broader than the other. Rose gravely allowed herself to be looked at, waiting
till the gentleman had done laughing.
</p>

<p>
She removed the cloth and disappeared. Burle immediately went to sleep in the
chimney corner while the major and Mme Burle began to chat. Charles had
returned to his exercises. Quietude fell from the loft ceiling; the quietude of
a middle-class household gathered in concord around their fireside. At nine
o&rsquo;clock Burle woke up, yawned and announced that he was going off to bed;
he apologized but declared that he could not keep his eyes open. Half an hour
later, when the major took his leave, Mme Burle vainly called for Rose to light
him downstairs; the girl must have gone up to her room; she was, indeed, a
regular hen, snoring the round of the clock without waking.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No need to disturb anybody,&rdquo; said Laguitte on the landing;
&ldquo;my legs are not much better than yours, but if I get hold of the
banisters I shan&rsquo;t break any bones. Now, my dear lady, I leave you happy;
your troubles are ended at last. I watched Burle closely, and I&rsquo;ll take
my oath that he&rsquo;s guileless as a child. Dash it&mdash;after all, it was
high time for Petticoat Burle to reform; he was going downhill fast.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The major went away fully satisfied with the house and its inmates; the walls
were of glass and could harbor no equivocal conduct. What particularly
delighted him in his friend&rsquo;s return to virtue was that it absolved him
from the obligation of verifying the accounts. Nothing was more distasteful to
him than the inspection of a number of ledgers, and as long as Burle kept
steady, he&mdash;Laguitte&mdash;could smoke his pipe in peace and sign the
books in all confidence. However, he continued to keep one eye open for a
little while longer and found the receipts genuine, the entries correct, the
columns admirably balanced. A month later he contented himself with glancing at
the receipts and running his eye over the totals. Then one morning, without the
slightest suspicion of there being anything wrong, simply because he had lit a
second pipe and had nothing to do, he carelessly added up a row of figures and
fancied that he detected an error of thirteen francs. The balance seemed
perfectly correct, and yet he was not mistaken; the total outlay was thirteen
francs more than the various sums for which receipts were furnished. It looked
queer, but he said nothing to Burle, just making up his mind to examine the
next accounts closely. On the following week he detected a fresh error of
nineteen francs, and then, suddenly becoming alarmed, he shut himself up with
the books and spent a wretched morning poring over them, perspiring, swearing
and feeling as if his very skull were bursting with the figures. At every page
he discovered thefts of a few francs&mdash;the most miserable petty
thefts&mdash;ten, eight, eleven francs, latterly, three and four; and, indeed,
there was one column showing that Burle had pilfered just one franc and a half.
For two months, however, he had been steadily robbing the cashbox, and by
comparing dates the major found to his disgust that the famous lesson
respecting Gagneux had only kept him straight for one week! This last discovery
infuriated Laguitte, who struck the books with his clenched fists, yelling
through a shower of oaths:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;This is more abominable still! At least there was some pluck about those
forged receipts of Gagneux. But this time he is as contemptible as a cook
charging twopence extra for her cabbages. Powers of hell! To pilfer a franc and
a half and clap it in his pocket! Hasn&rsquo;t the brute got any pride then?
Couldn&rsquo;t he run away with the safe or play the fool with
actresses?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The pitiful meanness of these pilferings revolted the major, and, moreover, he
was enraged at having been duped a second time, deceived by the simple, stupid
dodge of falsified additions. He rose at last and paced his office for a whole
hour, growling aloud.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;This gives me his measure. Even if I were to thresh him to a jelly every
morning he would still drop a couple of coins into his pocket every afternoon.
But where can he spend it all? He is never seen abroad; he goes to bed at nine,
and everything looks so clean and proper over there. Can the brute have vices
that nobody knows of?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He returned to the desk, added up the subtracted money and found a total of
five hundred and forty-five francs. Where was this deficiency to come from? The
inspection was close at hand, and if the crotchety colonel should take it into
his head to examine a single page, the murder would be out and Burle would be
done for.
</p>

<p>
This idea froze the major, who left off cursing, picturing Mme Burle erect and
despairing, and at the same time he felt his heart swell with personal grief
and shame.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he muttered, &ldquo;I must first of all look into the
rogue&rsquo;s business; I will act afterward.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
As he walked over to Burle&rsquo;s office he caught sight of a skirt vanishing
through the doorway. Fancying that he had a clue to the mystery, he slipped up
quietly and listened and speedily recognized Melanie&rsquo;s shrill voice. She
was complaining of the gentlemen of the divan. She had signed a promissory note
which she was unable to meet; the bailiffs were in the house, and all her goods
would be sold. The captain, however, barely replied to her. He alleged that he
had no money, whereupon she burst into tears and began to coax him. But her
blandishments were apparently ineffectual, for Burle&rsquo;s husky voice could
be heard repeating, &ldquo;Impossible! Impossible!&rdquo; And finally the widow
withdrew in a towering passion. The major, amazed at the turn affairs were
taking, waited a few moments longer before entering the office, where Burle had
remained alone. He found him very calm, and despite his furious inclination to
call him names he also remained calm, determined to begin by finding out the
exact truth.
</p>

<p>
The office certainly did not look like a swindler&rsquo;s den. A cane-seated
chair, covered with an honest leather cushion, stood before the captain&rsquo;s
desk, and in a corner there was the locked safe. Summer was coming on, and the
song of a canary sounded through the open window. The apartment was very neat
and tidy, redolent of old papers, and altogether its appearance inspired one
with confidence.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Wasn&rsquo;t it Melanie who was leaving here as I came along?&rdquo;
asked Laguitte.
</p>

<p>
Burle shrugged his shoulders.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he mumbled. &ldquo;She has been dunning me for two hundred
francs, but she can&rsquo;t screw ten out of me&mdash;not even tenpence.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Indeed!&rdquo; said the major, just to try him. &ldquo;I heard that you
had made up with her.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I? Certainly not. I have done with the likes of her for good.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Laguitte went away, feeling greatly perplexed. Where had the five hundred and
forty-five francs gone? Had the idiot taken to drinking or gambling? He decided
to pay Burle a surprise visit that very evening at his own house, and maybe by
questioning his mother he might learn something. However, during the afternoon
his leg became very painful; latterly he had been feeling in ill-health, and he
had to use a stick so as not to limp too outrageously. This stick grieved him
sorely, and he declared with angry despair that he was now no better than a
pensioner. However, toward the evening, making a strong effort, he pulled
himself out of his armchair and, leaning heavily on his stick, dragged himself
through the darkness to the Rue des Recollets, which he reached about nine
o&rsquo;clock. The street door was still unlocked, and on going up he stood
panting on the third landing, when he heard voices on the upper floor. One of
these voices was Burle&rsquo;s, so he fancied, and out of curiosity he ascended
another flight of stairs. Then at the end of a passage on the left he saw a ray
of light coming from a door which stood ajar. As the creaking of his boots
resounded, this door was sharply closed, and he found himself in the dark.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Some cook going to bed!&rdquo; he muttered angrily. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m a
fool.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
All the same he groped his way as gently as possible to the door and listened.
Two people were talking in the room, and he stood aghast, for it was Burle and
that fright Rose! Then he listened, and the conversation he heard left him no
doubt of the awful truth. For a moment he lifted his stick as if to beat down
the door. Then he shuddered and, staggering back, leaned against the wall. His
legs were trembling under him, while in the darkness of the staircase he
brandished his stick as if it had been a saber.
</p>

<p>
What was to be done? After his first moment of passion there had come thoughts
of the poor old lady below. And these made him hesitate. It was all over with
the captain now; when a man sank as low as that he was hardly worth the few
shovelfuls of earth that are thrown over carrion to prevent them from polluting
the atmosphere. Whatever might be said of Burle, however much one might try to
shame him, he would assuredly begin the next day. Ah, heavens, to think of it!
The money! The honor of the army! The name of Burle, that respected name,
dragged through the mire! By all that was holy this could and should not be!
</p>

<p>
Presently the major softened. If he had only possessed five hundred and
forty-five francs! But he had not got such an amount. On the previous day he
had drunk too much cognac, just like a mere sub, and had lost shockingly at
cards. It served him right&mdash;he ought to have known better! And if he was
so lame he richly deserved it too; by rights, in fact, his leg ought to be much
worse.
</p>

<p>
At last he crept downstairs and rang at the bell of Mme Burle&rsquo;s flat.
Five minutes elapsed, and then the old lady appeared.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I beg your pardon for keeping you waiting,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;I
thought that dormouse Rose was still about. I must go and shake her.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But the major detained her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Where is Burle?&rdquo; he asked.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, he has been snoring since nine o&rsquo;clock. Would you like to
knock at his door?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, no, I only wanted to have a chat with you.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
In the parlor Charles sat at his usual place, having just finished his
exercises. He looked terrified, and his poor little white hands were tremulous.
In point of fact, his grandmother, before sending him to bed, was wont to read
some martial stories aloud so as to develop the latent family heroism in his
bosom. That night she had selected the episode of the Vengeur, the man-of-war
freighted with dying heroes and sinking into the sea. The child, while
listening, had become almost hysterical, and his head was racked as with some
ghastly nightmare.
</p>

<p>
Mme Burle asked the major to let her finish the perusal. &ldquo;Long live the
republic!&rdquo; She solemnly closed the volume. Charles was as white as a
sheet.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You see,&rdquo; said the old lady, &ldquo;the duty of every French
soldier is to die for his country.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, Grandmother.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then the lad kissed her on the forehead and, shivering with fear, went to bed
in his big room, where the faintest creak of the paneling threw him into a cold
sweat.
</p>

<p>
The major had listened with a grave face. Yes, by heavens! Honor was honor, and
he would never permit that wretched Burle to disgrace the old woman and the
boy! As the lad was so devoted to the military profession, it was necessary
that he should be able to enter Saint-Cyr with his head erect.
</p>

