CHAPTER IV
Ever since the morning, Zoé had given up the entire apartment to a person who had arrived from Brébant’s with quite a staff of waiters and other assistants. Brébant was to furnish everything—the supper, the glass and crockery, the table-linen, flowers, and even seats and stools. Nana would not have found a dozen napkins if she had ransacked all her cupboards, and, not having as yet had time to set herself up in everything since her new start in life, disdaining to go to a restaurant, she had preferred to make the restaurant come to her. It was more the thing. She wished to celebrate her great success as an actress by a supper which would be the talk of every one. As the dining-room was too small, they had set up the table in the drawing-room—a table on which places for twenty-five had been laid rather close together.
“Is everything ready?” asked Nana, on returning home at midnight.
“Oh! I don’t know,” roughly replied Zoé, who seemed altogether out of sorts. “Thank goodness! I have nothing to do with it. They are smashing everything in the kitchen and all over the place! With all that, I’ve had another row. The other two have been again. Upon my word, I chucked them out of the place.”
She was speaking of madame’s two ex-gentlemen—the tradesman and the Wallachian—whom Nana had decided to dismiss; for, being now certain as to the future, she wished to turn over a new leaf, as she called it.
“What an abominable nuisance they are!” she murmured. “If they come again, threaten them with the commissary of police.”
Then she called Daguenet and George, who had remained in the anteroom, hanging up their overcoats. They had met at the stage-door in the Passage des Panoramas, and she had brought them in her cab. As no one else had then arrived, she called to them to come into the dressing-room whilst Zoé got her ready. In haste, and without changing her things, she had her hair done up, and placed some white roses in it and some others in her dress. The dressing-room was all encumbered with the furniture of the drawing-room, which had been placed there—a lot of little round tables, sofas, and arm-chairs, one on the top of the other—and she was quite ready, when her skirt caught on one of the castors and tore. Then, in her fury; she swore and cursed. Such accidents only happened to her. She tugged at her dress with rage, and pulled it off. It was made of a soft white silk, so simple, so supple, and so fine, that it enveloped her like a long chemise. But, not finding another dress to her taste, she put it on again at once, almost crying, and saying she would look like a rag-picker. Daguenet and George fastened up the tear with pins, whilst Zoé tidied her hair once more. All three busied themselves round about her, the youngster especially, who was on his knees on the floor, his hands buried in her skirt. She at length became calmer, when Daguenet assured her it could not be more than a quarter past midnight, for she had so hurried the last act of the “Blonde Venus,” scamping the cues, and skipping entire verses.
“It was, anyhow, quite good enough for all those fools,” said she. “Did you notice? they were a rum-looking lot to-night! Zoé, my girl, you will have to wait here. Don’t go to bed, as I may perhaps want you. By jingo! just in time. Here’s some one.
She hastened out of the room, leaving George on the floor, his coat tails sweeping the carpet. He blushed as he noticed Daguenet watching him. However, they had begun to feel a certain affection for each other. They re-arranged their neck-ties in front of the big looking-glass, and gave one another a brush, to get rid of the white powder that hung about their clothes from their contact with Nana.
“It’s just like sugar,” murmured George, with a laugh of a greedy baby.
A footman, hired for the night, ushered the guests into the parlour—a narrow room, in which four easy-chairs only had been left, so as to leave more space for the people. From the drawing-room close by could be heard a noise of crockery and plate being moved about; whilst a bright light shone under the door. Nana, on entering, found Clarisse Besnus, whom La Faloise had brought, already seated in one of the chairs.
“What! you are the first!” said Nana, who treated her familiarly since her own success.
“Well! it’s his fault,” replied Clarisse. “He is always afraid of being too late. If I had listened to him, I should not even have waited to take my wig and my make-up off.”
The young man, who met Nana for the first time, bowed and complimented her, spoke of his cousin, and sought to hide his confusion under an excess of politeness. But Nana, without listening to him, without even knowing who he was, shook his hand, and hastened to receive Rose Mignon. She became, at once, most ladylike.
“Ah! dear madame, how kind of you! I longed so much to have you with us!”
“It is I who am charmed, I assure you,” said Rose, equally amiable.
“Pray sit down. Do you require anything?”
“No, thank you. Ah! I have forgotten my fan in my pelisse.ae See, Steiner, in the right hand pocket.”
Steiner and Mignon had entered behind Rose. The banker went out and returned with the fan; whilst Mignon fraternally embraced Nana, and made Rose kiss her too. Were they not all of the same family, they of the theatre? Then he winked his eye, as though to encourage Steiner; but the latter, disconcerted by Rose’s fixed look, did not venture to do more than kiss Nana’s hand. Just then the Count de Vandeuvres arrived with Blanche de Sivry. There was a great deal of bowing and curtseying. Nana most ceremoniously led Blanche to a chair. Vandeuvres laughingly related that Fauchery was having a row below, because the concierge would not allow Lucy Stewart’s carriage to enter the courtyard. They could hear Lucy Stewart in the anteroom speaking of the concierge as a dirty blackguard. But when the footman opened the door, she advanced graceful and smiling, pronounced her name herself, and took hold of both Nana’s hands, saying she loved her as soon as ever she saw her, and that she thought she had a wonderful talent. Nana, all proud of her position as mistress of the house, but greatly confused, murmured her thanks. She seemed, too, to be rather pre-occupied ever since Fauchery’s arrival. As soon as she was able to get near him, she asked in a low voice. “Will he come?”
“No, he declined,” roughly replied the journalist, taken unawares, although he had prepared a long rigmarole to explain Count Muffat’s refusal. He at once saw his stupidity as he noticed how the young woman paled, and he tried to modify what he had said. “He was not able to come; he has to take the countess to-night to the ball at the Ministry of the Interior.”
“All right,” murmured Nana, who suspected he had not troubled himself in the matter, “I’ll make you smart for that, my boy.”
“Look here!” he returned, indignant at the menace, “I don’t care for such errands. Another time give them to Labordette.”
They were both quite angry and turned their backs on each other. At that moment Mignon pushed Steiner up against Nana. When she was alone he said to her in a low voice, with the good-natured cynicism of a pal wishing to oblige a friend, “You know, he’s dying for love of you. Only, he’s afraid of my wife. You’ll protect him, won’t you?”
Nana pretended not to understand. She smiled, and looked at Rose, her husband, and the banker; then she said to the latter, “M. Steiner, you will sit next to me.”
But sounds of laughter were heard coming from the anteroom, there were whisperings, and then quite a hubbub of gay voices all speaking at once, as though a whole convent full of girls had been let loose there. Suddenly Labordette appeared, dragging five women behind him—his school, as Lucy Stewart maliciously termed them. There was Gaga, looking very majestic in a blue velvet dress that was a great deal too tight for her, Caroline Héquet, always in black Flemish silk trimmed with Chantilly lace, then Léa de Horn, most slovenly dressed as usual, plump Tatan Néné, a jolly fair girl with the breast of a wet-nurse, whom every one made fun of, and finally little Maria Blond, a girl of fifteen, as thin and as wicked as a street-arab, and who was becoming quite the fashion ever since her first appearance at the Folies-Dramatiques Theatre. Labordette had brought them all in the same cab; and they were still laughing at the recollection of how they had been squeezed together, with Maria Blond on the others’ knees. But they composed themselves, shaking hands and bowing all round, like the most respectable people. Gaga acted quite childishly; and even stuttered in her attempts to behave well. Tatan Néné, however, who had been told coming along that six naked blacks would wait on them during Nana’s supper, became very uneasy at not seeing them. Labordette called her a goose, and told her to hold her tongue.
“And Bordenave?” inquired Fauchery.
“Oh! I am really quite upset,” cried Nana, “he will not be able to join us.”
