Part 15

And it was decided that they would go the next day, a Sunday, to visit the ruins of the old abbey of Chamont, which lay seven kilometres away. Five carriages would come from Orléans to fetch the party after luncheon, and bring them back to dine at the Mignotte, about seven o'clock. It would be charming.

That evening, as usual, Count Muffat went up the slope to ring at the gate. But the blaze of the windows, the loud laughter, astonished him. He understood, on recognising Mignon's voice, and went away, enraged by this new obstacle, driven to the limit, resolved on some act of violence. Georges, who was passing through a small door for which he had a key, went quietly up to Nana's room, skirting along the walls. Only, he had to wait for her until past midnight. She appeared at last, very tipsy, more motherly even than on other nights; when she drank, it made her so loving that she became clinging. Thus, she absolutely insisted that he accompany her to the abbey of Chamont. He resisted, afraid of being seen; if he were spotted in a carriage with her, it would make an abominable scandal. But she burst into tears, seized with the noisy despair of a sacrificed woman, and he consoled her, he formally promised her to be of the party.

—So you do love me, do you? she stammered. Say again that you love me... Eh? my dear wolf, if I died, would you be very sorry?

At the Fondettes, the neighbourhood of Nana was throwing the house into turmoil. Every morning, during luncheon, good Madame Hugon would come back, in spite of herself, to this woman, telling what her gardener reported to her, experiencing that sort of obsession which girls exercise upon the most worthy bourgeoises. She, so tolerant, was revolted, exasperated, with the vague presentiment of a misfortune, which frightened her in the evening, as if she had known of the presence in the region of some beast escaped from a menagerie. Also she sought quarrels with her guests, accusing them all of prowling around the Mignotte. They had seen Count de Vandeuvres laughing on a high road with a lady in her hair; but he defended himself, he disowned Nana, for it was indeed Lucy who accompanied him, to tell him how she had just thrown her third prince out of doors. Marquis de Chouard also went out every day; only, he spoke of a prescription from his doctor. As for Daguenet and Fauchery, Madame Hugon was being unjust. The first especially did not leave the Fondettes, renouncing the plan of renewing his suit, showing a respectful eagerness near Estelle. Fauchery remained likewise with the ladies Muffat. Only once had he met Mignon in a path, arms full of flowers, giving his sons a botany lesson. The two men had shaken hands, exchanging news of Rose; she was perfectly well, they had each received a letter that morning, in which she begged them to enjoy the good air a while longer. Of all her guests, the old lady therefore spared only Count Muffat and Georges; the count, who pretended to have grave business in Orléans, could not run after the slut; and as for Georges, the poor child ended by worrying her, for he was taken every evening with frightful migraines, which forced him to go to bed at daybreak.

Meanwhile, Fauchery had made himself the regular cavalier of Countess Sabine, while the count absented himself every afternoon. When they went to the end of the park, he carried her folding-chair and her parasol. Besides, he amused her with his bizarre wit as a little journalist, he pushed her into one of those sudden intimacies which the country permits. She seemed to give herself up at once, awakened to a new youth, in the company of this boy whose noisy mockery seemed unable to compromise her. And, sometimes, when they found themselves alone a second, behind a bush, their eyes would seek each other; they would stop in the middle of a laugh, suddenly serious, with a dark glance, as if they had penetrated and understood one another.

On Friday, at luncheon, a new cover had to be laid. M. Théophile Venot, whom Madame Hugon remembered having invited last winter at the Muffats', had just arrived. He rounded his back, he affected the good-nature of an insignificant man, without seeming to notice the anxious deference shown him. When he had succeeded in making himself forgotten, while crunching little bits of sugar at dessert, he examined Daguenet who was passing strawberries to Estelle, he listened to Fauchery whose anecdote was greatly amusing the countess. As soon as he was looked at, he smiled with his tranquil air. On leaving the table, he took the count's arm, he led him into the park. It was known that he kept a great influence over him, since the death of his mother. Singular stories circulated regarding the domination exercised in the house by the old attorney. Fauchery, whom his arrival no doubt embarrassed, explained to Georges and Daguenet the sources of his fortune, a big lawsuit with which the Jesuits had charged him, long ago; and, according to him, this goodman, a terrible gentleman with his mild and fleshy look, was now mixed up in all the priestly intrigues. The two young men began to jest, for they found an idiotic air in the little old man. The idea of an unknown Venot, a gigantic Venot, fiddling for the clergy, seemed to them a comic fancy. But they fell silent when Count Muffat reappeared, still on the goodman's arm, very pale, his eyes red as if he had wept.

—Surely, they must have talked of hell, murmured Fauchery mockingly.

Countess Sabine, who had heard, slowly turned her head, and their eyes met, with one of those long glances with which they prudently sounded each other, before risking themselves.

