Nana, Émile Zola [reading list txt] 📗
- Author: Émile Zola
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calmed her down. For a moment or two she remained silent.
“Who are they?” she asked at last. “You know them?”
“I know the old fellow,” replied Zoe, discreetly pursing up her
lips.
And her mistress continuing to question her with her eyes, she added
simply:
“I’ve seen him somewhere.”
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.
In the dressing room, where Zoe 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’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.
“You bet,” was Nana’s crude answer; “they’re swine; they glory in
that sort of thing.”
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 Zoe held her back and herself introduced the Marquis de Chouard
and the Count Muffat into the dressing room. It was much better so.
“I regret having kept you waiting, gentlemen,” said the young woman
with studied politeness.
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—roses, lilacs and hyacinths—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.
“Madame, you will pardon our insistence,” said the Count Muffat
gravely. “We come on a quest. Monsieur and I are members of the
Benevolent Organization of the district.”
The Marquis de Chouard hastened gallantly to add:
“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.”
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.
“Most certainly, gentlemen, you were quite right to come up,” she
said with a very good grace.
But the electric bell made her tremble again. Another call, and
that Zoe always opening the door! She went on:
“One is only too happy to be able to give.”
At bottom she was flattered.
“Ah, madame,” rejoined the marquis, “if only you knew about it!
there’s such misery! Our district has more than three thousand poor
people in it, and yet it’s one of the richest. You cannot picture
to yourself anything like the present distress—children with no
bread, women ill, utterly without assistance, perishing of the
cold!”
“The poor souls!” cried Nana, very much moved.
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’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.
“One would like to be very rich on occasions like this,” added Nana.
“Well, well, we each do what we can. Believe me, gentlemen, if I
had known—”
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.
“My faith,” said Nana, bringing the ten big silver pieces and quite
determined to laugh about it, “I am going to entrust you with this,
gentlemen. It is for the poor.”
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, “Now then, who wants some?”
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’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.
“Come, gentlemen,” she continued. “Another time I hope to give
more.”
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 Zoe 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 Zoe had really stuffed them into the cupboards.
“Au revoir, gentlemen,” she said, pausing on the threshold of the
drawing room.
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.
When the young woman re-entered the little room, where Zoe was
awaiting her with letters and visiting cards, she cried out,
laughing more heartily than ever:
“There are a pair of beggars for you! Why, they’ve got away with my
fifty francs!”
She wasn’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’t a
sou left. But at sight of the cards and the letters her bad temper
returned. As to the letters, why, she said “pass” 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!
Zoe 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’t the case at Mme Blanche’s, where people
had all to go through the drawing room. Oh yes, Mme Blanche had had
plenty of bothers over it!
“You will send them all away,” continued Nana in pursuance of her
idea. “Begin with the nigger.”
“Oh, as to him, madame, I gave him his marching orders a while ago,”
said Zoe with a grin. “He only wanted to tell Madame that he
couldn’t come tonight.”
There was vast joy at this announcement, and Nana clapped her hands.
He wasn’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 Zoe
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’s sleep—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!
“I shall go to bed when I come back from the theater,” she murmured
greedily, “and you won’t wake me before noon.”
Then raising her voice:
“Now then, gee up! Shove the others downstairs!”
Zoe 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.
“Monsieur Steiner as well?” she queried curtly.
“Why, certainly!” replied Nana. “Before all the rest.”
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—a man, moreover, who was known in
all the theaters?
“Now make haste, my dear,” rejoined Nana, who perfectly understood
the situation, “and tell him he pesters me.”
But suddenly there was a reversion of feeling.
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