“Yes,” said Rose Mignon, “his foot caught in a trap-door and he has sprained his ankle most abominably. If you had only heard him swear, with his leg all tied up and stretched out on a chair! ”
Then, they all expressed their regret. No one ever gave a good supper without Bordenave. However, they must try to do without him. And they were already talking of something else, when the sound of a loud voice reached them—
“What next! what next! so that’s the way I’m buried and forgotten!”
There was a shout, and all the heads were turned in the direction of the door. It was Bordenave—enormous in size and very red, his leg stretched out straight—who appeared leaning on Simone Cabiroche’s shoulder. For the time being, Simone was the lady of his affections. The child, who had received a good education, being able to play the piano and speak English, was fair and very pretty, but so delicate that she quite bent beneath Bordenave’s heavy weight, though smiling and submissive all the time. He stood still for a few seconds, conscious that they made quite a picture.
“Well! what do you say? just see how I love you,” he continued. “The truth is, I was afraid I should feel deuced dull, so I said to myself, ‘I shall go.’ ” But he interrupted himself with an oath, “Damnation!”
Simone had made a step rather too quickly, and his foot had touched the ground. He abused and shook her. She, without ceasing her smile, held down her pretty face like an animal that is afraid of being beaten, supporting him with all the strength of a plump little blonde. However, in the midst of his exclamation, the others hastened to assist him. Nana and Rose Mignon wheeled forward an arm-chair, into which Bordenave allowed himself to be placed, whilst the other women slipped another chair beneath his injured leg; and all the actresses, who were there, kissed him as a matter of course. He groaned, he sighed.
“Confound it! confound it! Anyhow, the stomach’s all right, as you’ll soon see.”
Other guests had arrived, and one could scarcely move about in the room. The noise of the plate and the crockery had ceased; but now the sound of a quarrel came from the drawing-room, where the head-waiter was speaking in a furious tone of voice. Nana was becoming very impatient, for, not expecting any one else, she was surprised the supper was not served. She had sent George off to see what the waiters were about, when, to her great surprise, some more people, both men and women, entered the room. These last comers she did not know at all. Then, scarcely knowing what to think, she questioned Bordenave, Mignon, Labordette. But they were not acquainted with them either. When she spoke to the Count de Vandeuvres, he suddenly recollected; they were the young men that he had got hold of at Count Muffat’s. Nana thanked him. It was all right, all right. Only they would have to sit very close together; and she asked Labordette to have seven more places laid. He had scarcely left the room, when the footman ushered in three more persons. Oh! this time it was becoming too ridiculous; there would never be room for every one. Nana, who was beginning to lose her temper, said in her grandest style that it was scarcely proper. But, seeing two more arrive, she burst out laughing, she thought it altogether too funny. So much the worse! they would have to make room for each other the best way they could. They were all standing up except Gaga and Rose Mignon, and Bordenave who monopolized to himself two of the four chairs. There was a regular hum of voices, they talked low and now and again suppressed some slight yawns.
“I say, my child,” observed Bordenave, “supposing we adjourn to supper. We have our full number, have we not?”
“Oh! yes, to be sure we have our full number!” she replied, laughing.
She looked about her. But she suddenly became serious, as though surprised at not seeing some one there. There was doubtless still one guest missing, of whom she had not spoken. They must wait. A few minutes later they noticed in their midst a tall gentleman with a noble-looking countenance and a handsome white beard. And the strange thing was that no one had seen him enter the room; he must have got into the parlour from the bedroom by a door that was left ajar. Only some whispering broke the silence. Count de Vandeuvres evidently knew the gentleman, for they had very discreetly shaken each other by the hand, but he only answered the women’s questions with a smile. Then Caroline Héquet, in a low voice, bet he was an English nobleman who was returning to London on the morrow to be married; she knew him well, in fact only too well. This story went the round of the ladies, only Maria Blond pretended, on her side, that he was a German ambassador, and to prove it said that he was most intimately acquainted with one of her lady friends. The men, in a few words, rapidly judged him. He looked like a person of means. Perhaps he stood the supper. It was probable. It appeared like it. Well! what did it matter so long as the supper was good? At all events, every one remained in doubt; they were already forgetting the presence of the old gentleman with the white beard, when the head-waiter opened the drawing-room door.
“Madame is served.”
Nana took Steiner’s arm, without seeming to notice a movement on the part of the old gentleman, who therefore walked behind her, all by himself. Besides, it was out of the question to go in in couples. The men and women all entered anyhow, pleasantly joking on the want of ceremony, like so many worthy tradespeople. A long table stretched from one end of the large room to the other, and yet this table was too small, for the plates on it all touched. Four candelabra, with ten candles each, lighted it up; there was one especially in plated metal, with sheaves of flowers on either side. It was the luxury of a restaurant—plates and dishes without initials or crests, but with gold lines round them, plate worn and tarnished by constant washings, glasses that were almost all odd ones and of the commonest patterns. It was like a house-warming given too soon, in the midst of a sudden accession to fortune, and before anything had been put straight. A gasalier was wanting; the candles of the candelabra, being very tall, could only be snuffed with difficulty, and shed a yellow and feeble light over the dessert dishes, the centrepieces, and the glass plates in which the fruit, the cakes, and the preserves were alternated symmetrically.
“You know,” said Nana, “you must all seat yourselves as you like. It’s more amusing.”
She was standing up at the middle of the table. The old gentleman, whom no one knew, had placed himself on her right, whilst she kept Steiner on her left. Some of the guests were already seating themselves, when a storm of oaths issued from the parlour. It was Bordenave who had been forgotten, and who had the greatest difficulty in the world in getting up from his two chairs, bawling away, shouting for that jade Simone, gone off with the others. The women, full of pity, hastened to him. Bordenave soon appeared, supported, almost carried, by Caroline, Clarisse, Tatan Néné, and Maria Blond, and it was quite an affair to place him comfortably.
“In the middle of the table, opposite Nana!” they all cried. “Bordenave in the middle! He shall preside!”
Then the ladies seated him in the place indicated; but he required a second chair for his leg. Two of the women raised the injured limb and carefully placed it out straight. It didn’t matter, he would only have to eat sideways.
“Confound it all!” he groaned; “it’s a deuced tight fit! Ah, my little darlings! you must look well after papa.”
He had Rose Mignon on his right hand and Lucy Stewart on his left. They promised to take every care of him. The others now all hastened to seat themselves. The Count de Vandeuvres placed himself between Lucy and Clarisse, and Fauchery between Rose Mignon and Caroline Héquet. On the other side of the table Hector de la Faloise had hurriedly taken the seat next to Gaga, in spite of Clarisse, who sat facing them; whilst Mignon, who stuck as close as possible to Steiner, was only separated from him by Blanche, having Tatan Néné on his left. Then came Labordette, whilst at the ends of the table were several young men and some women, Simone, Léa de Horn, Maria Blond, all jumbled up together, without the least order. It was there that Daguenet and George Hugon sympathised with each other more and more as they smilingly watched Nana. There was a good deal of chaffing, however, as two persons had been unable to find seats. The men offered their knees. Clarisse, who could not move her elbows, told Vandeuvres that he would have to feed her. That Bordenave, he occupied such a lot of room with his two chairs! There was a final effort, another squeeze, and every one was at last seated; but as Mignon exclaimed, they were packed like herrings in a barrel.
“Asparagus soup—Deslignacaf soup,” murmured the waiters, as they handed round the plates behind the guests.
Bordenave was advising every one to take the Deslignac soup, when a shout of protestation and anger rose. The door had a once more opened, and three late comers, a woman and two men, had entered the room. Oh, no! it was too much; it would never do! Nana, however, without leaving her chair, shaded her eyes, and tried to see if she knew them. The woman was Louise Violaine but she had never seen the men before.