<p>
When Mme Burle took up the lamp to show the major out, she passed the door of
the captain&rsquo;s room, and stopped short, surprised to see the key outside,
which was a most unusual occurrence.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do go in,&rdquo; she said to Laguitte; &ldquo;it is bad for him to sleep
so much.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And before he could interpose she had opened the door and stood transfixed on
finding the room empty. Laguitte turned crimson and looked so foolish that she
suddenly understood everything, enlightened by the sudden recollection of
several little incidents to which she had previously attached no importance.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You knew it&mdash;you knew it!&rdquo; she stammered. &ldquo;Why was I
not told? Oh, my God, to think of it! Ah, he has been stealing again&mdash;I
feel it!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She remained erect, white and rigid. Then she added in a harsh voice:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Look you&mdash;I wish he were dead!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Laguitte caught hold of both her hands, which for a moment he kept tightly
clasped in his own. Then he left her hurriedly, for he felt a lump rising in
his throat and tears coming to his eyes. Ah, by all the powers, this time his
mind was quite made up.
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"></a> CHAPTER IV</h2>

<h3> INSPECTION</h3>

<p>
The regimental inspection was to take place at the end of the month. The major
had ten days before him. On the very next morning, however, he crawled,
limping, as far as the Café de Paris, where he ordered some beer. Melanie grew
pale when she saw him enter, and it was with a lively recollection of a certain
slap that Phrosine hastened to serve him. The major seemed very calm, however;
he called for a second chair to rest his bad leg upon and drank his beer
quietly like any other thirsty man. He had sat there for about an hour when he
saw two officers crossing the Place du Palais&mdash;Morandot, who commanded one
of the battalions of the regiment, and Captain Doucet. Thereupon he excitedly
waved his cane and shouted: &ldquo;Come in and have a glass of beer with
me!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The officers dared not refuse, but when the maid had brought the beer Morandot
said to the major: &ldquo;So you patronize this place now?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes&mdash;the beer is good.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Captain Doucet winked and asked archly: &ldquo;Do you belong to the divan,
Major?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Laguitte chuckled but did not answer. Then the others began to chaff him about
Melanie, and he took their remarks good-naturedly, simply shrugging his
shoulders. The widow was undoubtedly a fine woman, however much people might
talk. Some of those who disparaged her would, in reality, be only too pleased
to win her good graces. Then turning to the little counter and assuming an
engaging air, he shouted:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Three more glasses, madame.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Melanie was so taken aback that she rose and brought the beer herself. The
major detained her at the table and forgot himself so far as to softly pat the
hand which she had carelessly placed on the back of a chair. Used as she was to
alternate brutality and flattery, she immediately became confident, believing
in a sudden whim of gallantry on the part of the &ldquo;old wreck,&rdquo; as
she was wont to style the major when talking with Phrosine. Doucet and Morandot
looked at each other in surprise. Was the major actually stepping into
Petticoat Burle&rsquo;s shoes? The regiment would be convulsed if that were the
case.
</p>

<p>
Suddenly, however, Laguitte, who kept his eye on the square, gave a start.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Hallo, there&rsquo;s Burle!&rdquo; he exclaimed.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, it is his time,&rdquo; explained Phrosine. &ldquo;The captain
passes every afternoon on his way from the office.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
In spite of his lameness the major had risen to his feet, pushing aside the
chairs as he called out: &ldquo;Burle! I say&mdash;come along and have a
glass.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The captain, quite aghast and unable to understand why Laguitte was at the
widow&rsquo;s, advanced mechanically. He was so perplexed that he again
hesitated at the door.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Another glass of beer,&rdquo; ordered the major, and then turning to
Burle, he added, &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter with you? Come in. Are you
afraid of being eaten alive?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The captain took a seat, and an awkward pause followed. Melanie, who brought
the beer with trembling hands, dreaded some scene which might result in the
closing of her establishment. The major&rsquo;s gallantry made her uneasy, and
she endeavored to slip away, but he invited her to drink with them, and before
she could refuse he had ordered Phrosine to bring a liqueur glass of anisette,
doing so with as much coolness as if he had been master of the house. Melanie
was thus compelled to sit down between the captain and Laguitte, who exclaimed
aggressively: &ldquo;I WILL have ladies respected. We are French officers! Let
us drink Madame&rsquo;s health!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Burle, with his eyes fixed on his glass, smiled in an embarrassed way. The two
officers, shocked at the proceedings, had already tried to get off. Fortunately
the cafe was deserted, save that the domino players were having their afternoon
game. At every fresh oath which came from the major they glanced around,
scandalized by such an unusual accession of customers and ready to threaten
Melanie that they would leave her for the Café de la Gare if the soldiery was
going to invade her place like flies that buzzed about, attracted by the
stickiness of the tables which Phrosine scoured only on Saturdays. She was now
reclining behind the counter, already reading a novel again.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;How&rsquo;s this&mdash;you are not drinking with Madame?&rdquo; roughly
said the major to Burle. &ldquo;Be civil at least!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then as Doucet and Morandot were again preparing to leave, he stopped them.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why can&rsquo;t you wait? We&rsquo;ll go together. It is only this brute
who never knows how to behave himself.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The two officers looked surprised at the major&rsquo;s sudden bad temper.
Melanie attempted to restore peace and with a light laugh placed her hands on
the arms of both men. However, Laguitte disengaged himself.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he roared, &ldquo;leave me alone. Why does he refuse to chink
glasses with you? I shall not allow you to be insulted&mdash;do you hear? I am
quite sick of him.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Burle, paling under the insult, turned slightly and said to Morandot,
&ldquo;What does this mean? He calls me in here to insult me. Is he
drunk?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
With a wild oath the major rose on his trembling legs and struck the
captain&rsquo;s cheek with his open hand. Melanie dived and thus escaped one
half of the smack. An appalling uproar ensued. Phrosine screamed behind the
counter as if she herself had received the blow; the domino players also
entrenched themselves behind their table in fear lest the soldiers should draw
their swords and massacre them. However, Doucet and Morandot pinioned the
captain to prevent him from springing at the major&rsquo;s throat and forcibly
let him to the door. When they got him outside they succeeded in quieting him a
little by repeating that Laguitte was quite in the wrong. They would lay the
affair before the colonel, having witnessed it, and the colonel would give his
decision. As soon as they had got Burle away they returned to the cafe where
they found Laguitte in reality greatly disturbed, with tears in his eyes but
affecting stolid indifference and slowly finishing his beer.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Listen, Major,&rdquo; began Morandot, &ldquo;that was very wrong on your
part. The captain is your inferior in rank, and you know that he won&rsquo;t be
allowed to fight you.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;That remains to be seen,&rdquo; answered the major.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;But how has he offended you? He never uttered a word. Two old comrades
too; it is absurd.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The major made a vague gesture. &ldquo;No matter. He annoyed me.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He could never be made to say anything else. Nothing more as to his motive was
ever known. All the same, the scandal was a terrible one. The regiment was
inclined to believe that Melanie, incensed by the captain&rsquo;s defection,
had contrived to entrap the major, telling him some abominable stories and
prevailing upon him to insult and strike Burle publicly. Who would have thought
it of that old fogy Laguitte, who professed to be a woman hater? they said. So
he, too, had been caught at last. Despite the general indignation against
Melanie, this adventure made her very conspicuous, and her establishment soon
drove a flourishing business.
</p>

<p>
On the following day the colonel summoned the major and the captain into his
presence. He censured them sternly, accusing them of disgracing their uniform
by frequenting unseemly haunts. What resolution had they come to, he asked, as
he could not authorize them to fight? This same question had occupied the whole
regiment for the last twenty-four hours. Apologies were unacceptable on account
of the blow, but as Laguitte was almost unable to stand, it was hoped that,
should the colonel insist upon it, some reconciliation might be patched up.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come,&rdquo; said the colonel, &ldquo;will you accept me as
arbitrator?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I beg your pardon, Colonel,&rdquo; interrupted the major; &ldquo;I have
brought you my resignation. Here it is. That settles everything. Please name
the day for the duel.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Burle looked at Laguitte in amazement, and the colonel thought it his duty to
protest.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;This is a most serious step, Major,&rdquo; he began. &ldquo;Two years
more and you would be entitled to your full pension.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
But again did Laguitte cut him short, saying gruffly, &ldquo;That is my own
affair.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, certainly! Well, I will send in your resignation, and as soon as it
is accepted I will fix a day for the duel.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The unexpected turn that events had taken startled the regiment. What possessed
that lunatic major to persist in cutting the throat of his old comrade Burle?
The officers again discussed Melanie; they even began to dream of her. There
must surely be something wonderful about her since she had completely
fascinated two such tough old veterans and brought them to a deadly feud.
Morandot, having met Laguitte, did not disguise his concern. If he&mdash;the
major&mdash;was not killed, what would he live upon? He had no fortune, and the
pension to which his cross of the Legion of Honor entitled him, with the half
of a full regimental pension which he would obtain on resigning, would barely
find him in bread. While Morandot was thus speaking Laguitte simply stared
before him with his round eyes, persevering in the dumb obstinacy born of his
narrow mind; and when his companion tried to question him regarding his hatred
for Burle, he simply made the same vague gesture as before and once again
repeated:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;He annoyed me; so much the worse.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Every morning at mess and at the canteen the first words were: &ldquo;Has the
acceptance of the major&rsquo;s resignation arrived?&rdquo; The duel was
impatiently expected and ardently discussed. The majority believed that
Laguitte would be run through the body in three seconds, for it was madness for
a man to fight with a paralyzed leg which did not even allow him to stand
upright. A few, however, shook their heads. Laguitte had never been a marvel of
intellect, that was true; for the last twenty years, indeed, he had been held
up as an example of stupidity, but there had been a time when he was known as
the best fencer of the regiment, and although he had begun as a drummer he had
won his epaulets as the commander of a battalion by the sanguine bravery of a
man who is quite unconscious of danger. On the other hand, Burle fenced
indifferently and passed for a poltroon. However, they would soon know what to
think.
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile the excitement became more and more intense as the acceptance of
Laguitte&rsquo;s resignation was so long in coming. The major was unmistakably
the most anxious and upset of everybody. A week had passed by, and the general
inspection would commence two days later. Nothing, however, had come as yet. He
shuddered at the thought that he had, perhaps, struck his old friend and sent
in his resignation all in vain, without delaying the exposure for a single
minute. He had in reality reasoned thus: If he himself were killed he would not
have the worry of witnessing the scandal, and if he killed Burle, as he
expected to do, the affair would undoubtedly be hushed up. Thus he would save
the honor of the army, and the little chap would be able to get in at
Saint-Cyr. Ah, why wouldn&rsquo;t those wretched scribblers at the War Office
hurry up a bit? The major could not keep still but was forever wandering about
before the post office, stopping the estafettes and questioning the
colonel&rsquo;s orderly to find out if the acceptance had arrived. He lost his
sleep and, careless as to people&rsquo;s remarks, he leaned more and more
heavily on his stick, hobbling about with no attempt to steady his gait.
</p>

