Part 14

He had simply put on a large half-sleeved nightshirt, an embroidered pair of trousers, and the dressing gown, a long batiste gown trimmed with lace. In that, he seemed like a girl, with his two bare arms of a fair young man, with his chestnut hair still damp, rolling on his neck.

--Why, he's as slim as I am! said Nana, taking him by the waist. Zoé, do come and see how well it suits him... Eh! it's made for him; except the bodice, which is too wide... He hasn't as much as I have, poor Zizi.

--Ah! sure enough, I do lack a little of that, murmured Georges, smiling.

All three laughed. Nana had begun buttoning the gown from top to bottom, so that he might be decent. She turned him like a doll, gave him little slaps, puffed out the skirt behind. And she questioned him, asking if he was comfortable, if he was warm. Why, yes! he was comfortable. Nothing kept one warmer than a woman's nightshirt; if he could, he would always have worn one. He rolled about in it, happy in the fineness of the linen, in this loose garment that smelled sweet, and where he thought he found again a little of Nana's warm life.

Meanwhile, Zoé had taken the soaked clothes down to the kitchen, to dry them as quickly as possible before a fire of vine branches. Then Georges, stretched out in an armchair, dared to make a confession.

--I say, aren't you going to eat tonight?... As for me, I'm dying of hunger. I haven't had dinner.

Nana grew angry. What a great silly, to slip away from his mother's with an empty stomach, to go and fling himself into a hole of water! But she too had her stomach down at her heels. Of course they must eat! Only, they would eat what they could. And they improvised, on a guéridon rolled before the fire, the funniest of dinners. Zoé ran to the gardener, who had made a cabbage soup, in case madame should not dine at Orléans before coming; madame had forgotten to mark in her letter what he was to prepare. Fortunately, the cellar was well stocked. So they had cabbage soup, with a piece of bacon. Then, rummaging in her bag, Nana found a heap of things, provisions she had stuffed in there by way of precaution: a little pâté of foie gras, a bag of sweets, some oranges. The two ate like ogres, with the appetite of twenty years, like comrades who did not stand on ceremony. Nana called Georges: "My dear"; it seemed to her more familiar and more tender. At dessert, so as not to disturb Zoé, they emptied with the same spoon, each in turn, a pot of jam found on top of a cupboard.

--Ah! my dear, said Nana, pushing back the guéridon, it's ten years since I dined so well!

Yet it was getting late, she wanted to send the boy away, for fear of bringing him to grief. He repeated that he had time. Besides, the clothes were drying badly; Zoé declared it would take at least another hour; and as she was dropping with sleep, tired from the journey, they sent her to bed. Then they remained alone, in the silent house.

It was a very sweet evening. The fire was dying into embers, one stifled a little in the large blue room, where Zoé had made the bed before going up. Nana, overcome by the great heat, rose to open the window for an instant. But she gave a slight cry.

--My God! how beautiful it is!... Look, my dear.

Georges had come; and, as if the sill had seemed too low to him, he took Nana by the waist, he leaned his head on her shoulder. The weather had suddenly changed, a pure sky hollowed itself out, while a round moon lit the country with a sheet of gold. It was a sovereign peace, a widening of the valley opening upon the immensity of the plain, where the trees made islets of shadow, in the motionless lake of lights. And Nana grew tender, felt herself become little again. Surely, she had dreamed of nights like this, at an epoch of her life she no longer remembered. All that had happened to her since she got down from the train, this country so vast, these grasses that smelled strong, this house, these vegetables, all upset her, to the point that she believed she had left Paris twenty years ago. Her existence of yesterday was far away. She experienced things she did not know. Georges, however, was placing on her neck little caressing kisses, which increased her trouble. With a hesitant hand, she pushed him away like a child whose tenderness wearies, and she repeated that he must go. He did not say no; presently he would go, presently.

But a bird sang, then was silent. It was a robin, in an elder tree, below the window.

