Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

“You know,” he murmured, stopping her in the darkness, “I was hiding, because I was afraid of being scolded like at Paris, when I came to see you without being expected.”

She began to laugh without answering, and kissed him on the forehead. Until that day she had treated him like a child, not thinking seriously of his declarations, and amusing herself with him as with a youngster of no consequence. She made a great deal of fuss so that he should be comfortable. She insisted on the fire lighted in her bed-room. They would be more cozy there. The sight of George did not surprise Zoé, used to all sorts of meetings; but the gardener, who brought up some wood, was struck dumb on seeing the gentleman dripping with water, to whom he was certain he had not opened the door. He was sent away, as nothing more was required. A lamp lighted the room, whilst the fire burst into a bright blaze.

“He will never become dry, he will catch cold,” said Nana, seeing George shiver.

And not another pair of trousers in the house! She was on the point of calling the gardener, when an idea struck her. Zoé, who had been unpacking the trunks in the dressing-room, brought madame some clean clothes for her to change—a chemise, some petticoats, and a dressing-gown.

“But that’s capital!” exclaimed the young woman, “Zizi can put on these. Eh! you don’t mind putting on my things? When your own clothes are dry you can put them on again, and then hurry back home, so as not to be scolded by your mamma. Be quick, and I will go and change my things in the dressingroom.”

When, ten minutes later, she reappeared in a dressing-gown, she clasped her hands in rapture.

“Oh, the love! how pretty he looks as a woman!”

He had merely put on a long night-dress, an embroidered pair of drawers, and a cambric dressing-gown trimmed with lace. In those clothes he looked like a girl, with his fair arms uncovered, and his light hair, still wet, hanging down his neck.

“He is really as slim as I am!” said Nana, taking hold of him round the waist. “Zoé, come and see how well they fit him. Eh! don’t they look as though they were made for him? all except the body part, which is too broad. He hasn’t as much as I have, poor Zizi.”

“There certainly is a slight difference,” murmured George, smiling.

All three were highly amused. Nana buttoned the dressing-gown all down the front so that he should look decent. She turned him about like a doll, gave him little taps, and made the skirt swell out behind. And she questioned him, asking him if he was comfortable, and if he was warm enough. Oh, yes! he was all right. Nothing was warmer than a woman’s night-dress; if he had had his way he would always have worn one. He rolled himself about in it, pleased with the soft touch of the linen, with that loose garment that smelt so nice, and which to him seemed slightly impregnated with the warmth of Nana’s body. Zoé had taken his wet clothes down to the kitchen, so as to dry them as quickly as possible before a large wood fire. Then George, stretched out in an easy chair, dared to make an avowal.

“I say, aren’t you going to have anything to eat to-night? I’m famishing. I haven’t had any dinner.”

Nana was very angry. What a great stupid he was to run away from his mamma with an empty stomach, just to go and throw himself into a pool of water! But she also felt rather hungry. Of course they must have something to eat, only they would have to do the best they could. And they improvised the funniest dinner ever heard of, on a little table drawn up before the fire. Zoé ran over to the gardener, who had made some cabbage soup in case madame did not dine at Orleans. Madame had forgotten to mention in her letter what she required to be got ready. Fortunately the cellar was well-stocked. They had, therefore, some cabbage soup, with a piece of bacon. Then, looking in her bag, Nana produced all sorts of things which she had taken the precaution to provide: a little goose liver pasty, a packet of sweets, some oranges. They both ate like ogres, with the appetite of youth, and, like comrades, without ceremony. Nana called George “my dear,” she thought it more familiar and loving. For dessert they devoured a pot of jam, discovered on the top shelf of a cupboard, both eating in turn with the same spoon so as not to disturb Zoé.

“Ah, my dear!” said Nana, as she pushed the little table on one side, “for ten years I haven’t dined so well.”

It was getting late, however, and she wished to send the youngster home so as not to bring him into trouble. He kept repeating that he had plenty of time; besides, the clothes were not drying well—Zoé declared that they would take at least an hour longer, and as she was every minute falling asleep, being tired out by the journey, they sent her off to bed. Then they were left alone in the silent house. It was a calm, pleasant night. The fire was burning low, and the heat was rather stifling in the big room, the bed of which Zoé had made before leaving. Nana, feeling too warm, rose to open the window for a minute. But she uttered a faint cry.

“Heavens! how lovely it is! Look, my dear.”

George joined her, and, as though the window-rail was not long enough for two, he put his arm round Nana’s waist and rested his head on her shoulder. The weather had suddenly changed, the sky was perfectly clear and studded with stars, whilst a full moon lit up the country with a sheet of gold. A sovereign peacefulness hung over all, the valley widened and opened on to the immensity of the plain, where the trees cast shadows that looked like islands in the motionless lake of light. And Nana was deeply moved and felt like a child again. She was sure she had dreamt of such nights at an epoch of her life which she could no longer recall. All that she had seen since she left the train, this vast expanse of fields, this grass that smelt so nice, this house, these vegetables, all these upset her to such an extent, that it seemed as though she had left Paris fully twenty years before. Her existence of the previous day was already far away. She felt as she had never previously felt. George, all this while, was slyly kissing her on the neck, which increased her perturbation. With a hesitating hand she repelled him as one would a child when wearied by its caresses, and she repeated that it was time for him to go home. He did not say “no,” by-and-by, he would leave by-and-by. But a bird began to sing, then stopped. It was a robin, in an elder bush under the window.

“Wait a minute,” murmured George, “the lamp-light frightens him, I will put it out.” And, when he came back, again placing his arm around Nana’s waist, he added, “We can light it again directly.”

Then, as she listened to the robin, whilst the boy pressed close against her, Nana recollected. Yes, it was in novels that she had seen all that. Once, in the days gone by, she would have given her heart to have seen the moon thus, to have heard the robin and to have had a little fellow full of love by her side. Oh, heaven! she could have cried, it all seemed to her so lovely and good! For certain she was born to live a virtuous life. She again repelled George, who was becoming bolder.