“My dear,” said Vandeuvres, “this gentleman, M. de Foucarmont, whom I invited, is a friend of mine and a naval officer.”
Foucarmont, bowing in an easy sort of way, added, “And I ventured to bring one of my friends.”
“Oh! quite right, quite right,” said Nana, “pray be seated. Come, Clarisse, move a little this way. You have lots of room over there. There, now, with a little good will.”
They all squeezed together closer than ever, and Foucarmont and Louise managed to get a tiny corner of the table for themselves; but the friend had to sit at some distance from his plate, and eat by passing his arms between his neighbours’ shoulders. The waiters removed the soup plates, and truffled rabbit formed the next course. Bordenave created quite a row by stating that he had had the idea of bringing Prullière, Fontan, and old Bosc. Nana became most dignified at once. She said sharply that she would have received them in a way that they would not have liked. If she had wanted her comrades she was quite capable of asking them herself. No, no; she would have none of that sort. Old Bosc was always drunk, Prulliere was a good deal too conceited; and as for Fontan, he made himself quite unbearable in society, with his loud voice and his stupidity. Then, you see, such wretched strollers as they were always out of place with gentlemen.
“Yes, yes; it’s quite true,” declared Mignon.
All these gentlemen seated round the table looked very stylish in their dress suits, and with their pale faces, which their fast way of living rendered all the more refined. The old gentleman was very deliberate in his movements, and smiled serenely, as though he were presiding at a congress of diplomatists. Vandeuvres was so exquisitely polite to the ladies on either side of him, that one might have thought him at Countess Muffat’s. That very morning Nana had said to her aunt that one could not hope for better sort of men, all noble or else rich—in fact, men who were quite the fashion; and as for the ladies, they behaved themselves very well. A few—Blanche, Léa, Louise—had come with low-neck dresses. Gaga alone displayed more, perhaps, than she ought, especially as at her age she had far better have shown nothing at all. Now that they had all managed to seat themselves, the laughter and chaffing ceased. George could not help thinking that he had assisted at much livelier meals at the houses of the middle-class citizens of Orleans. There was hardly any conversation. The men, not knowing one another, merely stared, and the women kept very quiet. That was what most astonished George. He thought them very slow—he had expected that there would have been a great deal of kissing at once.
They were serving the next course, consisting of Rhine carp and venison cooked in the English style, when Blanche said, out loud, “Lucy, my dear, I met your Ollivier on Sunday. How tall he has grown!”
“Well, you know! he is eighteen years old,” replied Lucy. “It doesn’t make me look any the younger. He went back to school yesterday.”
Her son Ollivier, of whom she spoke with pride, was a student at the naval school. Then they started talking of the children. All the ladies became very tender-hearted. Nana told them how happy she was; her baby, her little Louis, was now at her aunt‘s, who brought him to see her every morning at eleven o’clock, and she took him into bed with her, where he played with Lulu, her terrier. It would make you laugh to see them get under the clothes right down to the bottom of the bed. No one had any idea how sharp little Louis had already become.
“Oh! yesterday, I had such a day of it!” related Rose Mignon in her turn. “Only fancy, I went and fetched Charles and Henri from their school, and in the evening they insisted on going to the theatre. They jumped for joy and clapped their little hands: ‘We shall see mamma act! we shall see mamma act!’ Oh! they were quite delighted!”
Mignon smiled complacently, his eyes wet with tears of paternal love. “And during the performance,” he continued, “they were so funny, looking as serious as men, devouring Rose with their eyes, and asking me why their mamma hadn’t any clothes on her legs.”
Every one round the table burst out laughing. Mignon triumphed, flattered in his paternal pride. He adored the little ones, his only anxiety was to increase their fortune by administering, with all the skill of a faithful steward, the money which Rose earned at the theatre and elsewhere. At the time they married, when he was leader of the band at the music-hall where she was engaged to sing, they loved each other passionately. Now they remained merely good friends. It was all arranged between them. She worked as hard as she could, with all her talent and with all her beauty; he had given up his violin the better to watch over her successes as an actress and a woman. One could never have found a more comfortable or united couple.
“How old is the eldest?” asked Vandeuvres.
“Henri is nine years old,” replied Mignon. “Oh! but he’s so strong! ”
Then he chaffed Steiner, who did not care for children, and told him with quiet audacity that if he were a father he would not squander his fortune so stupidly. Whilst talking, he kept eyeing the banker across Blanche’s shoulders, to see how he was getting on with Nana. But, for some minutes past, Rose and Fauchery, who had been speaking very close to each other, had made him rather anxious. He hoped Rose was not going to waste her time with such stupidity. If she were he would make it his business to prevent it. And with his well-shaped hands, which sported a diamond ring on the little finger, he finished cutting up his venison steak. The conversation about children, however, continued. La Faloise, rendered quite bashful by Gaga’s proximity, began to ask her for news of her daughter, whom he had had the pleasure of seeing with her at the Variety Theatre. Lili was very well, but she was still quite a tomboy! He was quite astounded when he heard that she was almost nineteen years old. Gaga at once became in his eyes far more imposing. And as he tried to find out why she had not brought Lili with her—
“Oh, no! never, never!” she said, highly indignant. “Only three months ago she insisted on leaving school. I wished to marry her at once. But she loves me so much, I was obliged to have her with me, ah! quite against my wish, I assure you.”
Her blue eyelids, with the lashes all burnt away, blinked as she spoke of settling the young lady in life. If, at her age, she had never been able to put a sou on one side—always working, obliging the men still, especially very young ones, whose grandmother she might have been—it was really because a good marriage was worth far more. She leaned towards La Faloise, who turned quite red beneath the enormous naked and plastered shoulder with which she almost crushed him.
“You know,” she murmured, “if she makes a mistake, it won’t be my fault. But girls are so peculiar when they are young!”
There was a good deal of commotion going on round the table. The waiters hurried about. The next course, consisting of fattened pullets, fillets of sole and stewed liver, made its appearance. The head-waiter, who, in the way of wine, had up till then only offered Meursault, now sent round some Chambertin and some Léoville. In the slight hubbub occasioned by the changing of the plates, George, more surprised than ever, asked Daguenet if all the ladies had children; and he, amused by the questions, gave him a few particulars.
Lucy Stewart was the daughter of a porter of English origin employed on the Northern Railway; she was thirty-nine years old, with the head of a horse, but nevertheless a most adorable person, frightfully consumptive yet never dying—the greatest swell of all the women there, and who could count amongst her conquests three princes and a duke. Caroline Héquet, who was born at Bordeaux, was the daughter of a clerk in humble circumstances, who died of shame. She had the good luck to possess a mother who was a strong-minded woman, and who, after cursing her and indulging in a year’s reflection, suddenly restored her to her place in the maternal affections, with the object of watching over her fortunes. The daughter, who was twenty-five years old, and of a very cold nature, enjoyed the reputation of being one of the prettiest women in the market, at the price that never varied. The mother, a very orderly woman, kept the books with the utmost accuracy as to profit and loss, and managed the entire establishment from the small apartment she occupied two floors above, and where she had set up a dressmaking business for the production of her daughter’s elegant costumes and underclothing. As for Blanche de Sivry, whose real name was Jacqueline Baudu, she came from a village near Amiens. She was magnificently shaped but was very stupid and a great liar, pretending her grandfather was a general and not owning to her thirty-two years. She was very much in vogue with the Russians, on account of her corpulence.
