Nana - Émile Zola (good books to read for young adults txt) 📗

her, as though he

were a child whose affectionate advances were fatiguing, and once

more she told him that he ought to take his departure. He did not

gainsay her. All in good time—he would go all in good time!

 

But a bird raised its song and again was silent. It was a robin in

an elder tree below the window.

 

“Wait one moment,” whispered Georges; “the lamp’s frightening him.

I’ll put it out.”

 

And when he came back and took her waist again he added:

 

“We’ll relight it in a minute.”

 

Then as she listened to the robin and the boy pressed against her

side, Nana remembered. Ah yes, it was in novels that she had got to

know all this! In other days she would have given her heart to have

a full moon and robins and a lad dying of love for her. Great God,

she could have cried, so good and charming did it all seem to her!

Beyond a doubt she had been born to live honestly! So she pushed

Georges away again, and he grew yet bolder.

 

“No, let me be. I don’t care about it. It would be very wicked at

your age. Now listen—I’ll always be your mamma.”

 

A sudden feeling of shame overcame her. She was blushing

exceedingly, and yet not a soul could see her. The room behind them

was full of black night while the country stretched before them in

silence and lifeless solitude. Never had she known such a sense of

shame before. Little by little she felt her power of resistance

ebbing away, and that despite her embarrassed efforts to the

contrary. That disguise of his, that woman’s shift and that

dressing jacket set her laughing again. It was as though a girl

friend were teasing her.

 

“Oh, it’s not right; it’s not right!” she stammered after a last

effort.

 

And with that, in face of the lovely night, she sank like a young

virgin into the arms of this mere child. The house slept.

 

Next morning at Les Fondettes, when the bell rang for lunch, the

dining-room table was no longer too big for the company. Fauchery

and Daguenet had been driven up together in one carriage, and after

them another had arrived with the Count de Vandeuvres, who had

followed by the next train. Georges was the last to come

downstairs. He was looking a little pale, and his eyes were sunken,

but in answer to questions he said that he was much better, though

he was still somewhat shaken by the violence of the attack. Mme

Hugon looked into his eyes with an anxious smile and adjusted his

hair which had been carelessly combed that morning, but he drew back

as though embarrassed by this tender little action. During the meal

she chaffed Vandeuvres very pleasantly and declared that she had

expected him for five years past.

 

“Well, here you are at last! How have you managed it?”

 

Vandeuvres took her remarks with equal pleasantry. He told her that

he had lost a fabulous sum of money at the club yesterday and

thereupon had come away with the intention of ending up in the

country.

 

“‘Pon my word, yes, if only you can find me an heiress in these

rustic parts! There must be delightful women hereabouts.”

 

The old lady rendered equal thanks to Daguenet and Fauchery for

having been so good as to accept her son’s invitation, and then to

her great and joyful surprise she saw the Marquis de Chouard enter

the room. A third carriage had brought him.

 

“Dear me, you’ve made this your trysting place today!” she cried.

“You’ve passed word round! But what’s happening? For years I’ve

never succeeded in bringing you all together, and now you all drop

in at once. Oh, I certainly don’t complain.”

 

Another place was laid. Fauchery found himself next the Countess

Sabine, whose liveliness and gaiety surprised him when he remembered

her drooping, languid state in the austere Rue Miromesnil drawing

room. Daguenet, on the other hand, who was seated on Estelle’s

left, seemed slightly put out by his propinquity to that tall,

silent girl. The angularity of her elbows was disagreeable to him.

Muffat and Chouard had exchanged a sly glance while Vandeuvres

continued joking about his coming marriage.

 

“Talking of ladies,” Mme Hugon ended by saying, “I have a new

neighbor whom you probably know.”

 

And she mentioned Nana. Vandeuvres affected the liveliest

astonishment.

 

“Well, that is strange! Nana’s property near here!”

 

Fauchery and Daguenet indulged in a similar demonstration while the

Marquis de Chouard discussed the breast of a chicken without

appearing to comprehend their meaning. Not one of the men had

smiled.

 

“Certainly,” continued the old lady, “and the person in question

arrived at La Mignotte yesterday evening, as I was saying she would.

I got my information from the gardener this morning.”

 

At these words the gentlemen could not conceal their very real

surprise. They all looked up. Eh? What? Nana had come down! But

they were only expecting her next day; they were privately under the

impression that they would arrive before her! Georges alone sat

looking at his glass with drooped eyelids and a tired expression.

Ever since the beginning of lunch he had seemed to be sleeping with

open eyes and a vague smile on his lips.

 

“Are you still in pain, my Zizi?” asked his mother, who had been

gazing at him throughout the meal.

 

He started and blushed as he said that he was very well now, but the

wornout insatiate expression of a girl who has danced too much did

not fade from his face.

 

“What’s the matter with your neck?” resumed Mme Hugon in an alarmed

tone. “It’s all red.”