“No, leave me, I won’t. It would be very wrong at your age. Listen, I will be your mamma.”

She had become quite bashful; her face was flushing scarlet. Yet no one could see her. The room behind them was full of the darkness of night, whilst as far as the eye could reach the countryside unfolded the silence and immobility of its solitude. Never before had she felt such shame. Little by little her strength seemed to leave her in spite of her constraint and her struggles. That disguise, that woman’s night-dress and that dressing-gown, made her laugh still. It was like a girl friend teasing her.

“Oh! it is wrong, it is wrong,” murmured she, after a last effort; and she fell like a virgin into the child’s arms, in the face of the beautiful night. The house was hushed in sleep.

On the morrow, when the luncheon bell rang at Les Fondettes, the table in the dining-room was no longer too large. A first vehicle had brought Fauchery and Daguenet, and after them came the Count de Vandeuvres, who had arrived by a later train. George made his appearance the last, looking rather pale and heavy about the eyes. In answer to all inquiries he replied that he was much better, although still upset by the violence of the attack. Madame Hugon, who looked into his face with an anxious smile, passed her hand through his hair, which was badly combed that morning, whilst he drew back as though embarrassed by the caress. During luncheon, she affectionately scolded Vandeuvres, whom she said she had been expecting for five years past.

“Well, here you are at last! How did you manage it?”

Vandeuvres thought best to treat the matter as a joke. He related that he had lost an enormous sum of money the previous evening at his club; so he had started off with the idea of settling down in the provinces.

“Yes, really now, if you can only find me an heiress somewhere in the neighbourhood. There must be some very charming ladies about here.”

The old lady was thanking both Daguenet and Fauchery for having so kindly accepted her son’s invitation, when she experienced another pleasant surprise on seeing the Marquis de Chouard, who had just arrived in a third vehicle, enter the room.

“Ah!” she exclaimed, “it must be a general meeting this morning. You have all arranged to assemble here. Whatever has happened? For years past I have never been able to get you to come, and now you all arrive together. Oh! but I am not complaining.”

Another place was laid at the table. Fauchery found himself seated beside Countess Sabine, who surprised him with her liveliness—she whom he had seen looking so languid, in the austere drawing-room of the Rue Miromesnil. Daguenet, seated on Estelle’s left, seemed uncomfortable at being so close to the silent, lanky girl, whose sharp elbows were his horror. Muffat and de Chouard exchanged a sly glance. Vandeuvres continued to joke about his contemplated marriage.

“Respecting ladies,” Madame Hugon ended by saying to him, “I have a new neighbour whom you probably know”; and she mentioned Nana.

Vandeuvres affected the utmost astonishment. “What! Nana’s country-house is near here?”

Fauchery and Daguenet also pretended to be surprised. The Marquis de Chouard devoured the breast of a chicken, without appearing to understand. Not one of the men had smiled.

“Without doubt,” resumed the old lady; “and what is more, this person arrived last night at La Mignotte, as I had expected. I heard of it this morning from the gardener.”

On receiving this information, none of the gentlemen could hide their genuine astonishment. They all looked up. What! Nana had arrived! And they were not expecting her till the morrow; they had thought they were before her! George, alone, did not raise his eyes, but looked at his tumbler in a wearied sort of way. Ever since the beginning of the meal he had seemed asleep with his eyes open, and a vague smile hovered about his lips.

“Do you still suffer, Zizi?” inquired his mother, who scarcely moved her eyes from him.

He started, and blushing, answered that he was quite well again; but he still preserved the look of a girl who had been dancing too much.

“What is the matter with your neck?” suddenly asked Madame Hugon, in a frightened tone of voice. “It is all red.”

He became confused, and could scarcely stammer out a reply. He didn’t know; he hadn’t anything the matter with his neck. Then, pulling up his shirt collar, he added, “Ah! yes, some insect stung me.”

The Marquis de Chouard cast a sidelong glance at the red mark. Muffat also looked at George. Luncheon was drawing to an end, and they began to arrange some excursions in the neighbourhood. Fauchery became more and more affected by Countess Sabine’s gaiety. As he passed a plate of fruit to her their hands touched, and she looked at him for a second with so deep a gaze that his thoughts again reverted to that confidence of which he was the recipient on a night of intoxication. Then she no longer appeared the same. There was something that was more pronounced about her. Her grey silk dress, made loose at the shoulders, gave a sort of ease to her refined and sensitive elegance.

On leaving the table, Daguenet remained behind with Fauchery, to make some rather facetious and coarse remarks about Estelle. “A pretty broomstick to shove into a fellow’s arms.” However, he became serious when the journalist mentioned the amount of her dowry: four hundred thousand francs.

“And the mother?” inquired Fauchery. “She’s a fine woman, isn’t she?”

“Oh! she as much as you like! But there’s no chance, my boy!”

“Bah! one never knows without trying!”

No one was going out that day, as it was still very showery. George had hastily disappeared and locked himself in his room. The gentlemen avoided coming to an explanation among themselves, though they individually knew very well what reasons had brought them together. Vandeuvres, who had lost heavily at play, had indeed entertained the idea of spending some time in the country, and counted on the proximity of a female friend to reconcile him to his voluntary exile. Fauchery, taking advantage of the holiday allowed him by Rose, who just then was very much occupied, proposed to make an arrangement with Nana for a second article, in the event of a country life bringing their hearts together again. Daguenet, who had been sulky ever since Steiner appeared on the scene, thought of making it up again, and of picking up a few crumbs of love, should occasion offer. As for the Marquis de Chouard, he bided his time. But among all these men on the track of Venus, only half free of her paint, Muffat was the most ardent, the most tormented with new sensations of desire, of fear, and of anger, which contended in his agitated person. He had a distinct promise. Nana was expecting him. Why, then, had she left Paris two days earlier? He determined to go to La Mignotte that very night, after the dinner.