--Wait, murmured Georges, the lamp frightens it, I'm going to put it out.

And, when he came to take her again by the waist, he added:

--We'll light it again in a moment.

Then, listening to the robin, while the boy pressed against her, Nana remembered. Yes, it was in ballads that she had seen all that. Formerly, she would have given her heart, to have the moon thus, and robins, and a little man full of love. My God! she would have wept, so good and sweet did it seem to her! Surely she was born to live virtuously. She pushed away Georges, who was growing bolder.

--No, leave me, I don't want to... It would be very naughty, at your age... Listen, I'll remain your mamma.

Modesties came over her. She was all red. No one could see her, however; the room was filling with night behind them, while the country unrolled the silence and immobility of its solitude. Never had she felt such shame. Little by little, she felt herself without strength, despite her embarrassment and her revolts. This disguise, this woman's nightshirt and gown, still made her laugh. It was like a friend teasing her.

--Oh! it's wrong, it's wrong, she stammered, after a last effort.

And she fell like a virgin into the arms of that child, facing the beautiful night. The house slept.

The next day, at the Fondettes, when the bell rang for lunch, the dining-room table was no longer too large. A first carriage had brought Fauchery and Daguenet together; and, behind them, arrived from the next train, the Count de Vandeuvres had just come. Georges came down last, a little pale, with shadowed eyes. He answered that he was much better, but that he was still dizzy from the violence of the attack. Madame Hugon, who looked into his eyes with an anxious smile, smoothed his badly combed hair that morning, while he drew back, as if embarrassed by this caress. At table, she joked affectionately with Vandeuvres, whom she said she had been expecting for five years.

--At last, here you are... How did you manage it?

Vandeuvres took it in a joking tone. He related that he had lost a crazy amount of money the evening before, at the club. So he had left, with the idea of making an end of it in the country.

--Upon my word, yes, if you find me an heiress in the district... There must be delicious women here.

The old lady also thanked Daguenet and Fauchery for having kindly accepted her son's invitation, when she felt a joyful surprise, seeing enter the Marquis de Chouard, whom a third carriage brought.

--Ah! this, she cried, is it a rendezvous, then, this morning? You arranged it among yourselves. What's going on? Here are years since I could gather you, and you all drop in at once... Oh! I'm not complaining.

A place was added. Fauchery found himself near Countess Sabine, who surprised him by her lively gaiety, she whom he had seen so languid, in the severe salon of the rue Miromesnil. Daguenet, seated at Estelle's left, seemed on the contrary uneasy at the neighborhood of this tall silent girl, whose pointed elbows were disagreeable to him. Muffat and Chouard had exchanged a sly glance. Meanwhile, Vandeuvres pushed the joke of his approaching marriage.

--By the way, madame, said Madame Hugon at last, I have a new neighbor you must know.

And she named Nana. Vandeuvres affected the liveliest astonishment.

--What! Nana's property is near here!

Fauchery and Daguenet, likewise, cried out. The Marquis de Chouard was eating a white morsel of fowl, seeming not to understand. Not one of the men had smiled.

--No doubt, resumed the old lady, and even this person arrived last evening at the Mignotte, as I was saying. I learned it this morning from the gardener.

Thereupon, these gentlemen could not hide a very real surprise. All raised their heads. What! Nana had arrived! But they did not expect her until the next day, they thought to precede her! Alone, Georges kept his lashes lowered, looking at his glass, with a weary air. Since the beginning of lunch, he seemed to sleep, eyes open, vaguely smiling.

--Do you still suffer, my Zizi? asked his mother, whose gaze never left him.

He started, he answered blushing that it was quite well; and he kept his drowsy and still greedy look of a girl who has danced too much.

--What have you there, on your neck? resumed Madame Hugon, frightened. It's all red.

He grew confused and stammered. He did not know, he had nothing on his neck. Then, pulling up his shirt collar:

--Ah! yes, it's a bug that bit me.