Then Daguenet rapidly added a few details about the others. Clarisse Besnus was brought from Saint-Aubin-sur-Mer to Paris by a lady as nursery maid, and was debauched by the husband, who started her in her new career. Simone Cabiroche, the daughter of a furniture dealer of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, was educated at a high-class school with the object of becoming a governess; and Maria Blond, and Louise Violaine, and Lea de Horn, had all been driven on to the streets, without counting Tatan Néné, who had tended cattle until twenty years old, in the beggarly Champagne. George listened, watching the women as he did so, and feeling quite dazed and excited by such a cynical undressing coarsely muttered into his ear; whilst, behind him, the waiters kept repeating in a respectful tone of voice, “Fattened pullet—fillet of sole.”
“My boy,” said Daguenet, giving him the benefit of his experience, “don’t take any fish, it’s not advisable to do so so late at night as this; and stick to the Léoville, it is less treacherous.”
The atmosphere was becoming quite impregnated with the heat from the candles and the fumes of the dishes and of everything else on the table, around which thirty-eight persons were almost suffocating; and the waiters, becoming careless, were scurrying about over the carpet, which was already grease-stained in several places. The supper, however, still continued a rather quiet affair. The ladies trifled with their food, leaving half of it on their plates. Tatan Néné alone ate greedily of everything. At that late hour of the night there were nothing but nervous appetites, the caprices of disordered stomachs. Seated beside Nana the old gentleman declined all the dishes offered him. He had merely taken a spoonful of soup; and he silently looked about him in front of his empty plate. There was a good deal of discreet yawning. Now and again some of the guests quite closed their eyes, whilst the faces of others became really cadaverous-looking. It was most awfully slow, as Vandeuvres said. Suppers of that sort, to be amusing, should not be too select. Otherwise, if all were on their good behaviour, and everything was highly respectable, one might just as well go and feed in good society, where one could not be more bored. If it hadn’t been for Bordenave, who continued his shouting, every one would have gone to sleep. The lazy beast, his leg carefully stretched out, put on the airs of a sultan, as he allowed his neighbours, Lucy and Rose, to wait on him. They did nothing but look after him and pamper him, and see that his glass and his plate were constantly filled; but all that did not prevent him complaining.
“Who will cut up my meat for me? I can’t do it myself, the table is a mile away.”
Every moment Simone continued going and standing behind him, and cutting up his meat and his bread. All the women interested themselves in what he had to eat. They called back the waiters and had his plate filled again and again. Then Simone having wiped his mouth, whilst Rose and Lucy changed his plate and knife and fork, he thought it all very nice; and, deigning at last to show his pleasure, he said, “There! You are right, my girl. A woman is made for nothing else.”
Every one began to wake up a bit, and the conversation became more general. Some orange sherbet had just been served round. The hot roast was a truffled fillet of beef, and the cold roast a galantine of guinea-fowl with jelly. Nana, who was quite put out by the want of animation among her guests, now commenced to talk very loud.
“You know that the Prince of Scotland has already had a stage-box booked for him to see the ‘Blonde Venus,’ when he comes for the Exhibition.”
“I hope all the princes will come and see it,” said Bordenave, with his mouth full.
“The Shah of Persia is expected on Sunday,” observed Lucy Stewart.
Then Rose Mignon talked of the Shah’s diamonds. He wore a tunic which was quite covered with precious stones, it was a marvel, a blazing star, and was worth millions; and all the ladies, with pale faces and eyes glaring with covetousness, stretched their necks as they mentioned the other kings and emperors who were expected. They were all thinking of some caprice of royalty, of a fortune made in a night.
“I say, my dear,” asked Caroline Héquet, leaning towards Vandeuvres, “how old is the Emperor of Russia?”
“Oh! he’s no age,” replied the count, laughing. “You’ve no chance in that quarter, I assure you.”
Nana pretended to be very much offended. The conversation was becoming too coarse, many protested by a murmur; but Blanche started giving some information about the King of Italy, whom she had seen once at Milan. He was not very handsome, but that did not prevent him from being very successful with the women; and she seemed quite disappointed when Fauchery stated that Victor-Emmanuel would not be able to come. Louise Violaine and Léa preferred the Emperor of Austria. All of a sudden little Maria Blond was heard to say, “What a dry old stick the King of Prussia is! I was at Baden last year. I was constantly meeting him with Count Bismarck.”
“Ah! Bismarck,” interrupted Simone. “I used to know him. He is a charming fellow.”
“That’s just what I was saying yesterday,” exclaimed Vandeuvres, “and no one would believe me.”
And just the same as at Countess Sabine’s, they talked for a long while about Count Bismarck. Vandeuvres repeated the same phrases he had used before. For a moment one seemed to be again in the Muffats’ drawing-room; the women, only, were changed. In just the same way, too, the conversation turned on music. Then, Foucarmont having dropped a word about the taking of the veil which all Paris was talking of, Nana became interested and insisted on hearing all about Mademoiselle de Fougeray. Oh! poor little thing, to go and bury herself alive in that way! However, it was her own wish! The women round the table were all deeply affected. George, tired of hearing the same things over again, was questioning Daguenet respecting Nana’s private habits, when the conversation fatally returned to Count Bismarck. Tatan Néné, leaning towards Labordette and whispering in his ear, asked him who was that Bismarck, whom she had never heard of. Then, Labordette coolly told her some of the most awful lies imaginable: Bismarck fed on raw meat; whenever he encountered a woman near his stronghold, he carried her off on his back; though only forty years old, he had already had thirty-two children.
“Only forty years old, and thirty-two children!” exclaimed Tatan Néné, quite astounded, but convinced. “He must be awfully worn out for his age.” Then as every one burst into a laugh, she saw it was at her, so she hastened to add: “How stupid you are! How am I to know when you are only joking?”
Gaga, however, had continued talking of the Exhibition. Like all the other ladies, she was rejoicing and making her preparations. It would be a good season, with all the provincials and the foreigners rushing to Paris. Then, perhaps, after the Exhibition, if everything went well, she could retire to Juvisy, to a little house she had had her eye upon for a long time.
“What would you?” said she to La Faloise, “one never has any prospects. If one were only loved!”
Gaga was going in for a little tenderness, because she had felt the young man’s knee touch her own. He was very red in the face. She, lisping all the while, weighed him with a glance. A little gentleman, not very wealthy; but, then, she was no longer hard to please. La Faloise obtained her address.
“Look,” murmured Vandeuvres to Clarisse, “I fancy that Gaga is robbing you of your Hector.”
“Oh! I don’t care a fig!” replied the actress. “The fellow’s a fool. I have already turned him out of my place three times. But, you know, when youngsters go in for the old ones, it disgusts me.”
She interrupted herself to draw his attention, with a slight nod, to Blanche, who, ever since the early part of the supper, had been leaning in a very uncomfortable position, looking very proud, but wishing to display her shoulders to the distinguished old gentleman, who was seated only three places from her.
“You are being abandoned also, my boy,” resumed Clarisse.
Vandeuvres smiled shrewdly, with a gesture of indifference. He, certainly, wouldn’t stand in the way of poor Blanche making a conquest. He was far more interested in the exhibition Steiner was making of himself. The banker was well known for his numerous love affairs. The terrible German Jew, the great hatcher of businesses whose hands founded millions, became quite a fool whenever he had a hankering after a woman; and he wanted them all. One could never appear at a theatre but he secured her, no matter at what price. The most incredible amounts were mentioned. Twice during his life had his furious appetite for the fair sex ruined him. As Vandeuvres said, the women avenged morality in emptying his coffers. A grand transaction in shares of the saltworks of the Landes having restored him his position on the Bourse,ag the Mignons, for six weeks past, had been having a rare nibble at the profits. But now bets were freely made that it wouldn’t be the Mignons who would finish them, for Nana was showing her white teeth. Once again Steiner was hooked, and so securely that, seated beside Nana, he looked quite dumbfounded, eating without the least appetite, his under lip hanging down, and his face a mass of blotches. She had only to fix a sum. Yet she did not hurry herself, but played with him, blowing little laughs into his hairy ear, and amusing herself with the sight of the spasms which now and again passed over his fat face. It would be quite time enough to land him, if really that uncivil beast Count Muffat was going to play at being joseph.ah
“Léoville or Chambertin?”ai murmured a waiter, thrusting his head in between Nana and Steiner, just as the latter was whispering to the young woman.