That evening, as the count left the grounds, George followed him. He parted from him on the road to Gumières, and, wading across the Choue, arrived at Nana’s all out of breath, his eyes filled with tears of rage. Ah! he understood. That old fellow who was on the road had an appointment with her. Nana, astonished at this display of jealousy, uneasy at the turn things were taking, folded her arms around him, and consoled him as well as she could. No; he was mistaken. She was not expecting any one. If the gentleman was coming it was not her fault. Zizi was a great stupid to put himself out so much about nothing at all! She swore by her child that she loved no one but her George, and she kissed him, and wiped away his tears.

“Listen, you will see that everything is for you,” said she, when he had become calmer. “Steiner has arrived, he is upstairs. You know, my darling, I can’t send him away.”

“Yes, I know; I don’t mind him,” murmured the youngster.

“Well, I have put him in the room at the end of the passage, pretending that I was not well. He is unpacking his portmanteau. As no one saw you come in, run up quick and hide yourself in my room, and wait for me.”

George jumped up and put his arms round her. It was true, then, she did love him a little! So it would be yesterday over again? They would turn out the lamp, and remain together till daylight dispelled the darkness. Then, hearing a bell ring, he noiselessly hurried away. Upstairs, in the bed-room, he at once took off his shoes so as not to make any noise. Then he hid himself, crouched upon the floor, behind a curtain, and waited like a good boy.

When Count Muffat appeared, Nana felt a slight awkwardness, having scarcely regained her composure after the scene with George. She had promised the count, and she would have liked to have kept her promise, because he seemed a man who meant business. But, really, who could ever have foreseen all that had occurred the previous day? The journey, this house that she had never known before, the youngster who had arrived soaking wet; and how nice it had all seemed to her, and how pleasant a continuance of it would be! So much the worse for the gentleman! For three months past she had dallied with him, playing the respectable woman, so as to inflame him all the more. Well! he would have to wait a bit longer. He could hook it if it didn’t please him. She would rather chuck up everything than be unfaithful to George.

The count had seated himself in the ceremonious way of a country neighbour making a call. His hands alone trembled slightly. In his sanguineous constitution, still in a state of virginity, inordinate desire, scourged by Nana’s skilful tactics, was at length producing frightful ravages. That grave-looking man, that chamberlain who traversed with such a dignified step the gilded saloons of the Tuileries, would, at night-time, bite the bolster on his bed and sob aloud, carried away by his exasperation, and ever invoking the same sensual vision. But this time he was determined to end his suffering. Along the road, in the peaceful twilight, he had thought of gratifying his passion by force; and directly they had exchanged a few words, he tried to take Nana in his arms.

“No, no, mind what you are doing,” said she simply, without getting angry, and smiling at him all the time.

At length he caught her, his teeth firmly clenched; then, as she struggled, he became brutal, and coarsely told her why he had come. She, still smiling, though embarrassed, held his hands. She spoke to him lovingly, so as to make her refusal seem less harsh.

“Come, my darling, keep quiet. Really, I cannot. Steiner is upstairs.”

But he was mad; never before had she seen a man in such a state. She began to feel frightened. She placed her hand over his mouth to hush the cries he uttered, and, lowering her voice, she begged him to keep quiet, to let her go. Steiner was descending the stairs. Her position had become ridiculous! When Steiner entered the room, he heard Nana, who was comfortably stretched out in an easy chair, saying,

“As for myself, I adore the country.”

Turning her head, she interrupted herself, and added, “Darling, this is Count Muffat, who noticed the lights as he was passing by, and has just called in to bid us welcome.”

The two men shook hands. Muffat stood an instant without speaking, his face in shadow. Steiner seemed sulky. They talked of Paris; business was very bad, and some most abominable things had occured on the Bourse. At the end of a quarter of an hour, Muffat took his leave. And as the young woman accompanied him to the door, he asked, without obtaining it, an appointment for the following evening. Steiner, almost immediately, went off to bed, grumbling against the ailments that were always affecting the female sex. At last, the two old fellows were got rid of! When Nana was at length able to rejoin George, she found him still patiently waiting behind his curtain. The room was in darkness. He had drawn her down on the floor beside him, and they played together, rolling about like children, stopping every now and then, and smothering their laughter with kisses, whenever their feet knocked against any of the furniture. Afar off, on the Gumières road, Count Muffat was walking slowly along, holding his hat in his hand, and cooling his heated brow in the fresh night air.

Then, the following days, their life was adorable. In the youngster’s company, Nana seemed once more a girl of fifteen. Beneath the child’s caresses, the flower of love bloomed again, in spite of her knowledge of man, and the loathing it caused her. She found herself constantly blushing, she experienced an emotion that made her shiver, an inclination to laugh and cry, in short all the feelings of an awakened virginity added to desires of which she was ashamed. She had never felt thus before. The country filled her with tenderness. When a young child, she had for a long time desired to live in a meadow with a goat, because one day, on the slope of the fortifications, she had seen a goat bleating, fastened to a stake. Now, this estate, all this land belonged to her, swelled her with an overflowing emotion, so much were her wildest dreams more than realised. She again experienced all the sensations of a child; and at night-time, when dizzy from a day spent in the open air, intoxicated with the odour of the trees and flowers, she went upstairs to rejoin her Zizi, hidden behind the curtain, it seemed to her like a freak of a school-girl home for the holidays, a love passage with a cousin whom she was evidently to marry. She trembled at the least sound, as though afraid of being caught by her parents; she tasted all the delicious embarrassments, all the voluptuous fears of a first fault.