<p>
On the day before that fixed for the inspection he was, as usual, on his way to
the colonel&rsquo;s quarters when he paused, startled, to see Mme Burle (who
was taking Charles to school) a few paces ahead of him. He had not met her
since the scene at the Café de Paris, for she had remained in seclusion at
home. Unmanned at thus meeting her, he stepped down to leave the whole sidewalk
free. Neither he nor the old lady bowed, and the little boy lifted his large
inquisitive eyes in mute surprise. Mme Burle, cold and erect, brushed past the
major without the least sign of emotion or recognition. When she had passed he
looked after her with an expression of stupefied compassion.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Confound it, I am no longer a man,&rdquo; he growled, dashing away a
tear.
</p>

<p>
When he arrived at the colonel&rsquo;s quarters a captain in attendance greeted
him with the words: &ldquo;It&rsquo;s all right at last. The papers have
come.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; murmured Laguitte, growing very pale.
</p>

<p>
And again he beheld the old lady walking on, relentlessly rigid and holding the
little boy&rsquo;s hand. What! He had longed so eagerly for those papers for
eight days past, and now when the scraps had come he felt his brain on fire and
his heart lacerated.
</p>

<p>
The duel took place on the morrow, in the barrack yard behind a low wall. The
air was keen, the sun shining brightly. Laguitte had almost to be carried to
the ground; one of his seconds supported him on one side, while on the other he
leaned heavily, on his stick. Burle looked half asleep; his face was puffy with
unhealthy fat, as if he had spent a night of debauchery. Not a word was spoken.
They were all anxious to have it over.
</p>

<p>
Captain Doucet crossed the swords of the two adversaries and then drew back,
saying: &ldquo;Set to, gentlemen.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Burle was the first to attack; he wanted to test Laguitte&rsquo;s strength and
ascertain what he had to expect. For the last ten days the encounter had seemed
to him a ghastly nightmare which he could not fathom. At times a hideous
suspicion assailed him, but he put it aside with terror, for it meant death,
and he refused to believe that a friend could play him such a trick, even to
set things right. Besides, Laguitte&rsquo;s leg reasssured him; he would prick
the major on the shoulder, and then all would be over.
</p>

<p>
During well-nigh a couple of minutes the swords clashed, and then the captain
lunged, but the major, recovering his old suppleness of wrist, parried in a
masterly style, and if he had returned the attack Burle would have been pierced
through. The captain now fell back; he was livid, for he felt that he was at
the mercy of the man who had just spared him. At last he understood that this
was an execution.
</p>

<p>
Laguitte, squarely poised on his infirm legs and seemingly turned to stone,
stood waiting. The two men looked at each other fixedly. In Burle&rsquo;s
blurred eyes there arose a supplication&mdash;a prayer for pardon. He knew why
he was going to die, and like a child he promised not to transgress again. But
the major&rsquo;s eyes remained implacable; honor had spoken, and he silenced
his emotion and his pity.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Let it end,&rdquo; he muttered between his teeth.
</p>

<p>
Then it was he who attacked. Like a flash of lightning his sword flamed, flying
from right to left, and then with a resistless thrust it pierced the breast of
the captain, who fell like a log without even a groan.
</p>

<p>
Laguitte had released his hold upon his sword and stood gazing at that poor old
rascal Burle, who was stretched upon his back with his fat stomach bulging out.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh, my God! My God!&rdquo; repeated the major furiously and
despairingly, and then he began to swear.
</p>

<p>
They led him away, and, both his legs failing him, he had to be supported on
either side, for he could not even use his stick.
</p>

<p>
Two months later the ex-major was crawling slowly along in the sunlight down a
lonely street of Vauchamp, when he again found himself face to face with Mme
Burle and little Charles. They were both in deep mourning. He tried to avoid
them, but he now only walked with difficulty, and they advanced straight upon
him without hurrying or slackening their steps. Charles still had the same
gentle, girlish, frightened face, and Mme Burle retained her stern, rigid
demeanor, looking even harsher than ever.
</p>

<p>
As Laguitte shrank into the corner of a doorway to leave the whole street to
them, she abruptly stopped in front of him and stretched out her hand. He
hesitated and then took it and pressed it, but he trembled so violently that he
made the old lady&rsquo;s arm shake. They exchanged glances in silence.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Charles,&rdquo; said the boy&rsquo;s grandmother at last, &ldquo;shake
hands with the major.&rdquo; The boy obeyed without understanding. The major,
who was very pale, barely ventured to touch the child&rsquo;s frail fingers;
then, feeling that he ought to speak, he stammered out: &ldquo;You still intend
to send him to Saint-Cyr?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Of course, when he is old enough,&rdquo; answered Mme Burle.
</p>

<p>
But during the following week Charles was carried off by typhoid fever. One
evening his grandmother had again read him the story of the Vengeur to make him
bold, and in the night he had become delirious. The poor little fellow died of
fright.
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"></a> THE DEATH OF OLIVIER
BECAILLE</h2>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"></a> CHAPTER I</h2>

<h3> MY PASSING</h3>

<p>
It was on a Saturday, at six in the morning, that I died after a three
days&rsquo; illness. My wife was searching a trunk for some linen, and when she
rose and turned she saw me rigid, with open eyes and silent pulses. She ran to
me, fancying that I had fainted, touched my hands and bent over me. Then she
suddenly grew alarmed, burst into tears and stammered:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;My God, my God! He is dead!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
I heard everything, but the sounds seemed to come from a great distance. My
left eye still detected a faint glimmer, a whitish light in which all objects
melted, but my right eye was quite bereft of sight. It was the coma of my whole
being, as if a thunderbolt had struck me. My will was annihilated; not a fiber
of flesh obeyed my bidding. And yet amid the impotency of my inert limbs my
thoughts subsisted, sluggish and lazy, still perfectly clear.
</p>

<p>
My poor Marguerite was crying; she had dropped on her knees beside the bed,
repeating in heart-rending tones:
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;He is dead! My God, he is dead!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Was this strange state of torpor, this immobility of the flesh, really death,
although the functions of the intellect were not arrested? Was my soul only
lingering for a brief space before it soared away forever? From my childhood
upward I had been subject to hysterical attacks, and twice in early youth I had
nearly succumbed to nervous fevers. By degrees all those who surrounded me had
got accustomed to consider me an invalid and to see me sickly. So much so that
I myself had forbidden my wife to call in a doctor when I had taken to my bed
on the day of our arrival at the cheap lodginghouse of the Rue Dauphine in
Paris. A little rest would soon set me right again; it was only the fatigue of
the journey which had caused my intolerable weariness. And yet I was conscious
of having felt singularly uneasy. We had left our province somewhat abruptly;
we were very poor and had barely enough money to support ourselves till I drew
my first month&rsquo;s salary in the office where I had obtained a situation.
And now a sudden seizure was carrying me off!
</p>

<p>
Was it really death? I had pictured to myself a darker night, a deeper silence.
As a little child I had already felt afraid to die. Being weak and
compassionately petted by everyone, I had concluded that I had not long to
live, that I should soon be buried, and the thought of the cold earth filled me
with a dread I could not master&mdash;a dread which haunted me day and night.
As I grew older the same terror pursued me. Sometimes, after long hours spent
in reasoning with myself, I thought that I had conquered my fear. I reflected,
&ldquo;After all, what does it matter? One dies and all is over. It is the
common fate; nothing could be better or easier.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
I then prided myself on being able to look death boldly in the face, but
suddenly a shiver froze my blood, and my dizzy anguish returned, as if a giant
hand had swung me over a dark abyss. It was some vision of the earth returning
and setting reason at naught. How often at night did I start up in bed, not
knowing what cold breath had swept over my slumbers but clasping my despairing
hands and moaning, &ldquo;Must I die?&rdquo; In those moments an icy horror
would stop my pulses while an appalling vision of dissolution rose before me.
It was with difficulty that I could get to sleep again. Indeed, sleep alarmed
me; it so closely resembled death. If I closed my eyes they might never open
again&mdash;I might slumber on forever.
</p>

<p>
I cannot tell if others have endured the same torture; I only know that my own
life was made a torment by it. Death ever rose between me and all I loved; I
can remember how the thought of it poisoned the happiest moments I spent with
Marguerite. During the first months of our married life, when she lay sleeping
by my side and I dreamed of a fair future for her and with her, the foreboding
of some fatal separation dashed my hopes aside and embittered my delights.
Perhaps we should be parted on the morrow&mdash;nay, perhaps in an hour&rsquo;s
time. Then utter discouragement assailed me; I wondered what the bliss of being
united availed me if it were to end in so cruel a disruption.
</p>