The Marquis de Chouard had cast an oblique glance at the little redness. Muffat, too, looked at Georges. They finished lunch, settling plans for an excursion. Fauchery was more and more moved by Countess Sabine's laughs. As he passed her a plate of fruit, their hands touched; and she looked at him for a second with so black a glance, that he thought again of that confidence received one evening of drunkenness. Then, she was no longer the same, something was more marked in her, her grey foulard dress, loose on her shoulders, put an abandon in her fine and nervous elegance.

On leaving table, Daguenet stayed behind with Fauchery, to joke crudely about Estelle, "a pretty broom to stick in a man's arms". Yet he became serious, when the journalist told him the figure of the dowry: four hundred thousand francs.

--And the mother? asked Fauchery. Eh! very chic!

--Oh! that one, as much as she wanted!... But no way, my good fellow!

--Bah! who knows!... We should see.

They were not to go out that day. The rain was still falling in showers. Georges had hastened to disappear, locked up double in his room. These gentlemen avoided explaining themselves among them, all while not being dupes of the reasons that reunited them. Vandeuvres, very badly treated by play, had really had the idea of putting himself in the green; and he counted on the neighborhood of a friend to keep him from being too bored. Fauchery, profiting by the holidays Rose gave him, very busy then, proposed to treat of a second chronicle with Nana, in case the country softened them both. Daguenet, who had been sulking her since Steiner, thought to renew, to pick up some sweetnesses, if occasion presented. As for the Marquis de Chouard, he watched his hour. But, among these men following to the trace Venus, badly washed of her rouge, Muffat was the most ardent, the most tormented by new sensations of desire, of fear and of anger, which fought in his upheaved being. He, had a formal promise, Nana awaited him. Why then had she left two days earlier? He resolved to go to the Mignotte, that very evening, after dinner.

In the evening, as the count left the park, Georges fled behind him. He let him follow the road to Gumières, crossed the Choue, fell into Nana's, breathless, enraged, with tears filling his eyes. Ah! he had well understood, that old man on the road was coming for a rendezvous. Nana, stupefied by this scene of jealousy, quite moved to see how things turned, took him in her arms, consoled him as best she could. But no, he was mistaken, she awaited no one; if the gentleman came, it was not her fault. This Zizi, what a great silly, to cause himself so much bile for nothing! On the head of her child, she loved only her Georges. And she kissed him, and she wiped his tears.

--Listen, you shall see that all is for you, she resumed, when he was calmer. Steiner has arrived, he is up there... That one, my dear, you know I cannot put him to the door.

--Yes, I know, I'm not speaking of that one, murmured the boy.

--Well! I've stuck him in the back room, telling him I'm ill. He's unpacking his trunk... Since no one noticed you, go up quickly hide in my room, and wait for me.

Georges jumped at her neck. So it was true, she loved him a little! Then, like yesterday? they would put out the lamp, they would remain in the dark until daylight. Then, at a ring, he slipped away lightly. Upstairs, in the room, he at once took off his shoes so as not to make noise; then, he hid on the floor, behind a curtain, waiting with a good air.

Nana received Count Muffat, still shaken, taken with a certain embarrassment. She had promised him, she would even have wished to keep her word, because this man seemed serious to her. But, in truth, who would have suspected the stories of the eve? this journey, this house she did not know, this boy who arrived all wet, and how good that had seemed to her, and how sweet it would be to continue! Too bad for the gentleman! For three months, she had made him pose, playing the proper woman, so as to light him up the more. Well! he would pose again, he would go away, if it did not please him. She would sooner give up all, than deceive Georges.