At this time, Nana indulged in the fancies of a sentimental girl. She would look at the moon for hours. One night, she insisted on going down into the garden with George, when all the household was asleep; and they wandered about under the trees, their arms round each other’s waists, then they lay down on the grass and got thoroughly soaked with the dew. Another time, in the bed-room, after a rather long pause, Nana sobbed on the youngster’s neck, murmuring she was afraid she was going to die. She often sang in a low voice a ballad of Madame Lerat’s, full of flowers and birds, becoming affected even to tears, and interrupting herself to clasp George in a passionate embrace and cause him to utter vows of eternal love. In short, she behaved very foolishly as she herself would often admit, when, becoming comrades again, they both smoked cigarettes seated on the edge of the bedstead, their heels knocking against the wood-work.

But what caused the young woman’s heart completely to melt was the arrival of little Louis. Her attack of maternal love bordered on madness. She carried her son into the sunshine to see him sprawl about; she rolled with him over the grass, after dressing him like a prince. She at once insisted that he should sleep near her, in the next room, where Madame Lerat, very much smitten with the country, commenced to snore as soon as she was lying on her back. And little Louis did not in the least interfere with her love for Zizi; on the contrary. She said that she had two children; she confounded them in the same caprice of affection. During the night, on more than ten occasions, she quitted Zizi to go and see if little Louis was breathing all right; but when she returned she cuddled her Zizi with the remains of her maternal caresses. She acted the mamma towards him; whilst he, vicious youngster! liking very much to be little in the arms of that big girl, let her nurse him like a baby being rocked to sleep. It was so nice that, charmed with this existence, she seriously proposed to him that they should never again leave the country. They would send every one away, and live alone together—he, she, and the baby. And they built a thousand castles in the air until daybreak, without hearing Madame Lerat, who, tired out with gathering wild flowers, snored loud enough to waken the whole household.

This fine life lasted for nearly a week. Count Muffat came every night, and went back home with swollen features and hot, feverish hands. One night he was not even admitted, Steiner having been obliged to go to Paris. He was told that madame was very unwell. Each day Nana revolted more and more at the idea of being unfaithful to George, so young and so innocent, and who had put his faith in her! She would have considered herself the most worthless of women. Besides, it would have disgusted her too much. Zoé, who assisted at this adventure with silent disdain, thought that madame was becoming cracked.

All on a sudden, on the sixth day, a band of visitors broke in upon this idyllic existence. Nana had invited a number of people, thinking that no one would come. So she was very much astounded and very much vexed, one afternoon, on seeing an omnibus full of men and women draw up in front of the iron gates of La Mignotte.

“Here we are!” cried Mignon, the first to alight from the vehicle, from which he extricated his sons, Henri and Charles.

Labordette appeared next, and immediately assisted a number of ladies to descend—Lucy Stewart, Caroline Héquet, Tatan Néné, Maria Blond. Nana was hoping that that was the end, when La Faloise jumped out, to receive into his trembling arms Gaga and her daughter Amélie. That made eleven persons. It was difficult to find room for them all. At La Mignotte there were five guest chambers, one of which was occupied by Madame Lerat and little Louis. The largest bedroom was given to the Gaga and La Faloise family, and it was decided that Amélie should sleep on a camp-bedstead in the dressing-room adjoining. Mignon and his two sons had the third bedroom; Labordette the fourth. There still remained one, which was turned into a dormitory, with four beds for Lucy, Caroline, Tatan, and Maria. As for Steiner, he would have to sleep on the sofa in the drawing-room. After the lapse of an hour, when everything was settled, Nana, who first of all had felt furious, was delighted at doing the honours of her country abode. The ladies complimented her on La Mignotte—a most enchanting place, my dear! Then they brought her a puff of Paris air, the little scandals of the week. They all spoke at once, with sundry little taps, and exclamations, and bursts of laughter. And Bordenave! by the way, what had he said of her little escapade?

Why nothing much. After bellowing out that he would have her brought back by the gendarmes, when the evening came he merely filled her place with the understudy; and she, little Violaine, had scored a great success in the “Blonde Venus.” This piece of news made Nana serious. It was only four o’clock. They began to talk of going for a stroll.

“You don’t know,” said Nana, “I was about to get some potatoes when you arrived.”

So they all wanted to go and pick up potatoes, without even changing their clothes. They made quite a party. The gardener and two lads were already in the field, at the extreme end of the estate. The ladies knelt down on the ground, feeling in the earth with their fingers covered with rings, crying out every time they discovered a potato of any size. They thought it all so amusing! But Tatan Néné was in her element. She had picked up so many in her younger days, that she so far forgot herself as to give the others the benefit of her experience and to ridicule their awkwardness. The gentlemen took it more coolly. Mignon, looking a very worthy man, profited by his stay in the country to complete his sons’ education. He talked to them of Parmentier, the introducer of the potato into France. In the evening the dinner was madly gay. Every one had an enormous appetite. Nana, very far gone, had a row with her butler, who had been at the Bishop of Orleans’. The ladies smoked with their coffee. Sounds of feasting and revelry issued through the windows, and were lost in the distance, in the serenity of the night; whilst between the hedges the belated peasants turned their heads and looked at the house blazing with light.

“What a nuisance it is you are all going away again the day after to-morrow,” observed Nana. “We must arrange some excursion whilst you are here.”

So it was settled that on the morrow, a Sunday, they should all go and visit the ruins of the ancient abbey of Chamont, which was situated about seven miles off. Five carriages were to come from Orleans to take the party after luncheon, and bring them back to dine at La Mignotte, towards seven o’clock in the evening. It would be delightful.

That night, as usual, Count Muffat ascended the hill to ring the bell at the iron gates. But the lights in the windows, the loud laughter surprised him. Recognising Mignon’s voice he understood it all, and went away enraged by this new obstacle, driven to extremities, determined to use violence. George, who entered by a little side-door of which he had a key, quietly ascended to Nana’s bed-room, keeping close to the walls. Only he had to wait for her until past midnight. She came at last, very tipsy, and more maternal even than on the other nights. When she drank it made her so loving that there was rather too much of it. Thus, she insisted on George’s accompanying her to the abbey of Chamont. He resisted, afraid of being seen: if he was noticed in a carriage with her it would cause a frightful scandal. But she burst into tears, seized with the noisy despair of a discarded woman, and he consoled her, and faithfully promised to be one of the party.