Usually, after luncheon, they went to the end of the parterre, onto a terrace overlooking the plain. On Sunday, the afternoon was of an exquisite mildness. They had feared rain, about ten o'clock; but the sky, without clearing, had as it were melted into a milky mist, into a luminous dust, all blonde with sun. Then Madame Hugon proposed to go down by the small door of the terrace, and take a walk on foot, in the direction of Gumières, as far as the Choue; she loved walking, still very brisk for her sixty years. Everyone, besides, swore that no carriage was needed. They thus arrived, somewhat straggling, at the wooden bridge thrown over the river. Fauchery and Daguenet were ahead, with the ladies Muffat; the count and the marquis came next, at the sides of Madame Hugon; while Vandeuvres, his manner correct and bored on this high road, marched at the rear, smoking a cigar. M. Venot, slackening or quickening his pace, went from one group to another, with a smile, as if to hear everything.

—And that poor Georges who is in Orléans! repeated Madame Hugon. He wanted to consult old Doctor Tavernier about his migraines, who no longer goes out... Yes, you were not up, he left before seven o'clock. It will distract him anyway.

But she broke off to say:

—Why! what are they stopping on the bridge for?

Indeed, the ladies, Daguenet, Fauchery, stood motionless at the head of the bridge, with a hesitant air, as if an obstacle had worried them. The road was free, however.

—Go on! cried the count.

They did not move, looking at something coming which the others could not yet see. The road turned, bordered by a thick curtain of poplars. Meanwhile, a dull rumour grew, sounds of wheels mingled with laughter, with cracks of the whip. And, suddenly, five carriages appeared, in file, full to breaking the axles, brightened by a racket of light dresses, blue and pink.

—What is that? said Madame Hugon surprised.

Then she felt it, she guessed it, revolted by such an invasion of her road.

—Oh! that woman! she murmured. Walk on, do walk on. Don't look as if...

But it was too late. The five carriages, which were taking Nana and her party to the ruins of Chamont, were entering onto the little wooden bridge. Fauchery, Daguenet, the ladies Muffat had to step back, while Madame Hugon and the others also stopped, strung out along the path. It was a superb procession. Laughter had ceased in the carriages; faces turned, curiously. They eyed one another, in the midst of a silence broken only by the cadenced trot of the horses. In the first carriage, Maria Blond and Tatan Néné, thrown back like duchesses, their skirts ballooning above the wheels, had disdainful glances for these honest women who were on foot. Then Gaga filled a whole seat, drowning beside her the Faloise, of whom only the anxious nose was visible. Next came Caroline Héquet with Labordette, Lucy Stewart with Mignon and his sons, and right at the end, occupying a victoria in company with Steiner, Nana, who had before her, on a folding seat, that poor darling Zizi, thrusting his knees into hers.

—It is the last one, is it not? the countess quietly asked Fauchery, affecting not to recognise Nana.

The wheel of the victoria almost grazed her, without her stepping back a pace. The two women had exchanged a deep glance, one of those examinations of a second, complete and definitive. As for the men, they were quite composed. Fauchery and Daguenet, very cold, recognised no one. The marquis, anxious, fearing a prank from these ladies, had broken a blade of grass which he rolled between his fingers. Only, Vandeuvres, who had stayed a little apart, saluted Lucy with his eyelids, who smiled at him as she passed.

—Take care! M. Venot had murmured, standing behind Count Muffat.

The latter, overwhelmed, followed with his eyes that vision of Nana, running before him. His wife, slowly, had turned and was examining him. Then he looked at the ground, as if to escape the gallop of the horses which were carrying off his flesh and his heart. He would have cried out in suffering, he had just understood, on seeing Georges lost in Nana's skirts. A child! it broke him that she had preferred a child to him! Steiner was indifferent to him, but that child!

Meanwhile, Madame Hugon had not recognised Georges at first. He, in crossing the bridge, would have jumped into the river, if Nana's knees had not held him. Then, chilled, white as linen, he held himself very stiff. He looked at no one. Perhaps he would not be seen.

—Ah! my God! said the old lady suddenly, it is Georges who is with her!

The carriages had passed amid that discomfort of people who knew one another and did not salute. This delicate encounter, so rapid, seemed to have lasted for ever. And now, the wheels were carrying more gaily into the blonde country these cartloads of girls whipped by the open air; bits of bright toilettes fluttered, laughter began again, with jests and glances thrown backwards, upon those respectable folk left at the edge of the road, looking vexed. Nana, on turning round, could see the walkers hesitate, then retrace their steps, without crossing the bridge. Madame Hugon leaned on Count Muffat's arm, mute, and so sad, that no one dared console her.

—I say, Nana cried to Lucy who was leaning out of the neighbouring carriage, did you see Fauchery, my dear? Hasn't he a nasty face! He will pay me for that... And Paul, a boy I was so good to! Not even a sign... Truly, they are polite!

And she made a frightful scene with Steiner, who found the attitude of those gentlemen very proper. Then they did not even deserve a hat-touch? the first blackguard going might insult them? Thank you, he was clean too, it was complete. One should always salute a woman.

—Who is the tall one? Lucy asked at full voice, in the noise of the wheels.

—It is Countess Muffat, Steiner answered.