<p>
My morbid imagination reveled in scenes of mourning. I speculated as to who
would be the first to depart, Marguerite or I. Either alternative caused me
harrowing grief, and tears rose to my eyes at the thought of our shattered
lives. At the happiest periods of my existence I often became a prey to grim
dejection such as nobody could understand but which was caused by the thought
of impending nihility. When I was most successful I was to general wonder most
depressed. The fatal question, &ldquo;What avails it?&rdquo; rang like a knell
in my ears. But the sharpest sting of this torment was that it came with a
secret sense of shame, which rendered me unable to confide my thoughts to
another. Husband and wife lying side by side in the darkened room may quiver
with the same shudder and yet remain mute, for people do not mention death any
more than they pronounce certain obscene words. Fear makes it nameless.
</p>

<p>
I was musing thus while my dear Marguerite knelt sobbing at my feet. It grieved
me sorely to be unable to comfort her by telling her that I suffered no pain.
If death were merely the annihilation of the flesh it had been foolish of me to
harbor so much dread. I experienced a selfish kind of restfulness in which all
my cares were forgotten. My memory had become extraordinarily vivid. My whole
life passed before me rapidly like a play in which I no longer acted a part; it
was a curious and enjoyable sensation&mdash;I seemed to hear a far-off voice
relating my own history.
</p>

<p>
I saw in particular a certain spot in the country near Guerande, on the way to
Piriac. The road turns sharply, and some scattered pine trees carelessly dot a
rocky slope. When I was seven years old I used to pass through those pines with
my father as far as a crumbling old house, where Marguerite&rsquo;s parents
gave me pancakes. They were salt gatherers and earned a scanty livelihood by
working the adjacent salt marshes. Then I remembered the school at Nantes,
where I had grown up, leading a monotonous life within its ancient walls and
yearning for the broad horizon of Guerande and the salt marshes stretching to
the limitless sea widening under the sky.
</p>

<p>
Next came a blank&mdash;my father was dead. I entered the hospital as clerk to
the managing board and led a dreary life with one solitary diversion: my Sunday
visits to the old house on Piriac road. The saltworks were doing badly; poverty
reigned in the land, and Marguerite&rsquo;s parents were nearly penniless.
Marguerite, when merely a child, had been fond of me because I trundled her
about in a wheelbarrow, but on the morning when I asked her in marriage she
shrank from me with a frightened gesture, and I realized that she thought me
hideous. Her parents, however, consented at once; they looked upon my offer as
a godsend, and the daughter submissively acquiesced. When she became accustomed
to the idea of marrying me she did not seem to dislike it so much. On our
wedding day at Guerande the rain fell in torrents, and when we got home my
bride had to take off her dress, which was soaked through, and sit in her
petticoats.
</p>

<p>
That was all the youth I ever had. We did not remain long in our province. One
day I found my wife in tears. She was miserable; life was so dull; she wanted
to get away. Six months later I had saved a little money by taking in extra
work after office hours, and through the influence of a friend of my
father&rsquo;s I obtained a petty appointment in Paris. I started off to settle
there with the dear little woman so that she might cry no more. During the
night, which we spent in the third-class railway carriage, the seats being very
hard, I took her in my arms in order that she might sleep.
</p>

<p>
That was the past, and now I had just died on the narrow couch of a Paris
lodginghouse, and my wife was crouching on the floor, crying bitterly. The
white light before my left eye was growing dim, but I remembered the room
perfectly. On the left there was a chest of drawers, on the right a mantelpiece
surmounted by a damaged clock without a pendulum, the hands of which marked ten
minutes past ten. The window overlooked the Rue Dauphine, a long, dark street.
All Paris seemed to pass below, and the noise was so great that the window
shook.
</p>

<p>
We knew nobody in the city; we had hurried our departure, but I was not
expected at the office till the following Monday. Since I had taken to my bed I
had wondered at my imprisonment in this narrow room into which we had tumbled
after a railway journey of fifteen hours, followed by a hurried, confusing
transit through the noisy streets. My wife had nursed me with smiling
tenderness, but I knew that she was anxious. She would walk to the window,
glance out and return to the bedside, looking very pale and startled by the
sight of the busy thoroughfare, the aspect of the vast city of which she did
not know a single stone and which deafened her with its continuous roar. What
would happen to her if I never woke up again&mdash;alone, friendless and
unknowing as she was?
</p>

<p>
Marguerite had caught hold of one of my hands which lay passive on the
coverlet, and, covering it with kisses, she repeated wildly: &ldquo;Olivier,
answer me. Oh, my God, he is dead, dead!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
So death was not complete annihilation. I could hear and think. I had been
uselessly alarmed all those years. I had not dropped into utter vacancy as I
had anticipated. I could not picture the disappearance of my being, the
suppression of all that I had been, without the possibility of renewed
existence. I had been wont to shudder whenever in any book or newspaper I came
across a date of a hundred years hence. A date at which I should no longer be
alive, a future which I should never see, filled me with unspeakable
uneasiness. Was I not the whole world, and would not the universe crumble away
when I was no more?
</p>

<p>
To dream of life had been a cherished vision, but this could not possibly be
death. I should assuredly awake presently. Yes, in a few moments I would lean
over, take Marguerite in my arms and dry her tears. I would rest a little while
longer before going to my office, and then a new life would begin, brighter
than the last. However, I did not feel impatient; the commotion had been too
strong. It was wrong of Marguerite to give way like that when I had not even
the strength to turn my head on the pillow and smile at her. The next time that
she moaned out, &ldquo;He is dead! Dead!&rdquo; I would embrace her and murmur
softly so as not to startle her: &ldquo;No, my darling, I was only asleep. You
see, I am alive, and I love you.&rdquo;
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"></a> CHAPTER II</h2>

<h3> FUNERAL PREPARATIONS</h3>

<p>
Marguerite&rsquo;s cries had attracted attention, for all at once the door was
opened and a voice exclaimed: &ldquo;What is the matter, neighbor? Is he
worse?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
I recognized the voice; it was that of an elderly woman, Mme Gabin, who
occupied a room on the same floor. She had been most obliging since our arrival
and had evidently become interested in our concerns. On her own side she had
lost no time in telling us her history. A stern landlord had sold her furniture
during the previous winter to pay himself his rent, and since then she had
resided at the lodginghouse in the Rue Dauphine with her daughter Dede, a child
of ten. They both cut and pinked lamp shades, and between them they earned at
the utmost only two francs a day.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Heavens! Is it all over?&rdquo; cried Mme Gabin, looking at me.
</p>

<p>
I realized that she was drawing nearer. She examined me, touched me and,
turning to Marguerite, murmured compassionately: &ldquo;Poor girl! Poor
girl!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
My wife, wearied out, was sobbing like a child. Mme Gabin lifted her, placed
her in a dilapidated armchair near the fireplace and proceeded to comfort her.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Indeed, you&rsquo;ll do yourself harm if you go on like this, my dear.
It&rsquo;s no reason because your husband is gone that you should kill yourself
with weeping. Sure enough, when I lost Gabin I was just like you. I remained
three days without swallowing a morsel of food. But that didn&rsquo;t help
me&mdash;on the contrary, it pulled me down. Come, for the Lord&rsquo;s sake,
be sensible!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
By degrees Marguerite grew calmer; she was exhausted, and it was only at
intervals that she gave way to a fresh flow of tears. Meanwhile the old woman
had taken possession of the room with a sort of rough authority.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t worry yourself,&rdquo; she said as she bustled about.
&ldquo;Neighbors must help each other. Luckily Dede has just gone to take the
work home. Ah, I see your trunks are not yet all unpacked, but I suppose there
is some linen in the chest of drawers, isn&rsquo;t there?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
I heard her pull a drawer open; she must have taken out a napkin which she
spread on the little table at the bedside. She then struck a match, which made
me think that she was lighting one of the candles on the mantelpiece and
placing it near me as a religious rite. I could follow her movements in the
room and divine all her actions.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Poor gentleman,&rdquo; she muttered. &ldquo;Luckily I heard you sobbing,
poor dear!&rdquo; Suddenly the vague light which my left eye had detected
vanished. Mme Gabin had just closed my eyelids, but I had not felt her finger
on my face. When I understood this I felt chilled.
</p>

<p>
The door had opened again, and Dede, the child of ten, now rushed in, calling
out in her shrill voice: &ldquo;Mother, Mother! Ah, I knew you would be here!
Look here, there&rsquo;s the money&mdash;three francs and four sous. I took
back three dozen lamp shades.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Hush, hush! Hold your tongue,&rdquo; vainly repeated the mother, who, as
the little girl chattered on, must have pointed to the bed, for I guessed that
the child felt perplexed and was backing toward the door.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Is the gentleman asleep?&rdquo; she whispered.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, yes&mdash;go and play,&rdquo; said Mme Gabin.
</p>

<p>
But the child did not go. She was, no doubt, staring at me with widely opened
eyes, startled and vaguely comprehending. Suddenly she seemed convulsed with
terror and ran out, upsetting a chair.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;He is dead, Mother; he is dead!&rdquo; she gasped.
</p>