“Then you do really love me?” she stuttered. “Say that you love me a lot. Tell me, my own darling, if I died, would you be very unhappy?”

At Les Fondettes, Nana’s proximity upset the whole household. Every morning, during luncheon, worthy Madame Hugon talked in spite of herself about that woman, relating all that her gardener had told her, experiencing that kind of witchery exercised by gay women over the most respectable ladies. She, usually so tolerant, felt indignant and exasperated, with the vague presentiment of some misfortune, which alarmed her at eventide, as though she had known of the presence in the neighbourhood of a wild beast escaped from some menagerie. And she squabbled with her guests, accusing them all of wandering round about La Mignotte. Count de Vandeuvres had been seen laughing on the high road with a lady wearing a large quantity of hair; but he defended himself, swore that it wasn’t Nana, for indeed it was Lucy who accompanied him for the purpose of telling him how she had just sent her third prince to the right about. The Marquis de Chouard went also for long walks every day; but he began to talk at once of his doctor’s directions. As for Daguenet and Fauchery, Madame Hugon treated them very unjustly. The first, especially, never went outside the grounds of Les Fondettes, having abandoned his intention of seeking to renew his intimate acquaintance with Nana, and making himself respectfully assiduous towards Estelle. Fauchery also remained with the Muffat ladies. On one occasion only he had come across Mignon in a lane, his hands full of flowers, and giving a lesson in botany to his sons. The two men had shaken hands and talked of Rose. She was very well; each of them had received a letter from her that very morning, in which she told them to take advantage of the country air as long as they could. Of all her guests, therefore, the old lady only spared Count Muffat and George. The count, who pretended he had some very important business to attend to at Orleans, could not be running after girls; and as for George, the poor child was beginning to cause her the greatest anxiety, for every evening he was seized with the most violent headaches, which forced him to go to bed before it was really dark.

Fauchery had elected himself Countess Sabine’s cavalier in waiting, whilst the count disappeared regularly every afternoon. Whenever they went about the grounds he carried her parasol and her campstool. Besides, he amused her with his journalistic gossip, and soon established between them one of those sudden intimacies which country life countenances. She appeared to surrender at once, awakened to a second youth in the society of this young man, whose noisy, scoffing ways seemed incapable of compromising her. And sometimes, when they found themselves alone for a second behind some hedge, their eyes would seek each other’s; they would stop in the midst of a laugh, abruptly serious, with a languishing look as though they had divined and understood each other.

On the Friday it had been necessary to lay another place at lunch. M. Théophile Venot, whom Madame Hugon recollected having invited at the Muffats’ the previous winter, had just arrived. He put on his most agreeable look, and affected the indifferent air of an insignificant person without appearing to notice the uneasy deference with which he was treated. When he had succeeded in making himself forgotten, and while crunching some little pieces of sugar during dessert, he watched Daguenet, who was handing some strawberries to Estelle, and listened to Fauchery, one of whose anecdotes seemed to amuse the countess very much. The moment anyone looked at him he smiled in his quiet way.

On leaving the table, M. Venot took the count’s arm and led him into the grounds. It was known that he exercised a great influence over the count, ever since his mother’s death. Most singular stories were current as to the ex-attorney’s domination over the household. Fauchery, whose plans were no doubt considerably interfered with by his arrival, related to George and Daguenet the origin of his fortune—a big lawsuit with which the Jesuits had once intrusted him; and, according to him, this little old fellow, who was a terrible man in spite of his pleasant looks, had now a finger in every clerical pie. The two young fellows began to laugh, for they thought the old man looked a bit of an idiot. The idea of an unknown Venot, of a gigantic Venot, acting for the clergy, seemed to them most comical. But they ceased talking as Count Muffat, still with the old gentleman at his side, returned looking very pale, and with his eyes red as though he had been weeping.

“They have, for certain, been talking of hell,” murmured Fauchery jeeringly.

Countess Sabine, who had overheard him, slowly turned her head, and their eyes met, with one of those prolonged looks with which they prudently sounded each other, before running any risk.

Usually, after luncheon, every one adjourned to the end of the flower garden, to a terrace which overlooked the plain. The Sunday afternoon was deliciously mild. Towards ten o’clock in the morning it looked like rain; but the sky, without becoming perfectly clear, had so to say blended into a milky kind of mist, and a sort of luminous dust, all golden with sunshine. Then Madame Hugon suggested that they should go out by the little door of the terrace, and take a stroll in the direction of Gumières, as far as the Choue; she liked walking, being still very active in spite of her sixty years. Every one, moreover, stated that they would rather not have the carriage. They arrived thus, rather disbanded, at the wooden bridge thrown across the stream. Fauchery and Daguenet were in front with the Muffat ladies; the count and the marquis came next, on either side of Madame Hugon; whilst Vandeuvres, looking very stylish, and dreadfully bored at wandering along that high road, brought up the rear, smoking a cigar. M. Venot, slackening or hastening his footsteps, went smilingly from one group to another, as though to hear everything.

“And poor George is at Orleans!” Madame Hugon was saying. “He wished to consult old Doctor Tavernier, who no longer goes out, about his headaches. Yes, you were none of you up; he started before seven this morning. It will be a slight diversion for him, anyhow.” But she interrupted herself to remark, “Dear me! why are they waiting on the bridge?”

Truly enough the ladies, and Daguenet and Fauchery, were standing at the foot of the bridge, with hesitating looks, as though some obstacle caused them uneasiness. The way seemed free, however.

“Straight on!” cried the count.