“Eh! what!” he stammered, quite bewildered. “What you like, I don’t care.”
Vandeuvres nudged Lucy Stewart, who was noted for saying unpleasant things, and having a most fiendish temper whenever put out about anything; and Mignon’s behaviour all the evening had quite exasperated her.
“You know he would even go and hold the candle,” said she to the count. “He hopes to do the same as he did with young Jonquier. You recollect Jonquier, who was with Rose, and who took a fancy to tall Laure. Mignon went and arranged everything with Laure for Jonquier, and then he brought him back, arm-in-arm, to Rose, like a husband who had been allowed to go on a spree. But this time it won’t do. Nana is not one to return the men who are lent her.”
“Whatever is Mignon looking at his wife in that angry way for?” asked Vandeuvres.
He leant forward a little, and noticed that Rose was getting very sweet on Fauchery. That explained to him why his neighbour had spoken in such a spiteful manner. He resumed with a laugh, “The devil! are you jealous?”
“Jealous!” repeated Lucy, furious. “Ah, well! if Rose wants Léon, I give him to her freely. He isn’t worth much! One bouquet a week, and that not always! Look you, my boy, all those theatre-girls are the same. Rose wept with rage when she read Léon’s article on Nana, I know it for certain. So, you see, she also must have an article, and she’s earning it. As for me, I’ll kick Léon out of my place, you bet!” She stopped to tell a waiter standing behind her with his two bottles, “Léoville,” then, lowering her voice, she resumed, “I’m not going to kick up a fuss, it’s not my way; but she’s a dirty hussy all the same. If I were her husband, I’d lead her a fine dance. Oh! this won’t bring her any luck. She doesn’t know my Fauchery, a dirty fellow, he too, who sticks to a woman simply to improve his position in the world. They’re a fine lot!”
Vandeuvres tried to calm her. Bordenave, abandoned by Rose and by Lucy, was fast losing his temper, and kept calling out that every one was letting papa die of hunger and thirst. This caused a happy diversion. The supper was becoming interminable ; almost every one had left off eating, but the champagne, that many of the guests had been drinking ever since the soup, was gradually animating them with a nervous intoxication. They began to be more free in their behaviour; the women put their elbows on the table, now all in disorder, the men, to breathe more at ease, leant back in their chairs, and the black coats mingled in still closer proximity with the gay-coloured dresses, whilst naked shoulders, turned sideways to the light, had a gloss like silk. It was a great deal too warm, the light from the candles became yellower still, and the atmosphere was loaded with the fumes rising from the table. Now and then, when a head bent forward beneath a shower of curls, the flash from some diamond ornament illuminated the high chignon. The increasing merriment inflamed all, putting laughter into the eyes and displaying pearl white teeth in smiles, whilst the reflection of the candelabra caused the glasses of champagne to sparkle again. Broad jokes were uttered aloud, and every one was gesticulating in the midst of unanswered questions and remarks sent from one end of the room to the other. But the waiters made the most noise of all, as though thinking themselves in their restaurant—pushing up against each other as they served the ices and dessert, giving vent to guttural exclamations the while.
“My children!” shouted Bordenave, “don’t forget that we have a performance to-morrow. Take care! beware of the champagne! ”
“Oh,” said Foucarmont, “I have drunk of every kind of wine made in the world—some of the most extraordinary liquids, alcohols capable of killing a man right off. Well! they never affected me in the least. I can’t get drunk. I’ve tried, but I can’t.”
He looked very pale and cool, as he leant back in his chair and continued drinking.
“All the same,” murmured Louise Violaine, “leave off, you’ve had enough. It will be very amusing if I have to nurse you for the rest of the night.”
A slight intoxication coloured Lucy Stewart’s cheeks with a consumptive-looking flush, whilst Rose Mignon, her eyes moist with a desire to cry, had become quite tender-hearted. Tatan Néné, dizzy with having eaten too much, laughed vaguely at her own stupidity. The others, Blanche, Caroline, Simone, Maria, were all talking together, telling each other their private affairs—a dispute with a coachman, a contemplated trip into the country, and some complicated stories of lovers stolen and returned; but a young man near George, having tried to kiss Léa de Horn, received a slap with an, “I say, you! just leave me alone!” full of the most virtuous indignation; and George, who was very drunk and excited by the sight of Nana, hesitated before putting into execution an idea he had been nursing, which was to crawl under the table, and curl himself up at her feet like a little dog. No one would have seen him, and he would have kept very quiet. Then, Daguenet having, at Léa’s desire, told the young man to behave himself, George, all of a sudden, felt quite sad, as though he had just been scolded himself ; it was stupid, it was dull, there was nothing left worth living for. Daguenet, however, joked with him, and made him drink a tumblerful of water, asking him at the same time what he would do if he found himself alone with a woman, as three glasses of champagne were too much for him.
“For instance,” resumed Foucarmont, “in Havana they make a spirit out of some wild berry; it’s just like swallowing fire. Well! one night I drank nearly two pints of it, and it had no effect on me whatever. But I can tell you more than that; another time, when on the coast of Coromandel, some savages brought us a mixture that tasted like pepper and vitriol, and it had no effect on me. I can’t get drunk.”
For some little time past he had taken an aversion to La Faloise who was sitting in front of him. He kept sneering and saying most unpleasant things. La Faloise, who was becoming rather light-headed, moved about a good deal, keeping at the same time as close as possible to Gaga. But a great anxiety increased his restlessness—some one had taken his handkerchief; he kept asking for it in a drunken obstinate mood, questioning his neighbours, and stooping down to look under their chairs and amongst their feet. Then, as Gaga tried to quiet him: “It’s absurd,” he murmured, “there are my initials and my crest in the corner. It may compromise me.”
“I say, M. Falamoise, Lamafoise, Mafaloise!” cried Foucarmont, who thought it very witty to thus disfigure the young man’s name.
But La Faloise got angry. He stutteringly spoke of his ancestors. He threatened to pitch a decanter at Foucarmont’s head. Count de Vandeuvres had to interfere and assure him that Foucarmont was very funny. Indeed, every one laughed. That upset the bewildered young man’s determination, so he quietly sat down; and he went on eating as obediently as a child, when his cousin told him to do so in an angry tone of voice. Gaga kept him close to her again; only, every now and then, he glanced furtively and anxiously at the others, in search of his handkerchief. Then, Foucarmont, in his witty mood, attacked Labordette, right across the table. Louise Violaine tried to make him keep quiet, because, said she, whenever he got quarrelsome like that with others, it always ended badly for her. He thought it very funny to call Labordette “madame;” it seemed to amuse him immensely, for he kept on doing so, whilst Labordette coolly shrugged his shoulders, saying each time, “Keep quiet, my boy; don’t be a fool.”
But as Foucarmont continued, and even became insulting, without any one knowing why, Labordette left off answering him, and addressed himself to the Count de Vandeuvres. “Have the goodness to make your friend keep quiet, sir. I do not wish to lose my temper.”
He had fought in two duels—he was admitted and welcomed everywhere; so there was a general rising against Foucarmont. Every one was amused, thinking him very funny; but that was no reason for upsetting the harmony of the evening. Vandeuvres, whose fine face wore a dark look, insisted on his restoring Labordette his sex. The other men, Mignon, Steiner, Bordenave, all very far gone, interfered also, shouting so as to drown his voice; and the old gentleman, who was quite forgotten in his seat beside Nana, alone preserved his distinguished look, his quiet, weary smile, as he watched with his pale eyes the tumult around him.