<p>
Profound silence followed. Marguerite, lying back in the armchair, had left off
crying. Mme Gabin was still rummaging about the room and talking under her
breath.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Children know everything nowadays. Look at that girl. Heaven knows how
carefully she&rsquo;s brought up! When I send her on an errand or take the
shades back I calculate the time to a minute so that she can&rsquo;t loiter
about, but for all that she learns everything. She saw at a glance what had
happened here&mdash;and yet I never showed her but one corpse, that of her
uncle Francois, and she was then only four years old. Ah well, there are no
children left&mdash;it can&rsquo;t be helped.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She paused and without any transition passed to another subject.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I say, dearie, we must think of the formalities&mdash;there&rsquo;s the
declaration at the municipal offices to be made and the seeing about the
funeral. You are not in a fit state to attend to business. What do you say if I
look in at Monsieur Simoneau&rsquo;s to find out if he&rsquo;s at home?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Marguerite did not reply. It seemed to me that I watched her from afar and at
times changed into a subtle flame hovering above the room, while a stranger lay
heavy and unconscious on my bed. I wished that Marguerite had declined the
assistance of Simoneau. I had seen him three or four times during my brief
illness, for he occupied a room close to ours and had been civil and
neighborly. Mme Gabin had told us that he was merely making a short stay in
Paris, having come to collect some old debts due to his father, who had settled
in the country and recently died. He was a tall, strong, handsome young man,
and I hated him, perhaps on account of his healthy appearance. On the previous
evening he had come in to make inquiries, and I had much disliked seeing him at
Marguerite&rsquo;s side; she had looked so fair and pretty, and he had gazed so
intently into her face when she smilingly thanked him for his kindness.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Ah, here is Monsieur Simoneau,&rdquo; said Mme Gabin, introducing him.
</p>

<p>
He gently pushed the door ajar, and as soon as Marguerite saw him enter she
burst into a flood of tears. The presence of a friend, of the only person she
knew in Paris besides the old woman, recalled her bereavement. I could not see
the young man, but in the darkness that encompassed me I conjured up his
appearance. I pictured him distinctly, grave and sad at finding poor Marguerite
in such distress. How lovely she must have looked with her golden hair unbound,
her pale face and her dear little baby hands burning with fever!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I am at your disposal, madame,&rdquo; he said softly. &ldquo;Pray allow
me to manage everything.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She only answered him with broken words, but as the young man was leaving,
accompanied by Mme Gabin, I heard the latter mention money. These things were
always expensive, she said, and she feared that the poor little body
hadn&rsquo;t a farthing&mdash;anyhow, he might ask her. But Simoneau silenced
the old woman; he did not want to have the widow worried; he was going to the
municipal office and to the undertaker&rsquo;s.
</p>

<p>
When silence reigned once more I wondered if my nightmare would last much
longer. I was certainly alive, for I was conscious of passing incidents, and I
began to realize my condition. I must have fallen into one of those cataleptic
states that I had read of. As a child I had suffered from syncopes which had
lasted several hours, but surely my heart would beat anew, my blood circulate
and my muscles relax. Yes, I should wake up and comfort Marguerite, and,
reasoning thus, I tried to be patient.
</p>

<p>
Time passed. Mme Gabin had brought in some breakfast, but Marguerite refused to
taste any food. Later on the afternoon waned. Through the open window I heard
the rising clamor of the Rue Dauphine. By and by a slight ringing of the brass
candlestick on the marble-topped table made me think that a fresh candle had
been lighted. At last Simoneau returned.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; whispered the old woman.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It is all settled,&rdquo; he answered; &ldquo;the funeral is ordered for
tomorrow at eleven. There is nothing for you to do, and you needn&rsquo;t talk
of these things before the poor lady.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless, Mme Gabin remarked: &ldquo;The doctor of the dead hasn&rsquo;t
come yet.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Simoneau took a seat beside Marguerite and after a few words of encouragement
remained silent. The funeral was to take place at eleven! Those words rang in
my brain like a passing bell. And the doctor coming&mdash;the doctor of the
dead, as Mme Gabin had called him. HE could not possibly fail to find out that
I was only in a state of lethargy; he would do whatever might be necessary to
rouse me, so I longed for his arrival with feverish anxiety.
</p>

<p>
The day was drawing to a close. Mme Gabin, anxious to waste no time, had
brought in her lamp shades and summoned Dede without asking Marguerite&rsquo;s
permission. &ldquo;To tell the truth,&rdquo; she observed, &ldquo;I do not like
to leave children too long alone.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come in, I say,&rdquo; she whispered to the little girl; &ldquo;come in,
and don&rsquo;t be frightened. Only don&rsquo;t look toward the bed or
you&rsquo;ll catch it.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She thought it decorous to forbid Dede to look at me, but I was convinced that
the child was furtively glancing at the corner where I lay, for every now and
then I heard her mother rap her knuckles and repeat angrily: &ldquo;Get on with
your work or you shall leave the room, and the gentleman will come during the
night and pull you by the feet.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The mother and daughter had sat down at our table. I could plainly hear the
click of their scissors as they clipped the lamp shades, which no doubt
required very delicate manipulation, for they did not work rapidly. I counted
the shades one by one as they were laid aside, while my anxiety grew more and
more intense.
</p>

<p>
The clicking of the scissors was the only noise in the room, so I concluded
that Marguerite had been overcome by fatigue and was dozing. Twice Simoneau
rose, and the torturing thought flashed through me that he might be taking
advantage of her slumbers to touch her hair with his lips. I hardly knew the
man and yet felt sure that he loved my wife. At last little Dede began to
giggle, and her laugh exasperated me.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Why are you sniggering, you idiot?&rdquo; asked her mother. &ldquo;Do
you want to be turned out on the landing? Come, out with it; what makes you
laugh so?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The child stammered: she had not laughed; she had only coughed, but I felt
certain she had seen Simoneau bending over Marguerite and had felt amused.
</p>

<p>
The lamp had been lit when a knock was heard at the door.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It must be the doctor at last,&rdquo; said the old woman.
</p>

<p>
It was the doctor; he did not apologize for coming so late, for he had no doubt
ascended many flights of stairs during the day. The room being but imperfectly
lighted by the lamp, he inquired: &ldquo;Is the body here?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Yes, it is,&rdquo; answered Simoneau.
</p>

<p>
Marguerite had risen, trembling violently. Mme Gabin dismissed Dede, saying it
was useless that a child should be present, and then she tried to lead my wife
to the window, to spare her the sight of what was about to take place.
</p>

<p>
The doctor quickly approached the bed. I guessed that he was bored, tired and
impatient. Had he touched my wrist? Had he placed his hand on my heart? I could
not tell, but I fancied that he had only carelessly bent over me.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Shall I bring the lamp so that you may see better?&rdquo; asked Simoneau
obligingly.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No it is not necessary,&rdquo; quietly answered the doctor.
</p>

<p>
Not necessary! That man held my life in his hands, and he did not think it
worth while to proceed to a careful examination! I was not dead! I wanted to
cry out that I was not dead!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;At what o&rsquo;clock did he die?&rdquo; asked the doctor.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;At six this morning,&rdquo; volunteered Simoneau.
</p>

<p>
A feeling of frenzy and rebellion rose within me, bound as I was in seemingly
iron chains. Oh, for the power of uttering one word, of moving a single limb!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;This close weather is unhealthy,&rdquo; resumed the doctor;
&ldquo;nothing is more trying than these early spring days.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
And then he moved away. It was like my life departing. Screams, sobs and
insults were choking me, struggling in my convulsed throat, in which even my
breath was arrested. The wretch! Turned into a mere machine by professional
habits, he only came to a deathbed to accomplish a perfunctory formality; he
knew nothing; his science was a lie, since he could not at a glance distinguish
life from death&mdash;and now he was going&mdash;going!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Good night, sir,&rdquo; said Simoneau.
</p>

<p>
There came a moment&rsquo;s silence; the doctor was probably bowing to
Marguerite, who had turned while Mme Gabin was fastening the window. He left
the room, and I heard his footsteps descending the stairs.
</p>

<p>
It was all over; I was condemned. My last hope had vanished with that man. If I
did not wake before eleven on the morrow I should be buried alive. The horror
of that thought was so great that I lost all consciousness of my
surroundings&mdash;&rsquo;twas something like a fainting fit in death. The last
sound I heard was the clicking of the scissors handled by Mme Gabin and Dede.
The funeral vigil had begun; nobody spoke.
</p>

<p>
Marguerite had refused to retire to rest in the neighbor&rsquo;s room. She
remained reclining in her armchair, with her beautiful face pale, her eyes
closed and her long lashes wet with tears, while before her in the gloom
Simoneau sat silently watching her.
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"></a> CHAPTER III</h2>

<h3> THE PROCESSION</h3>

<p>
I cannot describe my agony during the morning of the following day. I remember
it as a hideous dream in which my impressions were so ghastly and so confused
that I could not formulate them. The persistent yearning for a sudden awakening
increased my torture, and as the hour for the funeral drew nearer my anguish
became more poignant still.
</p>

<p>
It was only at daybreak that I had recovered a fuller consciousness of what was
going on around me. The creaking of hinges startled me out of my stupor. Mme
Gabin had just opened the window. It must have been about seven o&rsquo;clock,
for I heard the cries of hawkers in the street, the shrill voice of a girl
offering groundsel and the hoarse voice of a man shouting
&ldquo;Carrots!&rdquo; The clamorous awakening of Paris pacified me at first. I
could not believe that I should be laid under the sod in the midst of so much
life; and, besides, a sudden thought helped to calm me. It had just occurred to
me that I had witnessed a case similar to my own when I was employed at the
hospital of Guerande. A man had been sleeping twenty-eight hours, the doctors
hesitating in presence of his apparent lifelessness, when suddenly he had sat
up in bed and was almost at once able to rise. I myself had already been asleep
for some twenty-five hours; if I awoke at ten I should still be in time.
</p>

<p>
I endeavored to ascertain who was in the room and what was going on there. Dede
must have been playing on the landing, for once when the door opened I heard
her shrill childish laughter outside. Simoneau must have retired, for nothing
indicated his presence. Mme Gabin&rsquo;s slipshod tread was still audible over
the floor. At last she spoke.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Come, my dear,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;It is wrong of you not to take it
while it is hot. It would cheer you up.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She was addressing Marguerite, and a slow trickling sound as of something
filtering indicated that she had been making some coffee.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t mind owning,&rdquo; she continued, &ldquo;that I needed
it. At my age sitting up IS trying. The night seems so dreary when there is a
misfortune in the house. DO have a cup of coffee, my dear&mdash;just a
drop.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She persuaded Marguerite to taste it.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t it nice and hot?&rdquo; she continued, &ldquo;and
doesn&rsquo;t it set one up? Ah, you&rsquo;ll be wanting all your strength
presently for what you&rsquo;ve got to go through today. Now if you were
sensible you&rsquo;d step into my room and just wait there.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, I want to stay here,&rdquo; said Marguerite resolutely.
</p>