They did not move, but remained watching something that was coming and which the others could not see. There was a turn in the road which was bordered on either side by poplars. However, a rumbling noise, gradually increasing, now reached the entire party; there was a sound of wheels, mixed with laughter, and the cracking of whips, and suddenly five carriages appeared, following one after the other, almost crowded enough to break the axle-trees, and enlivened with a mixture of light blue and rose colour dresses.

“Whatever is all this?” asked Madame Hugon in surprise. Then she guessed, she seemed to divine; and indignant at such an invasion crossing her path, she murmured, “Oh, that woman! Walk on, do walk on. Pretend not to—”

But it was too late. The five carriages, which were taking Nana and her guests to the ruins at Chamont, were already close to the little wooden bridge. Fauchery, Daguenet, and the Muffat ladies had to step back, whilst Madame Hugon and the others stopped also, at various distances along the road. It was a superb procession. The laughing in the carriages had ceased; some faces turned round with curiosity. Each party looked at the other, amidst a silence that was only broken by the regular trot of the horses. In the first carriage, Maria Blond and Tatan Néné, reclining like duchesses, their skirts blown out over the wheels, looked disdainfully at the respectable ladies on foot. In the next was Gaga, who almost occupied an entire seat to herself, quite burying La Faloise, of whom only the anxious nose could be seen. Then came Caroline Héquet with Labordette, Lucy Stewart with Mignon and his sons, and at the end of all, accompanied by Steiner, was Nana, who had on the little seat in front of her that poor love of a Zizi, with his knees touching hers.

“It is the last one, is it not?” quietly inquired the countess of Fauchery, affecting not to recognise Nana.

The wheels of Nana’s carriage almost grazed her, but she did not move back an inch. The two women had exchanged a searching look—one of those scrutinising glances lasting but a second, yet complete and definite. As for the men, they behaved admirably. Fauchery and Daguenet, perfectly impassive, recognised no one. The marquis, anxious, and afraid of some practical joke on the part of the girls, had plucked a blade of grass, which he was twirling between his fingers. Vandeuvres alone, being at some little distance from the others, just moved his eyelids by way of recognising Lucy, who smiled at him as she passed.

“Take care!” murmured M. Venot, standing behind Count Muffat.

The latter, greatly agitated, followed with his eyes, that vision of Nana, flying away from him. His wife had turned slowly round and was examining him. Then he looked on the ground, as though to lose sight of the galloping horses, who were carrying off his flesh and his heart. His agony almost made him cry aloud. He had understood all on seeing George lost amongst Nana’s skirts. A child! It broke his heart to think that she should have preferred a child to himself! He did not mind about Steiner, but a child!

Madame Hugon, however, had not recognised George at first. On passing over the bridge he would have jumped into the stream, had not Nana’s knees held him. So, white as snow and cold as ice, he sat immovable, looking at no one. Perhaps they would not see him.

“Ah! good heavens!” suddenly exclaimed the old lady, “it is George who is with her.”

The carriages had passed in the midst of that uneasiness felt by persons who knew each other, and who yet did not bow. This delicate encounter, so rapid in reality, had seemed to last an eternity. And, now, the wheels were gaily carrying away into the sunny country those vehicles full of girls, with the wind blowing in their faces. Ribbons were flying about, the laughter commenced again, and jokes passed from one to another; whilst some stood up and gazed back at those highly respectable people, who had remained stationary at the side of the road, looking very much put out. Nana, as she glanced round, could see them hesitate, then retrace their steps without crossing the bridge at all. Madame Hugon was leaning on Count Muffat’s arm, silent, and so sad that no one dared console her.

“I say,” cried Nana to Lucy, who was leaning out of the carriage in front of hers, “did you notice Fauchery, my dear? Didn’t he look a dirty rip? He shall smart for it. And Paul, a chap to whom I have been so kind—not the least sign. Really, they are polite!”

Then she had a frightful quarrel with Steiner, who considered that the gentlemen had behaved admirably. So they were not even worth the raising of a hat? The first blackguard they met might insult them? Thanks, he also was a nice fellow, he was; it only wanted that. One should always bow to a woman.

“Who was the tall one?” called out Lucy, in the midst of the noise caused by the wheels.

“Countess Muffat,” answered Steiner.

“There now! I thought as much!” exclaimed Nana. “Well, my boy, in spite of her being a countess, I can tell you she’s not worth much. Yes, yes, not worth much. You know I’ve an eye for that sort of thing, I have. Now, I know her as if I had made her, your countess. Will you bet that that viper Fauchery isn’t her lover? I tell you that he is her lover! One can easily see that, between women.”

Steiner shrugged his shoulders. Ever since the previous evening his bad temper had been on the increase. He had received some letters which would oblige him to leave on the following morning. Then, too, it wasn’t very amusing to come to the country just to sleep on the drawing-room sofa.

“And this poor baby!” resumed Nana, suddenly become tender-hearted, as she caught sight of George, who was sitting pale and erect, and scarce able to breathe.

“Do you think that mamma recognised me?” he at length stammered forth.

“Oh! most decidedly. She cried out. But it’s all my fault. He didn’t want to come, and I made him. Listen to me, Zizi; shall I write to your mamma? She looks a very kind woman. I will tell her that I never saw you before, and that it was Steiner who brought you to me to-day for the first time.”

“No, no, don’t write,” said George, anxiously. “I will arrange all myself. And, if they make a fuss, I’ll come away and never go back again.”