“My little duck, suppose we have our coffee here,” said Bordenave. “We are all very comfortable.”
Nana did not answer at once. Ever since the commencement of the supper, she had not seemed to be in her own home. She felt quite lost among all these people, who almost stunned her with their loud talk and their calls for the waiters, and who were all thoroughly at their ease, as though in a restaurant. She, too, began to forget her duties as mistress of the house, occupying herself solely with stout old Steiner, who was almost bursting with apoplexy beside her. She listened to him, shaking her head the while, and laughing in the provoking way of a plump blonde. The champagne she had drunk had heightened her colour and moistened her lips, and given an extra sparkle to her eyes; and the banker offered more at every cajoling movement of her shoulders, at each slight though voluptuous heaving of her neck when she turned her head. He noticed, near her ear, a dainty little spot, a velvety skin which almost drove him mad. Now and then Nana recollected her guests, and tried to do the amiable, to show that she knew how to entertain. Towards the end of the supper she became quite tipsy. That vexed her very much. Champagne always got into her head at once. Then an idea seized upon her that thoroughly exasperated her. It was a dirty trick the other women were playing her, by behaving badly in her rooms. Oh! she saw through it well enough! Lucy winked her eye to stimulate Foucarmont against Labordette; whilst Rose, Caroline, and the others excited the gentlemen. Now, the row they kicked up was so great that it was impossible to hear oneself speak—just to show that they could all do as they liked when supping at Nana’s. Well! they would see. Though she was tipsy, she was still the best looking and the best behaved of the lot.
“My little duck,” repeated Bordenave, “tell them to serve the coffee in here. I should prefer it, on account of my leg.”
But Nana roughly jumped up from her seat, murmuring to Steiner and the old gentleman, who were lost in astonishment, “It serves me right; it will teach me not to invite such a low set another time.” Then, pointing to the dining-room door, she added aloud, “You know, if you want any coffee, there’s some in there.”
Every one rose from the table, and hurried towards the dining-room, without noticing Nana’s anger. And soon no one was left in the drawing-room but Bordenave, who was holding on to the walls and advancing cautiously, swearing all the time against those confounded women, who didn’t care a damn for papa, now that their bellies were full. Behind him, the waiters were already removing the cloth, under the directions of their chief, who shouted out his orders. They hurried themselves, shoving up against one another, making the table disappear like the scenery of a fairy play on the signal of the head scene-shifter. The ladies and gentlemen were to return to the drawing-room after taking their coffee.
“Thank goodness! it isn’t so warm in here,” said Gaga, with a slight shiver, as she entered the dining-room.
The window had been left open. Two lamps lighted up the table, on which the coffee was served with some liqueurs. There were no chairs, so they all took their coffee standing; whilst the noise caused by the waiters in the next room increased. Nana had disappeared; but no one was troubled about her absence. They got on very well without her, helping themselves, searching in the sideboard drawers for the spoons they wanted. Several groups were formed—those who had been separated during the supper rejoining one another, and exchanging looks, significant smiles, or a few words which summed up the situation.
“I say, Augustus,” said Rose Mignon, “ought not M. Fauchery to come and lunch with us one of these days?”
Mignon, who was playing with his watch chain, looked at the journalist severely for a second. Rose, he thought, was mad. As a good manager, he would put a stop to all such waste. For an article, well and good; but after that no admittance. However, as he knew that his wife would sometimes have her own way, and that he made a rule of paternally allowing her to commit a folly whenever he could not prevent it, he replied in his most amiable manner, “Certainly, I shall be delighted. Why not come to-morrow, then, M. Fauchery?”
Lucy Stewart, who was conversing with Steiner and Blanche, overheard the invitation. She raised her voice, and said to the banker, “Is it a mania they’ve all got? One of them has even stolen my puppy. Really, now, is it my fault if you’ve discarded her?”
Rose turned her head. Her face was very pale as she looked fixedly at Steiner, slowly sipping her coffee the while, and all the repressed anger she felt at her abandonment gleamed in her eyes like a flame of fire. She understood the matter better than Mignon. It was absurd to try and repeat the Jonquier experiment. That sort of things did not come off twice. Well, so much the worse! she would have Fauchery. She had felt a hankering for him ever since the supper, and if Mignon didn’t like it, it would teach him to act differently another time.
“You are not going to fight, I hope?” Vandeuvres came and said to Lucy Stewart.
“Oh, no! never you fear. Only she had better keep quiet, or I’ll give her a piece of my mind”; and, calling to Fauchery in a haughty tone of voice, Lucy added, “Young ‘un, I’ve got your slippers at home. I’ll have ’em left to-morrow with your concierge.”
He tried to jest about it, but she moved away from him with the air of a queen. Clarisse, who was leaning against the wall so as the more conveniently to drink a glass of kirsch, shrugged her shoulders. What a fuss to make about a man! Wasn’t it the custom, whenever two women found themselves together with their lovers, for each to try and get hold of the other’s? It was quite a settled thing. If she had chosen, she might have scratched out Gaga’s eyes, all on account of Hector. But, pooh! she didn’t care a button. Then, as La Faloise passed near her she contented herself with saying to him, “Listen! you seem to like them very far advanced. You are not satisfied with their being ripe, you want them rotten!”
La Faloise appeared very much put out. He continued uneasy. Seeing Clarisse scoffing at him he suspected her. “No humbug,” he murmured, “you have taken my handkerchief. Give me my handkerchief.”
“What a nuisance he is with his handkerchief!” she cried. “Look here, you idiot; what should I have taken it for?”
“Why,” said he, mistrustfully, “to send it to my relations, so as to compromise me.”
All this while Foucarmont was going in strongly for the liqueurs. He continued to sneer as he watched Labordette, who was drinking his coffee surrounded by the women, and he kept uttering a number of unconnected phrases, much in this style: “The son of a horse-dealer, others said the bastard offspring of a countess—no means, and yet always twenty-five louis in his pocket—the servant of all the girls of easy virtue—a fellow who never went to bed.”
“No, never! never!” he repeated, growing angry. “I can’t help it; I must really slap his face.”
He tossed off a glass of chartreuse. Chartreuse never upset him; not that much, said he, and he clacked his thumb-nail between his teeth. But all of a sudden, just as he was advancing towards Labordette, he turned ghastly pale, and fell all in a heap in front of the sideboard. He was dead drunk. Louise Violaine was in an awful way. She had said that it would end badly; now she would be the rest of the night nursing him. But Gaga reassured her. She examined the officer with the eye of an experienced woman, and declared that there was no cause for alarm. The gentleman would sleep like that for twelve or fifteen hours without the least accident; so they removed Foucarmont.
“Hallo! wherever has Nana got to?” asked Vandeuvres.
Yes, as a matter of fact, she had disappeared on leaving the supper table. They now began to think of her; every one made inquiries. Steiner suddenly became most anxious, questioned Vandeuvres with respect to the old gentleman, who had also disappeared; but the count calmed his fears. He had just seen the old gentleman off. He was a distinguished foreigner, whose name it was unnecessary to mention. He was very rich, and was satisfied with paying for the suppers. Then, every one again forgetting Nana, Vandeuvres noticed Daguenet’s head at the door, signalling to him to come; and in the bedroom, he found the mistress of the house seated quite rigid, with her lips all white, whilst Daguenet and George were standing watching her with looks of consternation.
“What’s the matter with you?” he asked, surprised.
She did not reply, nor did she even turn her head. He repeated his question.
“I don’t intend to be made a fool of in my own place!” she at length exclaimed. “That’s what’s the matter.”