The count had seated himself with the ceremonious air of a country neighbor on a visit. His hands alone had a trembling. In this sanguine nature, remained virgin, desire, whipped by Nana's knowing tactic, determined in the long run terrible ravages. This so grave man, this chamberlain who crossed with a dignified step the salons of the Tuileries, bit his pillow at night and sobbed, exasperated, ever evoking the same sensual image. But, this time, he was resolved to end it. Along the road, in the great peace of the twilight, he had dreamed of brutalities. And, right away, after the first words, he wanted to seize Nana, with both hands.

--No, no, take care, she said simply, without getting angry, with a smile.

He caught her again, teeth clenched; then, as she struggled, he was gross, he crudely reminded her that he came to sleep with her. She, always smiling, embarrassed however, held his hands. She tutoyed him, so as to soften her refusal.

--Come, dear, behave yourself... Truly, I can't... Steiner is up there.

But he was mad; never had she seen a man in such a state. Fear took her; she put her fingers on his mouth, to stifle the cries he let escape; and, lowering her voice, she begged him to be silent, to let her go. Steiner was coming down. It was stupid, at last! When Steiner entered, he heard Nana, languidly stretched at the back of her armchair, who said:

--I, I adore the country...

She turned her head, interrupting herself.

--Dear, it's Count Muffat who saw a light, walking about, and who came in to wish us welcome.

The two men shook hands. Muffat remained an instant without speaking, his face in the shadow. Steiner seemed sulky. They talked of Paris; business was not going well, there had been abominations at the Bourse. At the end of a quarter of an hour, Muffat took leave. And, as the young woman accompanied him, he asked, without obtaining it, a rendezvous for the following night. Steiner, almost at once, went up to bed, grumbling against the eternal aches of girls. At last, the two old men were sent packing! When she could rejoin him, Nana found Georges still very good, behind his curtain. The room was black. He had made her fall on the floor, seated near him, and they played together at rolling, stopping, stifling their laughs under kisses, when they struck with their bare feet against a piece of furniture. Far off, on the road to Gumières, Count Muffat went slowly away, his hat in his hand, bathing his burning head in the coolness and silence of the night.

Then, the following days, life was adorable. Nana, in the arms of the boy, found again her fifteen years. It was, under the caress of this childhood, a flower of love reflowering in her, in the habit and disgust of man. There came to her sudden reddening, a emotion that left her shivering, a need to laugh and to weep, all a worried virginity, crossed by desires, of which she remained ashamed. Never had she felt that. The country steeped her in tenderness. Being little, long she had wished to live in a meadow, with a goat, because one day, on the slope of the fortifications, she had seen a goat that bleated, tied to a stake. Now, this property, all this land of hers, swelled her with an overflowing emotion, so much were her ambitions surpassed. She was brought back to the new sensations of a little girl; and in the evening, when, dizzy from her day lived in the open air, intoxicated by the smell of leaves, she went up to rejoin her Zizi, hidden behind the curtain, it seemed to her an escapade of a schoolgirl on holiday, a love with a little cousin she was to marry, trembling at the least noise, dreading that her parents might hear her, tasting the delicious gropings and voluptuous frights of a first fault.

Nana had, at this moment, fancies of a sentimental girl. She looked at the moon for hours. One night, she wanted to go down to the garden with Georges, when the whole house was asleep; and they walked under the trees, arms at the waist, and they went to lie in the grass, where the dew soaked them. Another time, in the room, after a silence, she sobbed on the boy's neck, stammering that she was afraid to die. She often sang half-voice a ballad of Madame Lerat's, full of flowers and birds, growing tender to tears, interrupting herself to take Georges in a passionate embrace, demanding of him oaths of eternal love. At last, she was silly, as she recognized herself, when both, become comrades again, smoked cigarettes at the edge of the bed, legs bare, tapping the wood with their heels.

