Four Short Stories By Emile Zola. Emile Zola
before she sat down to her game it would be very nice of her if she would write her a letter. It bored Nana to write letters; besides, she was not sure of her spelling, while her old friend could turn out the most feeling epistles. She ran to fetch some good note paper in her bedroom. An inkstand consisting of a bottle of ink worth about three sous stood untidily on one of the pieces of furniture, with a pen deep in rust beside it. The letter was for Daguenet. Mme. Maloir herself wrote in her bold English hand, “My darling little man,” and then she told him not to come tomorrow because “that could not be” but hastened to add that “she was with him in thought at every moment of the day, whether she were near or far away.”
“And I end with 'a thousand kisses,'” she murmured.
Mme. Lerat had shown her approval of each phrase with an emphatic nod. Her eyes were sparkling; she loved to find herself in the midst of love affairs. Nay, she was seized with a desire to add some words of her own and, assuming a tender look and cooing like a dove, she suggested:
“A thousand kisses on thy beautiful eyes.”
“That's the thing: 'a thousand kisses on thy beautiful eyes'!” Nana repeated, while the two old ladies assumed a beatified expression.
Zoe was rung for and told to take the letter down to a commissionaire. She had just been talking with the theater messenger, who had brought her mistress the day's playbill and rehearsal arrangements, which he had forgotten in the morning. Nana had this individual ushered in and got him to take the latter to Daguenet on his return. Then she put questions to him. Oh yes! M. Bordenave was very pleased; people had already taken seats for a week to come; Madame had no idea of the number of people who had been asking her address since morning. When the man had taken his departure Nana announced that at most she would only be out half an hour. If there were any visitors Zoe would make them wait. As she spoke the electric bell sounded. It was a creditor in the shape of the man of whom she jobbed her carriages. He had settled himself on the bench in the anteroom, and the fellow was free to twiddle his thumbs till night—there wasn't the least hurry now.
“Come, buck up!” said Nana, still torpid with laziness and yawning and stretching afresh. “I ought to be there now!”
Yet she did not budge but kept watching the play of her aunt, who had just announced four aces. Chin on hand, she grew quite engrossed in it but gave a violent start on hearing three o'clock strike.
“Good God!” she cried roughly.
Then Mme. Maloir, who was counting the tricks she had won with her tens and aces, said cheeringly to her in her soft voice:
“It would be better, dearie, to give up your expedition at once.”
“No, be quick about it,” said Mme. Lerat, shuffling the cards. “I shall take the half-past four o'clock train if you're back here with the money before four o'clock.”
“Oh, there'll be no time lost,” she murmured.
Ten minutes after Zoe helped her on with a dress and a hat. It didn't matter much if she were badly turned out. Just as she was about to go downstairs there was a new ring at the bell. This time it was the charcoal dealer. Very well, he might keep the livery-stable keeper company—it would amuse the fellows. Only, as she dreaded a scene, she crossed the kitchen and made her escape by the back stairs. She often went that way and in return had only to lift up her flounces.
“When one is a good mother anything's excusable,” said Mme. Maloir sententiously when left alone with Mme. Lerat.
“Four kings,” replied this lady, whom the play greatly excited.
And they both plunged into an interminable game.
The table had not been cleared. The smell of lunch and the cigarette smoke filled the room with an ambient, steamy vapor. The two ladies had again set to work dipping lumps of sugar in brandy and sucking the same. For twenty minutes at least they played and sucked simultaneously when, the electric bell having rung a third time, Zoe bustled into the room and roughly disturbed them, just as if they had been her own friends.
“Look here, that's another ring. You can't stay where you are. If many folks call I must have the whole flat. Now off you go, off you go!”
Mme. Maloir was for finishing the game, but Zoe looked as if she was going to pounce down on the cards, and so she decided to carry them off without in any way altering their positions, while Mme. Lerat undertook the removal of the brandy bottle, the glasses and the sugar. Then they both scudded to the kitchen, where they installed themselves at the table in an empty space between the dishcloths, which were spread out to dry, and the bowl still full of dishwater.
“We said it was three hundred and forty. It's your turn.”
“I play hearts.”
When Zoe returned she found them once again absorbed. After a silence, as Mme. Lerat was shuffling, Mme. Maloir asked who it was.
“Oh, nobody to speak of,” replied the servant carelessly; “a slip of a lad! I wanted to send him away again, but he's such a pretty boy with never a hair on his chin and blue eyes and a girl's face! So I told him to wait after all. He's got an enormous bouquet in his hand, which he never once consented to put down. One would like to catch him one—a brat like that who ought to be at school still!”
Mme. Lerat went to fetch a water bottle to mix herself some brandy and water, the lumps of sugar having rendered her thirsty. Zoe muttered something to the effect that she really didn't mind if she drank something too. Her mouth, she averred, was as bitter as gall.
“So you put him—?” continued Mme. Maloir.
“Oh yes, I put him in the closet at the end of the room, the little unfurnished one. There's only one of my lady's trunks there and a table. It's there I stow the lubbers.”
And she was putting plenty of sugar in her grog when the electric bell made her jump. Oh, drat it all! Wouldn't they let her have a drink in peace? If they were to have a peal of bells things promised well. Nevertheless, she ran off to open the door. Returning presently, she saw Mme. Maloir questioning her with a glance.
“It's nothing,” she said, “only a bouquet.”
All three refreshed themselves, nodding to each other in token of salutation. Then while Zoe was at length busy clearing the table, bringing the plates out one by one and putting them in the sink, two other rings followed close upon one another. But they weren't serious, for while keeping the kitchen informed of what was going on she twice repeated her disdainful expression:
“Nothing, only a bouquet.”
Notwithstanding which, the old ladies laughed between two of their tricks when they heard her describe the looks of the creditors in the anteroom after the flowers had arrived. Madame would find her bouquets on her toilet table. What a pity it was they cost such a lot and that you could only get ten sous for them! Oh dear, yes, plenty of money was wasted!
“For my part,” said Mme. Maloir, “I should be quite content if every day of my life I got what the men in Paris had spent on flowers for the women.”
“Now, you know, you're not hard to please,” murmured Mme. Lerat. “Why, one would have only just enough to buy thread with. Four queens, my dear.”
It was ten minutes to four. Zoe was astonished, could not understand why her mistress was out so long. Ordinarily when Madame found herself obliged to go out in the afternoons she got it over in double-quick time. But Mme. Maloir declared that one didn't always manage things as one wished. Truly, life was beset with obstacles, averred Mme. Lerat. The best course was to wait. If her niece was long in coming it was because her occupations detained her; wasn't it so? Besides, they weren't overworked—it was comfortable in the kitchen. And as hearts were out, Mme. Lerat threw down diamonds.
The bell began again, and when Zoe reappeared she was burning with excitement.
“My children, it's fat Steiner!” she said in the doorway, lowering her voice as she spoke. “I've put