Then she uttered everything that came readily to her tongue. Yes, yes, she wasn’t an idiot; she could see what it all meant. They had all made a fool of her during supper. They had said the most beastly things, just to show that they didn’t care a curse for her. A parcel of strumpets, who were not fit to clean her boots. She wouldn’t worry herself for them another time, just to be treated in that scurvy way afterwards! She didn’t know what it was kept her from kicking the whole dirty lot out of the place; and, her rage choking her, she sobbed aloud.
“Come, my girl, you’re drunk,” said Vandeuvres in a most affectionate manner. “You must be reasonable.”
No, she refused beforehand; she would remain there. “I may be drunk, it’s very possible; but I intend to be respected.”
For a quarter of an hour past, Daguenet and George had been vainly entreating her to return to the dining-room; but she was obstinate. Her guests might do what they liked; she had too great a contempt for them to return amongst them. Never, never! They might cut her up into pieces, but she would remain in her room.
“I ought to have expected it,” she resumed. “It’s that strumpet Rose who organised the plot; and it’s no doubt she who prevented that respectable lady I invited from coming.”
She was speaking of Madame Robert. Vandeuvres assured her, on his word of honour, that Madame Robert had of her own free will declined the invitation. He listened and discussed without laughing, used to such scenes, and knowing how to deal with women when they were in that state; but the moment he tried to take hold of Nana’s hands, to raise her from her chair and lead her away, she struggled with increased fury. No one would ever make her believe, for instance, that Fauchery had not dissuaded Count Muffat from coming. He was a regular serpent, that Fauchery, a most envious fellow, a man who was capable of sticking to a woman until he had destroyed her happiness; for she knew very well the count had taken a fancy to her. She might have had him.
“He, my dear—never!” exclaimed Vandeuvres, forgetting himself and laughing.
“But why not?” asked she, serious, and slightly sobered.
“Because he’s mixed up with the priests, and if he only touched you with the tip of his finger, he would go and confess it on the morrow. Now listen to a good piece of advice. Don’t let the other one escape.”
For a moment she reflected in silence. Then she rose, and went and bathed her eyes. Yet, when they again tried to get her into the dining-room, she furiously declined to go. Vandeuvres left the room with a smile, without insisting any more; and directly he was gone, she had a fit of tenderness, throwing herself into Daguenet’s arms, and saying,
“Ah! my Mimi, there is no one like you. I love you, as you know! I love you so much! It would be too good if we could always live together. Oh! why are women such unhappy creatures ?”
Then noticing George, who had turned very red on seeing them embrace each other, she kissed him also. Mimi could not be jealous of a baby. She wished Paul and George always to get on well together, because it would be so nice to remain like that, all three knowing that they loved one another so much. But a peculiar noise disturbed them. Some one was snoring in the room. Then, looking about, they discovered Bordenave, who, after drinking his coffee, had apparently made himself comfortable there. He was asleep on two chairs, his head resting on the edge of the bed, and his leg stretched straight out. Nana thought he looked so comic, with his mouth wide open and his nose moving at each snore, that she quite shook with laughter. She left the room, followed by Daguenet and George, and, passing through the dining-room, entered the drawing-room, laughing more than ever.
“Oh, my dear!” cried she, almost throwing herself into Rose’s arms, “you have no idea—come and see.”
All the women were obliged to go with her. She caressingly seized hold of their hands, and dragged them away, in so genuine a transport of gaiety, that they laughed before knowing why. They all disappeared, and then returned after having remained for a minute, with bated breath, around Bordenave, majestically stretched out. And then their laughter burst forth afresh, when one of them called for silence, Bordenave could be plainly heard snoring in the distance.
It was nearly four o‘clock. In the dining-room a card-table had been placed, around which Vandeuvres, Steiner, Mignon, and Labordette hastened to seat themselves. Lucy and Caroline stood behind them betting; whilst Blanche, feeling very drowsy and dissatisfied with her evening, kept asking Vandeuvres every five minutes if they would not soon be going. In the drawing-room others were trying to dance. Daguenet was kindly assisting at the piano, as Nana said she wouldn’t have any strumming, and Mimi could play as many waltzes and polkas as any one could wish. But the dancing flagged; many of the women were reclining on the sofas, chatting among themselves. All on a sudden there was a frightful uproar. Eleven young men, who had just arrived together, were laughing very loudly in the anteroom, and pushing their way towards the drawing-room door. They had just left the ball at the Ministry of the Interior, and were all in evening dress and bedecked with various unknown decorations. Nana, annoyed at the noise they made, called the waiters, who were still in the kitchen, and ordered them to chuck the gentlemen out, swearing that she had never seen them before. Fauchery, Labordette, Daguenet, and the other men hastened forward to insure the respect due to the lady of the house. Angry words were uttered, fists were shaken. Another minute, and there would have been a general punching of heads. However, a little fair-haired fellow, with a most sickly appearance, kept on repeating, “Come now, Nana; the other night, at Peters’s, in the big red room. You surely must recollect! You invited us.”
The other night, at Peters’s? She did not remember it at all. First of all, what night? And when the little fair-haired fellow told her the day, Wednesday, she recollected that she had supped at Peters’s on the Wednesday, but she had invited no one, of that she was almost certain.
“But yet, my girl, if you did invite them,” murmured Labordette who began to have doubts on the subject, “you were perhaps a little bit on.”
Then Nana laughed. It was possible, she couldn’t say. However, as the gentlemen were there, they had better come in. And so it was settled. Many of the new comers found friends of theirs amongst those in the drawing-room, and the squabble ended in a general hand-shaking. The little fair-haired fellow with the sickly appearance bore one of the greatest names of France. Besides, they announced that several others were following them; and, true enough, the door opened every minute to admit men with white kid gloves and in their most official get-up. They all came from the ball at the Ministry of the Interior. Fauchery jokingly inquired if the minister himself would not soon arrive; but Nana, very much annoyed, replied that the minister visited people who were certainly not as good as she. What she did not mention was a hope she entertained—that of seeing Count Muffat enter in the midst of all the others. He might have altered his mind; and, as she conversed with Rose, she kept watching the door.
Five o‘clock struck. The dancing had ceased. The players alone stuck to their cards. Labordette had given up his seat, and the women had gone back into the drawing-room. The somnolence that accompanies a prolonged dissipation hung heavily over all in the dull light of the lamps, the charred wicks of which gave a reddish hue to the globes. The women had reached that maudlin state when they feel the desire to relate their own histories. Blanche de Sivry talked of her grandfather the general, whilst Clarisse invented quite a romance about a duke who had seduced her at her uncle’s, where he had come to hunt the wild boar; and each, with her back turned, kept shrugging her shoulders, and asking if it was possible to tell such crammers. As for Lucy Stewart, she quietly avowed her humble origin, and talked freely of the days of her youth, when her father, the porter on the Northern Railway, used to treat her to an apple turnover on a Sunday.
“Oh! I must tell you!” suddenly exclaimed little Maria Blond. “There’s a gentleman living opposite to me, a Russian, in short a man who’s awfully rich. Well, yesterday I received a basket of fruit—oh! such a basket of fruit!—some enormous peaches, grapes as big as that, something really extraordinary at this time of the year. And in the middle of all, six bank notes of a thousand francs each. It was the Russian. Of course I sent all back again, but I was rather sorry to do so, because of the fruit! ”
The other women looked at each other trying not to smile. Little Maria Blond possessed rare cheek for her age. As if that sort of adventures happened to such hussies as she! They all felt a great contempt for each other. Many were furiously jealous of Lucy on account of her three princes. Ever since Lucy had taken to riding on horseback of a morning in the Bois de Boulogne, which had been the starting-point of her great success, they had all been seized with a violent mania for learning to ride.
