Four Short Stories By Emile Zola. Emile Zola
Lerat, who knew no such gentleman. Was he getting ready to give Rose Mignon the go-by? Zoe shook her head; she knew a thing or two. But once more she had to go and open the door.
“Here's bothers!” she murmured when she came back. “It's the nigger! 'Twasn't any good telling him that my lady's gone out, and so he's settled himself in the bedroom. We only expected him this evening.”
At a quarter past four Nana was not in yet. What could she be after? It was silly of her! Two other bouquets were brought round, and Zoe, growing bored looked to see if there were any coffee left. Yes, the ladies would willingly finish off the coffee; it would waken them up. Sitting hunched up on their chairs, they were beginning to fall asleep through dint of constantly taking their cards between their fingers with the accustomed movement. The half-hour sounded. Something must decidedly have happened to Madame. And they began whispering to each other.
Suddenly Mme. Maloir forgot herself and in a ringing voice announced: “I've the five hundred! Trumps, Major Quint!”
“Oh, do be quiet!” said Zoe angrily. “What will all those gentlemen think?” And in the silence which ensued and amid the whispered muttering of the two old women at strife over their game, the sound of rapid footsteps ascended from the back stairs. It was Nana at last. Before she had opened the door her breathlessness became audible. She bounced abruptly in, looking very red in the face. Her skirt, the string of which must have been broken, was trailing over the stairs, and her flounces had just been dipped in a puddle of something unpleasant which had oozed out on the landing of the first floor, where the servant girl was a regular slut.
“Here you are! It's lucky!” said Mme. Lerat, pursing up her lips, for she was still vexed at Mme. Maloir's “five hundred.” “You may flatter yourself at the way you keep folks waiting.”
“Madame isn't reasonable; indeed, she isn't!” added Zoe.
Nana was already harassed, and these reproaches exasperated her. Was that the way people received her after the worry she had gone through?
“Will you blooming well leave me alone, eh?” she cried.
“Hush, ma'am, there are people in there,” said the maid.
Then in lower tones the young Woman stuttered breathlessly:
“D'you suppose I've been having a good time? Why, there was no end to it. I should have liked to see you there! I was boiling with rage! I felt inclined to smack somebody. And never a cab to come home in! Luckily it's only a step from here, but never mind that; I did just run home.”
“You have the money?” asked the aunt.
“Dear, dear! That question!” rejoined Nana.
She had sat herself down on a chair close up against the stove, for her legs had failed her after so much running, and without stopping to take breath she drew from behind her stays an envelope in which there were four hundred-franc notes. They were visible through a large rent she had torn with savage fingers in order to be sure of the contents. The three women round about her stared fixedly at the envelope, a big, crumpled, dirty receptacle, as it lay clasped in her small gloved hands.
It was too late now—Mme. Lerat would not go to Rambouillet till tomorrow, and Nana entered into long explanations.
“There's company waiting for you,” the lady's maid repeated.
But Nana grew excited again. The company might wait: she'd go to them all in good time when she'd finished. And as her aunt began putting her hand out for the money:
“Ah no! Not all of it,” she said. “Three hundred francs for the nurse, fifty for your journey and expenses, that's three hundred and fifty. Fifty francs I keep.”
The big difficulty was how to find change. There were not ten francs in the house. But they did not even address themselves to Mme. Maloir who, never having more than a six-sou omnibus fair upon her, was listening in quite a disinterested manner. At length Zoe went out of the room, remarking that she would go and look in her box, and she brought back a hundred francs in hundred-sou pieces. They were counted out on a corner of the table, and Mme. Lerat took her departure at once after having promised to bring Louiset back with her the following day.
“You say there's company there?” continued Nana, still sitting on the chair and resting herself.
“Yes, madame, three people.”
And Zoe mentioned the banker first. Nana made a face. Did that man Steiner think she was going to let herself be bored because he had thrown her a bouquet yesterday evening?
“Besides, I've had enough of it,” she declared. “I shan't receive today. Go and say you don't expect me now.”
“Madame will think the matter over; Madame will receive Monsieur Steiner,” murmured Zoe gravely, without budging from her place. She was annoyed to see her mistress on the verge of committing another foolish mistake.
Then she mentioned the Walachian, who ought by now to find time hanging heavy on his hands in the bedroom. Whereupon Nana grew furious and more obstinate than ever. No, she would see nobody, nobody! Who'd sent her such a blooming leech of a man?
“Chuck 'em all out! I—I'm going to play a game of bezique with Madame Maloir. I prefer doing that.”
The bell interrupted her remarks. That was the last straw. Another of the beggars yet! She forbade Zoe to go and open the door, but the latter had left the kitchen without listening to her, and when she reappeared she brought back a couple of cards and said authoritatively:
“I told them that Madame was receiving visitors. The gentlemen are in the drawing room.”
Nana had sprung up, raging, but the names of the Marquis de Chouard and of Count Muffat de Beuville, which were inscribed on the cards, calmed her down. For a moment or two she remained silent.
“Who are they?” she asked at last. “You know them?”
“I know the old fellow,” replied Zoe, discreetly pursing up her lips.
And her mistress continuing to question her with her eyes, she added simply:
“I've seen him somewhere.”
This remark seemed to decide the young woman. Regretfully she left the kitchen, that asylum of steaming warmth, where you could talk and take your ease amid the pleasant fumes of the coffeepot which was being kept warm over a handful of glowing embers. She left Mme. Maloir behind her. That lady was now busy reading her fortune by the cards; she had never yet taken her hat off, but now in order to be more at her ease she undid the strings and threw them back over her shoulders.
In the dressing room, where Zoe rapidly helped her on with a tea gown, Nana revenged herself for the way in which they were all boring her by muttering quiet curses upon the male sex. These big words caused the lady's maid not a little distress, for she saw with pain that her mistress was not rising superior to her origin as quickly as she could have desired. She even made bold to beg Madame to calm herself.
“You bet,” was Nana's crude answer; “they're swine; they glory in that sort of thing.”
Nevertheless, she assumed her princesslike manner, as she was wont to call it. But just when she was turning to go into the drawing room Zoe held her back and herself introduced the Marquis de Chouard and the Count Muffat into the dressing room. It was much better so.
“I regret having kept you waiting, gentlemen,” said the young woman with studied politeness.
The two men bowed and seated themselves. A blind of embroidered tulle kept the little room in twilight. It was the most elegant chamber in the flat, for it was hung with some light-colored fabric and contained a cheval glass framed in inlaid wood, a lounge chair and some others with arms and blue satin upholsteries. On the toilet table the bouquets—roses, lilacs and hyacinths—appeared like a very ruin of flowers. Their perfume was strong and penetrating, while through the dampish air of the place, which was full of the spoiled exhalations