<p>
Her voice, which I had not heard since the previous evening, touched me
strangely. It was changed, broken as by tears. To feel my dear wife near me was
a last consolation. I knew that her eyes were fastened on me and that she was
weeping with all the anguish of her heart.
</p>

<p>
The minutes flew by. An inexplicable noise sounded from beyond the door. It
seemed as if some people were bringing a bulky piece of furniture upstairs and
knocking against the walls as they did so. Suddenly I understood, as I heard
Marguerite begin to sob; it was the coffin.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You are too early,&rdquo; said Mme Gabin crossly. &ldquo;Put it behind
the bed.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
What o&rsquo;clock was it? Nine, perhaps. So the coffin had come. Amid the
opaque night around me I could see it plainly, quite new, with roughly planed
boards. Heavens! Was this the end then? Was I to be borne off in that box which
I realized was lying at my feet?
</p>

<p>
However, I had one supreme joy. Marguerite, in spite of her weakness, insisted
upon discharging all the last offices. Assisted by the old woman, she dressed
me with all the tenderness of a wife and a sister. Once more I felt myself in
her arms as she clothed me in various garments. She paused at times, overcome
by grief; she clasped me convulsively, and her tears rained on my face. Oh, how
I longed to return her embrace and cry, &ldquo;I live!&rdquo; And yet I was
lying there powerless, motionless, inert!
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You are foolish,&rdquo; suddenly said Mme Gabin; &ldquo;it is all
wasted.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Never mind,&rdquo; answered Marguerite, sobbing. &ldquo;I want him to
wear his very best things.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
I understood that she was dressing me in the clothes I had worn on my wedding
day. I had kept them carefully for great occasions. When she had finished she
fell back exhausted in the armchair.
</p>

<p>
Simoneau now spoke; he had probably just entered the room.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;They are below,&rdquo; he whispered.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well, it ain&rsquo;t any too soon,&rdquo; answered Mme Gabin, also
lowering her voice. &ldquo;Tell them to come up and get it over.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;But I dread the despair of the poor little wife.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The old woman seemed to reflect and presently resumed: &ldquo;Listen to me,
Monsieur Simoneau. You must take her off to my room. I wouldn&rsquo;t have her
stop here. It is for her own good. When she is out of the way we&rsquo;ll get
it done in a jiffy.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
These words pierced my heart, and my anguish was intense when I realized that a
struggle was actually taking place. Simoneau had walked up to Marguerite,
imploring her to leave the room.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Do, for pity&rsquo;s sake, come with me!&rdquo; he pleaded. &ldquo;Spare
yourself useless pain.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;No, no!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I will remain till the last minute.
Remember that I have only him in the world, and when he is gone I shall be all
alone!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
From the bedside Mme Gabin was prompting the young man.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t parley&mdash;take hold of her, carry her off in your
arms.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Was Simoneau about to lay his hands on Marguerite and bear her away? She
screamed. I wildly endeavored to rise, but the springs of my limbs were broken.
I remained rigid, unable to lift my eyelids to see what was going on. The
struggle continued, and my wife clung to the furniture, repeating, &ldquo;Oh,
don&rsquo;t, don&rsquo;t! Have mercy! Let me go! I will not&mdash;&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
He must have lifted her in his stalwart arms, for I heard her moaning like a
child. He bore her away; her sobs were lost in the distance, and I fancied I
saw them both&mdash;he, tall and strong, pressing her to his breast; she,
fainting, powerless and conquered, following him wherever he listed.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Drat it all! What a to-do!&rdquo; muttered Mme Gabin. &ldquo;Now for the
tug of war, as the coast is clear at last.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
In my jealous madness I looked upon this incident as a monstrous outrage. I had
not been able to see Marguerite for twenty-four hours, but at least I had still
heard her voice. Now even this was denied me; she had been torn away; a man had
eloped with her even before I was laid under the sod. He was alone with her on
the other side of the wall, comforting her&mdash;embracing her, perhaps!
</p>

<p>
But the door opened once more, and heavy footsteps shook the floor.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Quick, make haste,&rdquo; repeated Mme Gabin. &ldquo;Get it done before
the lady comes back.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
She was speaking to some strangers, who merely answered her with uncouth
grunts.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You understand,&rdquo; she went on, &ldquo;I am not a relation;
I&rsquo;m only a neighbor. I have no interest in the matter. It is out of pure
good nature that I have mixed myself up in their affairs. And I ain&rsquo;t
overcheerful, I can tell you. Yes, yes, I sat up the whole blessed
night&mdash;it was pretty cold, too, about four o&rsquo;clock. That&rsquo;s a
fact. Well, I have always been a fool&mdash;I&rsquo;m too soft-hearted.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The coffin had been dragged into the center of the room. As I had not awakened
I was condemned. All clearness departed from my ideas; everything seemed to
revolve in a black haze, and I experienced such utter lassitude that it seemed
almost a relief to leave off hoping.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;They haven&rsquo;t spared the material,&rdquo; said one of the
undertaker&rsquo;s men in a gruff voice. &ldquo;The box is too long.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;He&rsquo;ll have all the more room,&rdquo; said the other, laughing.
</p>

<p>
I was not heavy, and they chuckled over it since they had three flights of
stairs to descend. As they were seizing me by the shoulders and feet I heard
Mme Gabin fly into a violent passion.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;You cursed little brat,&rdquo; she screamed, &ldquo;what do you mean by
poking your nose where you&rsquo;re not wanted? Look here, I&rsquo;ll teach you
to spy and pry.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Dede had slipped her tousled head through the doorway to see how the gentleman
was being put into the box. Two ringing slaps resounded, however, by an
explosion of sobs. And as soon as the mother returned she began to gossip about
her daughter for the benefit of the two men who were settling me in the coffin.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;She is only ten, you know. She is not a bad girl, but she is frightfully
inquisitive. I do not beat her often; only I WILL be obeyed.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; said one of the men, &ldquo;all kids are alike. Whenever
there is a corpse lying about they always want to see it.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
I was commodiously stretched out, and I might have thought myself still in bed,
had it not been that my left arm felt a trifle cramped from being squeezed
against a board. The men had been right. I was pretty comfortable inside on
account of my diminutive stature.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Stop!&rdquo; suddenly exclaimed Mme Gabin. &ldquo;I promised his wife to
put a pillow under his head.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The men, who were in a hurry, stuffed in the pillow roughly. One of them, who
had mislaid his hammer, began to swear. He had left the tool below and went to
fetch it, dropping the lid, and when two sharp blows of the hammer drove in the
first nail, a shock ran through my being&mdash;I had ceased to live. The nails
then entered in rapid succession with a rhythmical cadence. It was as if some
packers had been closing a case of dried fruit with easy dexterity. After that
such sounds as reached me were deadened and strangely prolonged, as if the deal
coffin had been changed into a huge musical box. The last words spoken in the
room of the Rue Dauphine&mdash;at least the last ones that I heard
distinctly&mdash;were uttered by Mme Gabin.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Mind the staircase,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;the banister of the second
flight isn&rsquo;t safe, so be careful.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
While I was being carried down I experienced a sensation similar to that of
pitching as when one is on board a ship in a rough sea. However, from that
moment my impressions became more and more vague. I remember that the only
distinct thought that still possessed me was an imbecile, impulsive curiosity
as to the road by which I should be taken to the cemetery. I was not acquainted
with a single street of Paris, and I was ignorant of the position of the large
burial grounds (though of course I had occasionally heard their names), and yet
every effort of my mind was directed toward ascertaining whether we were
turning to the right or to the left. Meanwhile the jolting of the hearse over
the paving stones, the rumbling of passing vehicles, the steps of the foot
passengers, all created a confused clamor, intensified by the acoustical
properties of the coffin.
</p>

<p>
At first I followed our course pretty closely; then came a halt. I was again
lifted and carried about, and I concluded that we were in church, but when the
funeral procession once more moved onward I lost all consciousness of the road
we took. A ringing of bells informed me that we were passing another church,
and then the softer and easier progress of the wheels indicated that we were
skirting a garden or park. I was like a victim being taken to the gallows,
awaiting in stupor a deathblow that never came.
</p>

<p>
At last they stopped and pulled me out of the hearse. The business proceeded
rapidly. The noises had ceased; I knew that I was in a deserted space amid
avenues of trees and with the broad sky over my head. No doubt a few persons
followed the bier, some of the inhabitants of the lodginghouse,
perhaps&mdash;Simoneau and others, for instance&mdash;for faint whisperings
reached my ear. Then I heard a psalm chanted and some Latin words mumbled by a
priest, and afterward I suddenly felt myself sinking, while the ropes rubbing
against the edges of the coffin elicited lugubrious sounds, as if a bow were
being drawn across the strings of a cracked violoncello. It was the end. On the
left side of my head I felt a violent shock like that produced by the bursting
of a bomb, with another under my feet and a third more violent still on my
chest. So forcible, indeed, was this last one that I thought the lid was cleft
atwain. I fainted from it.
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"></a> CHAPTER IV</h2>

<h3> THE NAIL</h3>

<p>
It is impossible for me to say how long my swoon lasted. Eternity is not of
longer duration than one second spent in nihility. I was no more. It was slowly
and confusedly that I regained some degree of consciousness. I was still
asleep, but I began to dream; a nightmare started into shape amid the blackness
of my horizon, a nightmare compounded of a strange fancy which in other days
had haunted my morbid imagination whenever with my propensity for dwelling upon
hideous thoughts I had conjured up catastrophes.
</p>