The day was about to break. Nana no longer watched the door, having lost all hope. Every one was bored to death. Rose Mignon had refused to sing the “Slipper,” and was curled up on the sofa, where she was whispering with Fauchery, whilst waiting for Mignon, who had already won about fifty louis from Vandeuvres. A stout, distinguished-looking gentleman, wearing a decoration, had, it is true, just recited “Abraham’s Sacrifice,” in Alsatian patois,aj spiced with a certain amount of profanity; only, as no one understood more than a word or two, the recitation fell very flat.
Nobody knew what to be at to infuse some gaiety into the proceedings, to finish the night in a sufficiently wild manner. For an instant Labordette had the idea of secretly denouncing the women to La Faloise, who kept prowling round each to see if she hadn’t his handkerchief stowed away in her bosom. However as some bottles of champagne remained on the side-board, the young men started drinking again. They called to each other, they tried to excite one another; but an invincibly mournful drunkenness, of a stupidity to make one weep, overcame them all. Then the little fair-haired fellow, he who bore one of the greatest names of France, quite at a loss what to do, in despair at not being able to think of something funny, had a sudden idea; he took up a bottle of champagne and emptied the contents into the piano. All the others writhed with laughter.
“Hallo!” said Tatan Néné, who had watched him with astonishment, “why does he pour champagne into the piano?”
“What! my girl, don’t you know that?” replied Labordette, seriously. “There is nothing so good as champagne for pianos. It improves the tone.”
“Ah! really,” murmured Tatan Néné, thoroughly convinced.
And as every one laughed, she got into a temper. How was she to know? They were always telling her wrong. Things were decidedly going from bad to worse. The night seemed likely to end in an unpleasant kind of manner. In a corner of the room, Maria Blond was having a row with Léa de Horn, whom she accused of receiving men who were not sufficiently rich; and they had come to oaths, as they abused each other’s looks. Lucy, who was ugly, quieted them. Looks were nothing; the thing was to have a good figure. Farther off, on a sofa, an attaché to an embassy had passed his arm round Simone’s waist, and was trying to kiss her on the neck; but Simone, quite tired out, and very sulky, pushed him away each time, saying, “Don’t bother me!” and hitting him on the head with her fan. Besides, the other women would not allow anybody to touch them. Who did they take them for? Gaga, however, who had caught hold of La Faloise, kept him by her, almost on her knees; whilst Clarisse, shaking with the nervous laugh of a woman being tickled, was disappearing between two gentlemen. Around the piano the little game continued, in a fit of stupidity. There was a good deal of pushing; each one wanted to empty his bottle into it. It was simple and neat.
“Here! old fellow, take a drink. The devil! isn’t he thirsty, the poor piano! Look out there! here’s another; we mustn’t lose a drop. ”
Nana, who had her back turned towards them, did not see what they were after. She had evidently made up her mind to do the best she could with stout old Steiner, who was seated beside her. So much the worse! It was all that Muffat’s fault, for he had not been willing. In her dress of soft white silk, light and crumpled like a chemise, with her touch of intoxication, which had taken the colour from her face and made her eyes look heavy, she seemed to be offering herself in a quiet, good-natured sort of way. The roses she had placed in her dress and hair were now all withered, and only the stalks remained. Suddenly Steiner withdrew his hand from off her dress, where he had just encountered the pins placed by George. A few drops of blood issued from his fingers. One fell on the dress and stained it.
“Now it is signed,” said Nana seriously.
The day had dawned. An awfully sad and dubious sort of light entered by the windows. Then the breaking-up began—a leave-taking full of uneasiness and ill-nature. Caroline Héquet, annoyed at having wasted her night, said it was time for those to go who did not wish to assist at some very strange things. Rose made a face like that of a respectable woman who had been compromised. It was always the same with those hussies. They never knew how to behave themselves; they were always most disgusting from the first. And Mignon having quite stumped Vandeuvres, the couple went off, without troubling themselves about Steiner, though not until they had again invited Fauchery for the morrow. Lucy, then, refused to let the journalist see her home, and told him out loud to go with his dirty actress. Rose, who heard her, turned round, and answered with “Filthy hag!” muttered between her teeth; but Mignon, well versed in women’s quarrels, paternally pushed his wife outside, and told her to dry up. Behind them, Lucy, all alone, descended the staircase like a queen. Then it was La Faloise, feeling quite ill and sobbing like a child, who was led away by Gaga, whilst he called for Clarisse, long ago gone off with her two gentlemen. Simone also had disappeared. There still remained Tatan, Léa, and Maria; but Labordette obligingly offered to take charge of them.
“I don’t feel at all sleepy!” said Nana, “Do let us do something.
She looked at the sky through the window panes—a sky of a livid colour, and over which floated sooty black clouds. It was six o’clock. Facing her, on the other side of the Boulevard Haussman, the houses were still hushed in sleep, their damp roofs standing out in the dim light; while a party of scavengers were passing along the deserted pavement, on which their wooden shoes resounded. In the presence of this mournful awakening of a gay city, Nana was seized with the emotion of a young girl, with an intense longing for the country, for an idyllic existence, for something pure and peaceful.
“Oh! I’ll tell you what,” said she, going up to Steiner, “you must take me to the Bois de Boulogne, and we will have some milk. ”
She clapped her hands with a childish joy, and ran to throw a pelisse over her shoulders, without waiting for any answer from the banker, who naturally consented, though inwardly annoyed, and dreaming of something very different. The only persons left in the drawing-room were the young men who had come in a body; but, having drained everything, even the glasses, into the piano, they were talking of leaving, when one of them triumphantly appeared, holding in his hand a last bottle, which he had discovered in the kitchen.
“Wait! wait!” cried he, “a bottle of chartreuse! There now, he wanted some chartreuse, that will bring him to again. And now, boys, let’s be off. We’re a set of idiots.”
Nana had to wake up Zoé, who had fallen asleep on a chair in the dressing-room. The gas was still burning. Zoé shivered as she helped her mistress to don her hat and pelisse.
“Well, it’s all over; I’ve done as you wished,” said Nana, in a most familiar manner, relieved at having at length made up her mind. “You were right, it may as well be the banker as another.”
The maid was sullen and still drowsy. She grunted that madame should have come to that decision on the first night. Then, as she followed her into the bedroom, she asked what she was to do with the two who were there. Bordenave had not left off snoring. George, who had slyly come and buried his head in a pillow, had ended by falling asleep, breathing as gently as a cherub. Nana told the girl to let them sleep. But all her tenderness returned on seeing Daguenet enter the room; he had been waiting for her in the kitchen—he looked very sad.
“Come now, my Mimi, be reasonable,” said she, taking him in her arms, and hugging him with all manner of fondling ways. “Nothing is altered, you know it is my Mimi alone whom I adore—don’t you now? I was obliged to do it. I swear to you, we shall be all the happier. Come to-morrow, we will settle the hours for seeing each other. Now, quick, kiss me as much as you love me—oh! more, more than that!”
And, tearing herself away from him, she rejoined Steiner, thoroughly happy and full of her fad of going to drink some new milk. In the room, now almost deserted, Count de Vandeuvres remained with the distinguished-looking gentleman who had recited “Abraham’s Sacrifice”; they were both seated at the card-table, no longer knowing what they were doing, and not noticing that it was broad daylight; whilst Blanche had curled herself up on the sofa, and tried to sleep.
“Ah! Blanche shall go too!” cried Nana. “We are going to drink some milk, my dear. Come quick, you can return here for Vandeuvres.”
Blanche lazily roused herself. This time the banker’s bloated face turned pale with annoyance at the idea of being accompanied by that fat girl, who would be in his way. But the two women were already leading him off, and repeating:
“You know, we must see the cows milked.”