But what finished melting the young woman's heart, was the arrival of Louiset. Her crisis of maternity had the violence of a fit of madness. She carried her son into the sun to watch him wriggle; she rolled with him on the grass, after dressing him like a young prince. Right away she wanted him to sleep near her, in the next room, where Madame Lerat, very impressed by the country, snored, as soon as she was on her back. And Louiset did not do the least harm to Zizi, on the contrary. She said she had two children, she confounded them in the same caprice of tenderness. At night, more than ten times, she let go Zizi to see if Louiset had good breathing; but, when she came back, she took up her Zizi with a remainder of her maternal caresses, she played the mamma; while he, vicious, liking well to be little in the arms of this big girl, let himself be rocked like a baby one puts to sleep. It was so good, that, charmed by this existence, she seriously proposed to him never to leave the country again. They would send everyone away, they would live alone, him, her and the child. And they made a thousand plans, until dawn, without hearing Madame Lerat, who snored with clenched fists, weary from having gathered wild flowers.

This beautiful life lasted nearly a week. Count Muffat came every evening, and went back, face swollen, hands burning. One evening, he was not even received, Steiner having had to make a journey to Paris; he was told madame was unwell. Nana rebelled more each day, at the idea of deceiving Georges. A boy so innocent, and who believed in her! She would have looked upon herself as the last of the last. Then, it would have disgusted her. Zoé, who assisted, mute and disdainful, at this adventure, thought madame was growing silly.

The sixth day, all at once, a band of visitors fell into this idyll. Nana had invited a heap of people, thinking no one would come. So, one afternoon, she remained stupefied and very annoyed, seeing a full omnibus stop before the gate of the Mignotte.

--It's us! cried Mignon who, first, got down from the carriage, whence he drew his sons, Henri and Charles.

Labordette appeared next, giving hand to an endless procession of ladies: Lucy Stewart, Caroline Héquet, Tatan Néné, Maria Blond. Nana hoped it was finished, when La Faloise jumped from the step, to receive in his trembling arms Gaga and her daughter Amélie. That made eleven persons. The installation was laborious. There were, at the Mignotte, five guest rooms, one of which was already occupied by Madame Lerat and Louiset. They gave the largest to the Gaga household and La Faloise, deciding that Amélie should sleep on a strap bed, beside, in the dressing room. Mignon and his two sons had the third room; Labordette, the fourth. There remained a room which they transformed into a dormitory, with four beds for Lucy, Caroline, Tatan and Maria. As for Steiner, he would sleep on the salon sofa. At the end of an hour, when all her world was settled, Nana, at first furious, was enchanted to play the chatelaine. These ladies complimented her on the Mignotte, a stunning property, my dear! Then, they brought her a breath of Paris air, the gossip of this last week, all talking at once, with laughs, exclamations, slaps. By the way, and Bordenave! what had he said of her flit? But not much. After bawling that he would have her brought back by the gendarmes, he had simply doubled her, in the evening; even the double, little Violaine, was obtaining, in the _Blonde Venus_, a very pretty success. This news made Nana serious.

It was only four o'clock. They spoke of taking a turn.

--You don't know, said Nana, I was off to gather potatoes, when you arrived.

Then all wanted to go gather potatoes, without even changing clothes. It was a party. The gardener and two helpers were already in the field, at the bottom of the property. These ladies got on their knees, digging the earth with their rings, pushing cries, when they uncovered a very large potato. It seemed to them so amusing! But Tatan Néné triumphed; she had gathered so many in her youth, that she forgot herself and gave advice to the others, treating them as fools. The gentlemen worked more softly. Mignon, air of a brave man, profited by his stay in the country to complete the education of his sons: he talked to them of Parmentier.

In the evening, the dinner was of a mad gaiety. They devoured. Nana, very launched, grappled with her maître d'hôtel, a boy who had served at the bishopric of Orléans. At coffee, the ladies smoked. A noise of a wedding at full blast came out the windows, died away far off in the serenity of the evening; while the peasants, lingering between the hedges, turning their heads, looked at the flaming house.

--Ah! it's annoying that you leave the day after tomorrow, said Nana. Anyway, we're going to organize something at least.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”