<p>
Thus I dreamed that my wife was expecting me somewhere&mdash;at Guerande, I
believe&mdash;and that I was going to join her by rail. As we passed through a
tunnel a deafening roll thundered over our head, and a sudden subsidence
blocked up both issues of the tunnel, leaving our train intact in the center.
We were walled up by blocks of rock in the heart of a mountain. Then a long and
fearful agony commenced. No assistance could possibly reach us; even with
powerful engines and incessant labor it would take a month to clear the tunnel.
We were prisoners there with no outlet, and so our death was only a question of
time.
</p>

<p>
My fancy had often dwelt on that hideous drama and had constantly varied the
details and touches. My actors were men, women and children; their number
increased to hundreds, and they were ever furnishing me with new incidents.
There were some provisions in the train, but these were soon exhausted, and the
hungry passengers, if they did not actually devour human flesh, at least fought
furiously over the last piece of bread. Sometimes an aged man was driven back
with blows and slowly perished; a mother struggled like a she-wolf to keep
three or four mouthfuls for her child. In my own compartment a bride and
bridegroom were dying, clasped in each other&rsquo;s arms in mute despair.
</p>

<p>
The line was free along the whole length of the train, and people came and
went, prowling round the carriages like beasts of prey in search of carrion.
All classes were mingled together. A millionaire, a high functionary, it was
said, wept on a workman&rsquo;s shoulder. The lamps had been extinguished from
the first, and the engine fire was nearly out. To pass from one carriage to
another it was necessary to grope about, and thus, too, one slowly reached the
engine, recognizable by its enormous barrel, its cold, motionless flanks, its
useless strength, its grim silence, in the overwhelming night. Nothing could be
more appalling than this train entombed alive with its passengers perishing one
by one.
</p>

<p>
I gloated over the ghastliness of each detail; howls resounded through the
vault; somebody whom one could not see, whose vicinity was not even suspected,
would suddenly drop upon another&rsquo;s shoulder. But what affected me most of
all was the cold and the want of air. I have never felt so chilled; a mantle of
snow seemed to enwrap me; heavy moisture rained upon my skull; I was gasping;
the rocky vault seemed to crush my chest; the whole mountain was seemingly
weighing upon me.
</p>

<p>
Suddenly a cry of deliverance sounded. For some time past we fancied that we
could hear a dull sound, and we tried to hope that men were at work and that
help was coming, but it came not thus. One of the passengers, however, had
discovered an air shaft in the tunnel, and, crowding round, we all saw this
shaft, above which we could discern a blue patch about the size of a wafer.
That blue patch filled us with rapture, for it was the sky. We stretched
ourselves and stood on tiptoes to breathe more freely. Then we distinguished
some black specks moving about, specks that must surely be workmen about to
deliver us. A furious clamor arose. The cry &ldquo;Saved! Saved!&rdquo; burst
from every mouth, while trembling arms were uplifted toward the tiny azure
patch above.
</p>

<p>
That roar of voices aroused me. Where was I? In the tunnel, of course. I was
lying at full length; hard walls were pressing against my ribs. Then I
attempted to rise and struck my head roughly. Was it the rock closing in on all
sides? The blue speck had vanished&mdash;aye, the sky had disappeared and I was
still suffocating, shivering, with chattering teeth.
</p>

<p>
All at once I remembered. Intense horror raised my hair on end. I felt the
hideous truth freeze me from head to foot like ice. I had shaken off the long
coma which for many hours had stricken me with corpselike rigidity. Yes, I
could move; my hands could feel the boards of my coffin; my lips parted; words
came to me, and instinctively I called out Marguerite&rsquo;s name. It was a
scream I raised. In that deal box my voice took so hoarse and weird a sound
that it terrified me. Oh, my God, was this thing true? I was able to walk,
speak, cry out that I was living, and yet my voice could not be heard; I was
entombed under the earth.
</p>

<p>
I made a desperate effort to remain calm and reflect. Was there no means of
getting out? Then my dream began afresh in my troubled brain. The fanciful air
shaft with the blue bit of sky overhead was mingled with the real grave in
which I was lying. I stared at the darkness with widely opened eyes; perhaps I
might discover a hole, a slit, a glimmer of light, but only sparks of fire
flitted through that night, with rays that broadened and then faded away. I was
in a somber abyss again. With returning lucidity I struggled against these
fatal visions. Indeed, I should need all my reason if I meant to try to save
myself.
</p>

<p>
The most immediate peril lay in an increasing sense of suffocation. If I had
been able to live so long without air it was owing to suspended animation,
which had changed all the normal conditions of my existence, but now that my
heart beat and my lungs breathed I should die, asphyxiated, if I did not
promptly liberate myself. I also suffered from cold and dreaded lest I should
succumb to the mortal numbness of those who fall asleep in the snow, never to
wake again. Still, while unceasingly realizing the necessity of remaining calm,
I felt maddening blasts sweep through my brain, and to quiet my senses I
exhorted myself to patience, trying to remember the circumstances of my burial.
Probably the ground had been bought for five years, and this would be against
my chances of self-deliverance, for I remembered having noticed at Nantes that
in the trenches of the common graves one end of the last lowered coffins
protruded into the next open cavity, in which case I should only have had to
break through one plank. But if I were in a separate hole, filled up above me
with earth, the obstacles would prove too great. Had I not been told that the
dead were buried six feet deep in Paris? How was I to get through the enormous
mass of soil above me? Even if I succeeded in slitting the lid of my bier open
the mold would drift in like fine sand and fill my mouth and eyes. That would
be death again, a ghastly death, like drowning in mud.
</p>

<p>
However, I began to feel the planks carefully. The coffin was roomy, and I
found that I was able to move my arms with tolerable ease. On both sides the
roughly planed boards were stout and resistive. I slipped my arm onto my chest
to raise it over my head. There I discovered in the top plank a knot in the
wood which yielded slightly at my pressure. Working laboriously, I finally
succeeded in driving out this knot, and on passing my finger through the hole I
found that the earth was wet and clayey. But that availed me little. I even
regretted having removed the knot, vaguely dreading the irruption of the mold.
A second experiment occupied me for a while. I tapped all over the coffin to
ascertain if perhaps there were any vacuum outside. But the sound was
everywhere the same. At last, as I was slightly kicking the foot of the coffin,
I fancied that it gave out a clearer echoing noise, but that might merely be
produced by the sonority of the wood.
</p>

<p>
At any rate, I began to press against the boards with my arms and my closed
fists. In the same way, too, I used my knees, my back and my feet without
eliciting even a creak from the wood. I strained with all my strength, indeed,
with so desperate an effort of my whole frame, that my bruised bones seemed
breaking. But nothing moved, and I became insane.
</p>

<p>
Until that moment I had held delirium at bay. I had mastered the intoxicating
rage which was mounting to my head like the fumes of alcohol; I had silenced my
screams, for I feared that if I again cried out aloud I should be undone. But
now I yelled; I shouted; unearthly howls which I could not repress came from my
relaxed throat. I called for help in a voice that I did not recognize, growing
wilder with each fresh appeal and crying out that I would not die. I also tore
at the wood with my nails; I writhed with the contortions of a caged wolf. I do
not know how long this fit of madness lasted, but I can still feel the
relentless hardness of the box that imprisoned me; I can still hear the storm
of shrieks and sobs with which I filled it; a remaining glimmer of reason made
me try to stop, but I could not do so.
</p>

<p>
Great exhaustion followed. I lay waiting for death in a state of somnolent
pain. The coffin was like stone, which no effort could break, and the
conviction that I was powerless left me unnerved, without courage to make any
fresh attempts. Another suffering&mdash;hunger&mdash;was presently added to
cold and want of air. The torture soon became intolerable. With my finger I
tried to pull small pinches of earth through the hole of the dislodged knot,
and I swallowed them eagerly, only increasing my torment. Tempted by my flesh,
I bit my arms and sucked my skin with a fiendish desire to drive my teeth in,
but I was afraid of drawing blood.
</p>

<p>
Then I ardently longed for death. All my life long I had trembled at the
thought of dissolution, but I had come to yearn for it, to crave for an
everlasting night that could never be dark enough. How childish it had been of
me to dread the long, dreamless sleep, the eternity of silence and gloom! Death
was kind, for in suppressing life it put an end to suffering. Oh, to sleep like
the stones, to be no more!
</p>

<p>
With groping hands I still continued feeling the wood, and suddenly I pricked
my left thumb. That slight pain roused me from my growing numbness. I felt
again and found a nail&mdash;a nail which the undertaker&rsquo;s men had driven
in crookedly and which had not caught in the lower wood. It was long and very
sharp; the head was secured to the lid, but it moved. Henceforth I had but one
idea&mdash;to possess myself of that nail&mdash;and I slipped my right hand
across my body and began to shake it. I made but little progress, however; it
was a difficult job, for my hands soon tired, and I had to use them
alternately. The left one, too, was of little use on account of the
nail&rsquo;s awkward position.
</p>

<p>
While I was obstinately persevering a plan dawned on my mind. That nail meant
salvation, and I must have it. But should I get it in time? Hunger was
torturing me; my brain was swimming; my limbs were losing their strength; my
mind was becoming confused. I had sucked the drops that trickled from my
punctured finger, and suddenly I bit my arm and drank my own blood! Thereupon,
spurred on by pain, revived by the tepid, acrid liquor that moistened my lips,
I tore desperately at the nail and at last I wrenched it off!
</p>

<p>
I then believed in success. My plan was a simple one; I pushed the point of the
nail into the lid, dragging it along as far as I could in a straight line and
working it so as to make a slit in the wood. My fingers stiffened, but I
doggedly persevered, and when I fancied that I had sufficiently cut into the
board I turned on my stomach and, lifting myself on my knees and elbows thrust
the whole strength of my back against the lid. But although it creaked it did
not yield; the notched line was not deep enough. I had to resume my old
position&mdash;which I only managed to do with infinite trouble&mdash;and work
afresh. At last after another supreme effort the lid was cleft from end to end.
</p>