 

He was embarrassed and stammered. He did not know—he had nothing

the matter with his neck. Then drawing his shirt collar up:

 

“Ah yes, some insect stung me there!”

 

The Marquis de Chouard had cast a sidelong glance at the little red

place. Muffat, too, looked at Georges. The company was finishing

lunch and planning various excursions. Fauchery was growing

increasingly excited with the Countess Sabine’s laughter. As he was

passing her a dish of fruit their hands touched, and for one second

she looked at him with eyes so full of dark meaning that he once

more thought of the secret which had been communicated to him one

evening after an uproarious dinner. Then, too, she was no longer

the same woman. Something was more pronounced than of old, and her

gray foulard gown which fitted loosely over her shoulders added a

touch of license to her delicate, high-strung elegance.

 

When they rose from the table Daguenet remained behind with Fauchery

in order to impart to him the following crude witticism about

Estelle: “A nice broomstick that to shove into a man’s hands!”

Nevertheless, he grew serious when the journalist told him the

amount she was worth in the way of dowry.

 

“Four hundred thousand francs.”

 

“And the mother?” queried Fauchery. “She’s all right, eh?”

 

“Oh, SHE’LL work the oracle! But it’s no go, my dear man!”

 

“Bah! How are we to know? We must wait and see.”

 

It was impossible to go out that day, for the rain was still falling

in heavy showers. Georges had made haste to disappear from the

scene and had double-locked his door. These gentlemen avoided

mutual explanations, though they were none of them deceived as to

the reasons which had brought them together. Vandeuvres, who had

had a very bad time at play, had really conceived the notion of

lying fallow for a season, and he was counting on Nana’s presence in

the neighborhood as a safeguard against excessive boredom. Fauchery

had taken advantage of the holidays granted him by Rose, who just

then was extremely busy. He was thinking of discussing a second

notice with Nana, in case country air should render them

reciprocally affectionate. Daguenet, who had been just a little

sulky with her since Steiner had come upon the scene, was dreaming

of resuming the old connection or at least of snatching some

delightful opportunities if occasion offered. As to the Marquis de

Chouard, he was watching for times and seasons. But among all those

men who were busy following in the tracks of Venus—a Venus with the

rouge scarce washed from her cheeks—Muffat was at once the most

ardent and the most tortured by the novel sensations of desire and

fear and anger warring in his anguished members. A formal promise

had been made him; Nana was awaiting him. Why then had she taken

her departure two days sooner than was expected?

 

He resolved to betake himself to La Mignotte after dinner that same

evening. At night as the count was leaving the park Georges fled

forth after him. He left him to follow the road to Gumieres,

crossed the Choue, rushed into Nana’s presence, breathless, furious

and with tears in his eyes. Ah yes, he understood everything! That

old fellow now on his way to her was coming to keep an appointment!

Nana was dumfounded by this ebullition of jealousy, and, greatly

moved by the way things were turning out, she took him in her arms

and comforted him to the best of her ability. Oh no, he was quite

beside the mark; she was expecting no one. If the gentleman came it

would not be her fault. What a great ninny that Zizi was to be

taking on so about nothing at all! By her child’s soul she swore

she loved nobody except her own Georges. And with that she kissed

him and wiped away his tears.

 

“Now just listen! You’ll see that it’s all for your sake,” she went

on when he had grown somewhat calmer. “Steiner has arrived—he’s up

above there now. You know, duckie, I can’t turn HIM out of doors.”

 

“Yes, I know; I’m not talking of HIM,” whispered the boy.

 

“Very well then, I’ve stuck him into the room at the end. I said I

was out of sorts. He’s unpacking his trunk. Since nobody’s seen

you, be quick and run up and hide in my room and wait for me.

 

Georges sprang at her and threw his arms round her neck. It was

true after all! She loved him a little! So they would put the lamp

out as they did yesterday and be in the dark till daytime! Then as

the front-door bell sounded he quietly slipped away. Upstairs in

the bedroom he at once took off his shoes so as not to make any

noise and straightway crouched down behind a curtain and waited

soberly.

 

Nana welcomed Count Muffat, who, though still shaken with passion,

was now somewhat embarrassed. She had pledged her word to him and

would even have liked to keep it since he struck her as a serious,

practicable lover. But truly, who could have foreseen all that

happened yesterday? There was the voyage and the house she had

never set eyes on before and the arrival of the drenched little

lover! How sweet it had all seemed to her, and how delightful it

would be to continue in it! So much the worse for the gentleman!

For three months past she had been keeping him dangling after her

while she affected conventionality in order the further to inflame

him. Well, well! He would have to continue dangling, and if he

didn’t like that he could go! She would sooner have thrown up

everything than have played false to Georges.

 

The count had seated himself with all the ceremonious politeness

becoming a country caller. Only his hands were trembling slightly.

Lust, which Nana’s skillful tactics daily exasperated, had at last

wrought terrible havoc in that