But he continued very dejected and absorbed in reflection, trying to invent some lies for the evening. The five vehicles continued along the straight and interminable level road, bordered on either side by some very fine trees. The country around was enveloped in a kind of silvery grey vapour. The ladies continued to pass remarks from one carriage to another, from behind the backs of the coachmen, who laughed to themselves at the strange company they were driving; now and again one of the women would stand up to obtain a better view, and, becoming interested, would remain in that position, leaning against her neighbour’s shoulder, until a sudden jerk of the vehicle brought her to her seat again. Caroline Héquet was having some very important conversation with Labordette; they both came to the conclusion that Nana would be wanting to part with her country house in less than three months, and Caroline instructed Labordette to acquire it for her, under the rose, for a very moderate sum. In the carriage preceding them, La Faloise, very spooney, and unable to reach Gaga’s apoplectic neck, was depositing kisses on that part of her dress which, almost bursting with the tightness of the fit, covered her backbone; whilst Amélie, sitting bolt upright on the little seat in front, sick of being there with empty arms watching her mother being kissed, kept telling them to leave off. In the next carriage, Mignon, with the view of surprising Lucy, made his sons recite one of La Fontaine’s fables—Henri especially was prodigious, he could say it right off without a single mistake. But Maria Blond, at the head of the procession, was beginning to feel awfully bored, tired of poking fun at that fool of a Tatan Néné, who believed her when she said that the Paris dairymen made their eggs out of gum and saffron. It was too far, would they never arrive? And the question, passed from carriage to carriage, at length reached Nana, who, after consulting her coachman, stood up and called to the others:

“In about a quarter of an hour. You see that church over there, behind the trees—” Then, after a slight pause, she resumed: “You don’t know, it seems that the owner of the Château de Chamont is an old flame of the time of the first Napoleon. And oh! such a fast one, so Joseph told me, and he heard it when he was at the bishop’s. She used to lead a life such as one couldn’t lead now. However, she has become awfully religious.”

“What’s her name?” asked Lucy.

“Madame d’Anglars.”

“Irma d’Anglars!—I knew her!” cried Gaga.

From each vehicle there issued a string of exclamations, which were lost in the more rapid trot of the horses. Heads were stretched out to catch a glimpse of Gaga. Maria Blond and Tatan Néné turned round and knelt on the seat, holding on to the closed hood at the back of the carriage, and questions were asked, and malicious observations, tempered with a secret admiration, were made. Gaga had known her, that filled them all with respect for this far away past.

“I was very young, then,” resumed Gaga. “All the same, I recollect I used to see her pass. It was said that she was something disgusting at home, but in her carriage she was magnificent! And the most incredible stories circulated—such filthy goings-on that it’s a marvel she ever lived through them. It doesn’t surprise me that she has a château. She could clear a man out as easy as breathe on him. Ah! Irma d’Anglars is still among the living! Well, my little friends, she must be about ninety now.”

On hearing this, the ladies all became very serious. Ninety years old! There wasn’t one of them, as Lucy said, who had a chance of living to that age. They were all roarers. Nana, too, declared that she didn’t want to make old bones; it was funnier not to. They had now almost reached their destination, and their conversation was interrupted by the drivers cracking their whips as they urged on the tired horses. Yet, in the midst of the noise, Lucy, jumping to another subject, continued talking, and pressed Nana to leave with the others on the morrow. The Exhibition was about to close, and the ladies were anxious to get back to Paris, where the season so far had surpassed their wildest hopes. But Nana was obstinate. She detested Paris, she wouldn’t go back there for a long time to come.

“Eh, ducky! we’ll stay where we are?” said she, squeezing George’s knees, notwithstanding Steiner’s presence.

The carriages suddenly stopped, and the party, very much surprised, alighted in a desert-looking place at the foot of a hill. One of the drivers had to point out to them with his whip the ruins of the ancient abbey of Chamont, almost hidden by the trees. It was a great deception. The ladies were disgusted. All they could see were a few heaps of rubbish, over-grown with brambles, and a half tumble-down tower. Really it was ridiculous to come two leagues to see that. The driver then pointed out to them the chateau, the park belonging to which was close to the abbey, and he told them they could reach it by following a little path that skirted the walls. They could take a look round whilst the carriages waited for them in the village. It was a most delightful walk. The party agreed to try it.

“The deuce! Irma must be very well off!” said Gaga, stopping in front of some iron railings at one of the corners of the park.

They all gazed in silence at the handsome trees and shrubs on the other side of the railings. Then they continued along the narrow path, following the walls of the park, every now and then raising their eyes to admire the trees, the branches of which spread out overhead in an impenetrable green canopy. After three minutes’ walk they came to some more iron railings, which enabled them to see an extensive lawn, over which two venerable oak trees cast a welcome shade; and three minutes’ further walking brought them to some more railings, which exhibited to them an immense avenue, a passage of darkness, at the end of which the sun looked like a bright star. An admiration, at first silent, gradually burst forth into exclamations. They had, at the outset, indulged themselves in chaff, feeling rather envious, however, all the time; but this, decidedly, was too much for them. What a wonder she was, that Irma! Such things as this gave one a grand idea of woman! The trees still continued as plentiful as ever, and at every few steps there were patches of ivy trailing over the wall, with the tops of summer-houses just visible, and screens of poplars succeeding to compact groups of elms and aspens. Would it never come to an end! The ladies, tired of continually following this wall, without catching a glimpse, at every opening, of anything except masses of foliage, were anxious to see the château. They clutched the railings with both hands, pressing their faces against the iron. A feeling of respect took possession of them, while thus kept at a distance, and dreaming of the château hidden in this immensity of trees. After walking quickly for some time, they began to feel really fatigued. Yet there were no signs of the wall coming to an end. At every turn of the path ladies, despairing of ever reaching the end, talked of going back; but the more the length of the walk tired them, the more respectful they became, impressed as they were at every step by the calm and regal majesty of the domain.

“It’s positively sickening!” muttered Caroline Héquet between her teeth.

Nana checked her with a shrug of the shoulders. For some little while she had not said a word, but walked along, looking slightly pale and very serious. Suddenly, at another turn, they found themselves close to the village; the wall abruptly terminated, and the château appeared at the end of a spacious courtyard. They all stopped, lost in admiration of the lofty grandeur of the broad entrance-steps, of the twenty windows that studded the facade, of the extent of the three wings, the brick walls of which were framed with stone-work. Henri IV. had inhabited that historic building, in which his bedroom still existed, with its enormous bed hung with Genoa velvet. Nana, deeply affected, sighed like a child.