<p>
I was not saved as yet, but my heart beat with renewed hope. I had ceased
pushing and remained motionless, lest a sudden fall of earth should bury me. I
intended to use the lid as a screen and, thus protected, to open a sort of
shaft in the clayey soil. Unfortunately I was assailed by unexpected
difficulties. Some heavy clods of earth weighed upon the boards and made them
unmanageable; I foresaw that I should never reach the surface in that way, for
the mass of soil was already bending my spine and crushing my face.
</p>

<p>
Once more I stopped, affrighted; then suddenly, while I was stretching my legs,
trying to find something firm against which I might rest my feet, I felt the
end board of the coffin yielding. I at once gave a desperate kick with my heels
in the faint hope that there might be a freshly dug grave in that direction.
</p>

<p>
It was so. My feet abruptly forced their way into space. An open grave was
there; I had only a slight partition of earth to displace, and soon I rolled
into the cavity. I was saved!
</p>

<p>
I remained for a time lying on my back in the open grave, with my eyes raised
to heaven. It was dark; the stars were shining in a sky of velvety blueness.
Now and then the rising breeze wafted a springlike freshness, a perfume of
foliage, upon me. I was saved! I could breathe; I felt warm, and I wept and I
stammered, with my arms prayerfully extended toward the starry sky. O God, how
sweet seemed life!
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"></a> CHAPTER V</h2>

<h3> MY RESURRECTION</h3>

<p>
My first impulse was to find the custodian of the cemetery and ask him to have
me conducted home, but various thoughts that came to me restrained me from
following that course. My return would create general alarm; why should I hurry
now that I was master of the situation? I felt my limbs; I had only an
insignificant wound on my left arm, where I had bitten myself, and a slight
feverishness lent me unhoped-for strength. I should no doubt be able to walk
unaided.
</p>

<p>
Still I lingered; all sorts of dim visions confused my mind. I had felt beside
me in the open grave some sextons&rsquo; tools which had been left there, and I
conceived a sudden desire to repair the damage I had done, to close up the hole
through which I had crept, so as to conceal all traces of my resurrection. I do
not believe that I had any positive motive in doing so. I only deemed it
useless to proclaim my adventure aloud, feeling ashamed to find myself alive
when the whole world thought me dead. In half an hour every trace of my escape
was obliterated, and then I climbed out of the hole.
</p>

<p>
The night was splendid, and deep silence reigned in the cemetery; the black
trees threw motionless shadows over the white tombs. When I endeavored to
ascertain my bearings I noticed that one half of the sky was ruddy, as if lit
by a huge conflagration; Paris lay in that direction, and I moved toward it,
following a long avenue amid the darkness of the branches.
</p>

<p>
However, after I had gone some fifty yards I was compelled to stop, feeling
faint and weary. I then sat down on a stone bench and for the first time looked
at myself. I was fully attired with the exception that I had no hat. I blessed
my beloved Marguerite for the pious thought which had prompted her to dress me
in my best clothes&mdash;those which I had worn at our wedding. That
remembrance of my wife brought me to my feet again. I longed to see her without
delay.
</p>

<p>
At the farther end of the avenue I had taken a wall arrested my progress.
However, I climbed to the top of a monument, reached the summit of the wall and
then dropped over the other side. Although roughly shaken by the fall, I
managed to walk for a few minutes along a broad deserted street skirting the
cemetery. I had no notion as to where I might be, but with the reiteration of
monomania I kept saying to myself that I was going toward Paris and that I
should find the Rue Dauphine somehow or other. Several people passed me but,
seized with sudden distrust, I would not stop them and ask my way. I have since
realized that I was then in a burning fever and already nearly delirious.
Finally, just as I reached a large thoroughfare, I became giddy and fell
heavily upon the pavement.
</p>

<p>
Here there is a blank in my life. For three whole weeks I remained unconscious.
When I awoke at last I found myself in a strange room. A man who was nursing me
told me quietly that he had picked me up one morning on the Boulevard
Montparnasse and had brought me to his house. He was an old doctor who had
given up practicing.
</p>

<p>
When I attempted to thank him he sharply answered that my case had seemed a
curious one and that he had wished to study it. Moreover, during the first days
of my convalescence he would not allow me to ask a single question, and later
on he never put one to me. For eight days longer I remained in bed, feeling
very weak and not even trying to remember, for memory was a weariness and a
pain. I felt half ashamed and half afraid. As soon as I could leave the house I
would go and find out whatever I wanted to know. Possibly in the delirium of
fever a name had escaped me; however, the doctor never alluded to anything I
may have said. His charity was not only generous; it was discreet.
</p>

<p>
The summer had come at last, and one warm June morning I was permitted to take
a short walk. The sun was shining with that joyous brightness which imparts
renewed youth to the streets of old Paris. I went along slowly, questioning the
passers-by at every crossing I came to and asking the way to Rue Dauphine. When
I reached the street I had some difficulty in recognizing the lodginghouse
where we had alighted on our arrival in the capital. A childish terror made me
hesitate. If I appeared suddenly before Marguerite the shock might kill her. It
might be wiser to begin by revealing myself to our neighbor Mme Gabin; still I
shrank from taking a third party into confidence. I seemed unable to arrive at
a resolution, and yet in my innermost heart I felt a great void, like that left
by some sacrifice long since consummated.
</p>

<p>
The building looked quite yellow in the sunshine. I had just recognized it by a
shabby eating house on the ground floor, where we had ordered our meals, having
them sent up to us. Then I raised my eyes to the last window of the third floor
on the left-hand side, and as I looked at it a young woman with tumbled hair,
wearing a loose dressing gown, appeared and leaned her elbows on the sill. A
young man followed and printed a kiss upon her neck. It was not Marguerite.
Still I felt no surprise. It seemed to me that I had dreamed all this with
other things, too, which I was to learn presently.
</p>

<p>
For a moment I remained in the street, uncertain whether I had better go
upstairs and question the lovers, who were still laughing in the sunshine.
However, I decided to enter the little restaurant below. When I started on my
walk the old doctor had placed a five-franc piece in my hand. No doubt I was
changed beyond recognition, for my beard had grown during the brain fever, and
my face was wrinkled and haggard. As I took a seat at a small table I saw Mme
Gabin come in carrying a cup; she wished to buy a penny-worth of coffee.
Standing in front of the counter, she began to gossip with the landlady of the
establishment.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; asked the latter, &ldquo;so the poor little woman of the
third floor has made up her mind at last, eh?&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;How could she help herself?&rdquo; answered Mme Gabin. &ldquo;It was the
very best thing for her to do. Monsieur Simoneau showed her so much kindness.
You see, he had finished his business in Paris to his satisfaction, for he has
inherited a pot of money. Well, he offered to take her away with him to his own
part of the country and place her with an aunt of his, who wants a housekeeper
and companion.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The landlady laughed archly. I buried my face in a newspaper which I picked off
the table. My lips were white and my hands shook.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;It will end in a marriage, of course,&rdquo; resumed Mme Gabin.
&ldquo;The little widow mourned for her husband very properly, and the young
man was extremely well behaved. Well, they left last night&mdash;and, after
all, they were free to please themselves.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Just then the side door of the restaurant, communicating with the passage of
the house, opened, and Dede appeared.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Mother, ain&rsquo;t you coming?&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m
waiting, you know; do be quick.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Presently,&rdquo; said the mother testily. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t
bother.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
The girl stood listening to the two women with the precocious shrewdness of a
child born and reared amid the streets of Paris.
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;When all is said and done,&rdquo; explained Mme Gabin, &ldquo;the dear
departed did not come up to Monsieur Simoneau. I didn&rsquo;t fancy him
overmuch; he was a puny sort of a man, a poor, fretful fellow, and he
hadn&rsquo;t a penny to bless himself with. No, candidly, he wasn&rsquo;t the
kind of husband for a young and healthy wife, whereas Monsieur Simoneau is
rich, you know, and as strong as a Turk.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Oh yes!&rdquo; interrupted Dede. &ldquo;I saw him once when he was
washing&mdash;his door was open. His arms are so hairy!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
&ldquo;Get along with you,&rdquo; screamed the old woman, shoving the girl out
of the restaurant. &ldquo;You are always poking your nose where it has no
business to be.&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
Then she concluded with these words: &ldquo;Look here, to my mind the other one
did quite right to take himself off. It was fine luck for the little
woman!&rdquo;
</p>

<p>
When I found myself in the street again I walked along slowly with trembling
limbs. And yet I was not suffering much; I think I smiled once at my shadow in
the sun. It was quite true. I WAS very puny. It had been a queer notion of mine
to marry Marguerite. I recalled her weariness at Guerande, her impatience, her
dull, monotonous life. The dear creature had been very good to me, but I had
never been a real lover; she had mourned for me as a sister for her brother,
not otherwise. Why should I again disturb her life? A dead man is not jealous.
</p>

<p>
When I lifted my eyelids I saw the garden of the Luxembourg before me. I
entered it and took a seat in the sun, dreaming with a sense of infinite
restfulness. The thought of Marguerite stirred me softly. I pictured her in the
provinces, beloved, petted and very happy. She had grown handsomer, and she was
the mother of three boys and two girls. It was all right. I had behaved like an
honest man in dying, and I would not commit the cruel folly of coming to life
again.
</p>

<p>
Since then I have traveled a good deal. I have been a little everywhere. I am
an ordinary man who has toiled and eaten like anybody else. Death no longer
frightens me, but it does not seem to care for me now that I have no motive in
living, and I sometimes fear that I have been forgotten upon earth.
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1069 ***</div>
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