“My goodness!” murmured she very softly to herself.

But a violent emotion seized upon all. Gaga, on a sudden, stated that it was Irma in person who was standing in front of the church. She recognised her perfectly; always upright, the minx, in spite of her age, and just the same eyes when she assumed her grand air. Vespers were just over. For an instant madame stood within the porch. She wore a silk dress of the colour of faded leaves, and looked very tall and simple, with the venerable countenance of an old marchioness who had escaped the horrors of the Revolution. In her right hand a bulky prayer-book shone in the sunshine; and she slowly traversed the open space before the church, followed by a footman in livery, who walked at a respectful distance behind her. The congregation was streaming out; all the Chamont folks bowed low as she passed them; an old man kissed her hand; a woman fell on her knees before her. She was a mighty queen, loaded with years and honours. She ascended the steps of her château and disappeared.

“That’s what one comes to when one is careful,” said Mignon, in a convinced manner, while looking at his sons as though giving them a lesson.

Then every one said something. Labordette thought her wonderfully preserved; Maria Blond called her an offensive name; whilst Lucy became quite angry, saying that one should ever respect old age—in short, they all agreed that she was something stupendous, and then rejoined the carriages. From Chamont to La Mignotte, Nana did not utter a word. She turned round twice to take a look at the château. Lulled by the noise of the wheels, she no longer felt Steiner by her side; she no longer beheld George seated in front of her. A vision rose from out of the twilight—madame still passing slowly along, with the majesty of a mighty queen, loaded with years and honours.

That evening George returned to Les Fondettes in time for dinner. Nana, more and more absent-minded and peculiar, had sent him home to ask his mamma’s forgiveness. It was indispensable, said she severely, seized with a sudden respect for family duties. She even made him promise not to return to her that night. She was tired, and he would only be doing his duty in showing obedience. George, very much bored by this moral lesson, appeared before his mother with a heavy heart, and hanging down his head. Luckily for him, his brother Philippe had arrived—a big soldier and a very lively fellow. This dispelled the storm that was impending. Madame Hugon contented herself with looking at him with her eyes full of tears; whilst Philippe, informed of what had occurred, threatened to bring him back by the ears if he ever returned to that woman. George, greatly relieved, slyly thought of a plan by which he might escape the next afternoon towards two o’clock, and arrange about his meetings with Nana.

During dinner, the guests at Les Fondettes seemed labouring under a certain embarrassment. Vandeuvres had announced his departure; he wished to take Lucy back to Paris, amused at the idea of carrying off this woman, whom he had known for ten years past without having felt the slightest desire for her person before. The Marquis de Chouard, his nose buried in his plate, was thinking of Gaga’s young lady; he recollected having nursed her on his knee. How quickly children grew up! She was really becoming quite a plump little thing. Count Muffat, his face very red, remained absorbed in reflection. He continually glanced at George. When dinner was over he went and shut himself in his room, complaining of a slight touch of fever. M. Venot had hastened after him; and upstairs there was quite a scene between them. The count had flung himself on the bed and was stifling his nervous sobs in the pillow, whilst M. Venot, in a mild tone of voice, called him his brother, and exhorted him to implore the divine mercy. He heard not, he had a rattling in his throat. All on a sudden, he jumped from the bed, and stammered,

“I am going—I can no longer resist—”

“Very well,” said the old man, “I will go with you.”

As they went out, two shadows were disappearing in the depths of a side-walk. Every night, Fauchery and Countess Sabine now let Daguenet help Estelle make the tea. On the high road, the count walked at such a pace, that his companion was obliged to run to keep up with him. Though short of breath, the old man did not cease offering him the best possible arguments against succumbing to the temptations of the flesh. The other never opened his mouth, but hurried onwards in the darkness. When he reached La Mignotte, however, he said,

“I can fight no more—leave me.”

“Then, God’s will be done,” murmured M. Venot. “He takes all means to assure his triumph. Your sin will become one of his weapons.”

At La Mignotte, a good deal of quarrelling went on during the repast. Nana had received a letter from Bordenave, in which he advised her to take plenty of rest, but in a way that showed he did not care a pin about her: little Violaine was called twice before the curtain every night. And, as Mignon again pressed her to leave with them all on the morrow, Nana, exasperated, declared that she was not in want of advice from any one. Besides, whilst at table, she had behaved in a most ridiculously strait-laced manner. Madame Lerat, having made use of a rather objectionable word, she cried out—hang it all! she would allow nobody, not even her aunt, to utter filthy expressions in her presence. Then influenced by an idiotic attack of respectability, she bored everyone with her goody-goody sentiments, with her ideas of giving little Louis a religious education, and a whole course of good behaviour for herself. As they all laughed, she made use of some very profound words, wagging her head like a worthy woman thoroughly convinced, saying that order alone led to fortune, and that she didn’t want to die on a dung heap. The other women, having had enough of it, protested. Was it possible! some one must have changed Nana! But she, immovable in her seat, relapsed into her reverie, her eyes gazing into space, and conjuring up a vision of a Nana very rich and very much bowed to.

When Muffat arrived, they were all just going up to bed. Labordette noticed him in the garden, and, understanding his object, rendered him the service of getting Steiner out of the way, and of leading him by the hand along the dark passage to the door of Nana’s room. Labordette, for this sort of jobs, had a most gentlemanly way, was very dexterous, and seemed delighted at conducing to another’s happiness. Nana showed no surprise, but merely felt bored by Muffat’s persistence. However, one must have an eye for business during life! It was stupid to love, it led to nothing. Besides, she had scruples on account of Zizi’s youth: she had really behaved disgracefully. Well! she would return to the right path, and go for the old fellow.

“Zoé,” said she to the maid who was only too delighted to leave the country, “pack the trunks the first thing to-morrow morning. We are going back to Paris.”

And she allowed Muffat to remain, though it caused her no pleasure.