—Well! I suspected it, said Nana. Eh well! my dear, fine countess as she is, she is a good-for-nothing... Yes, yes, a good-for-nothing... You know, I have the eye, me. Now, I know her as if I had made her, your countess... Will you bet she is sleeping with that viper Fauchery?... I tell you she is! One can tell that well, between women.

Steiner shrugged his shoulders. Since the day before, his ill humour had been growing; he had received letters which obliged him to leave the next morning; then, it was not funny, to come to the country to sleep on the drawing-room sofa.

—And that poor baby! Nana resumed, suddenly tender, on noticing Georges's pallor, who had remained stiff, his breath cut short.

—Do you think mamma recognised me? he stammered at last.

—Oh! that, for sure. She cried out... Also, it is my fault. He did not want to be in it. I forced him... Listen, Zizi, do you want me to write to your mamma? She seems very respectable. I will tell her I had never seen you, that it is Steiner who brought you today for the first time.

—No, no, do not write, said Georges very uneasy. I will arrange that myself... And then, if they annoy me, I won't come home anymore.

But he remained absorbed, seeking lies for the evening. The five carriages rolled across the plain, on an interminable straight road, bordered with fine trees. The air, of a silvery grey, bathed the country. These ladies continued to shout phrases to one another, from one carriage to another, behind the coachmen's backs, who laughed at this queer world; at moments, one of them stood up, to see, then persisted, leaning on a neighbour's shoulders, until a jolt threw her back on the seat. Caroline Héquet, however, was in deep conversation with Labordette; both agreed that Nana would sell her country place within three months, and Caroline charged Labordette to buy it back for her secretly, for next to nothing. In front of them, the Faloise, very much in love, unable to reach Gaga's apoplectic nape, kissed a corner of her spine, on her dress, whose stretched fabric cracked; while, stiff at the edge of the folding seat, Amélie told them to finish, annoyed at being there, arms dangling, watching her mother kissed. In the other carriage, Mignon, to astonish Lucy, demanded a fable of La Fontaine from his sons; Henri especially was prodigious, he let it out in one breath, without stopping. But Maria Blond, at the head, ended by being bored, weary of posing this log of Tatan Néné, to whom she recounted that the Parisian creamery women made eggs with glue and saffron. It was too far, would they not arrive? And the question, passed from carriage to carriage, came to Nana, who, after questioning her coachman, stood up to cry:

—Another quarter of an hour yet... You see that church over there, behind the trees...

Then she resumed:

—You do not know, it seems the owner of the château of Chamont is an old-timer from Napoleon's time... Oh! a reveller, Joseph told me, who heard it from the bishop's servants, a reveller such as there are no more. Now, she is into the priests.

—Her name? Lucy asked.

—Madame d'Anglars.

—Irma d'Anglars, I knew her! Gaga cried.

It was, along the carriages, a series of exclamations, carried away in the quicker trot of the horses. Heads stretched out to see Gaga; Maria Blond and Tatan Néné turned round, on their knees on the seat, fists in the thrown-back hood; and questions crossed, with spiteful words, tempered by a muffled admiration. Gaga had known her, that struck them all with respect for that distant past.

—To be sure, I was young, Gaga resumed. Never mind, I remember, I saw her pass... They said she was disgusting at home. But, in her carriage, she had a style! And astounding stories, filth and cunning to die of... It does not surprise me, if she has a château. She would clean a man out, just by blowing on him... Ah! Irma d'Anglars still lives! Well! my little pussies, she must be going on ninety.

Thereupon, these ladies became serious. Ninety! There was not one of them, as Lucy cried, fit to live that long. All ailing. Besides, Nana declared she did not want to make old bones; it was gayer. They were arriving, the conversation was cut short by the whip-cracks of the coachmen, who launched their beasts. Yet, amid the noise, Lucy continued, jumping to another subject, pressing Nana to leave with the band, the next day. The Exhibition was going to close, these ladies were to return to Paris, where the season surpassed their hopes. But Nana was obstinate. She abominated Paris, she would not set foot there again soon.

—Isn't that so? darling, we stay, she said pressing Georges's knees, without troubling about Steiner.

The carriages had abruptly stopped. Surprised, the party got down in a deserted spot, at the foot of a slope. A coachman had to show them with the tip of his whip the ruins of the old abbey of Chamont, lost among the trees. It was a great disappointment. The ladies found it idiotic: a few heaps of rubble, covered with brambles, with half a fallen tower. Truly, it was not worth coming two leagues. The coachman then pointed out the château, whose park began near the abbey, advising them to take a small path and follow the walls; they would make the tour, while the carriages went to wait for them on the village square. It was a charming walk. The party accepted.

—Damn! Irma does well for herself! said Gaga stopping before a gate, in the corner of the park, on the road.

All, silently, looked at the enormous thicket which blocked the gate. Then, in the small path, they followed the park wall, raising their eyes to admire the trees, whose high branches overflowed in a thick vault of greenery. At the end of three minutes, they found themselves before a new gate; that one showed a wide lawn where two century-old oaks made spreads of shadow; and, three minutes further, another gate still unrolled before them an immense avenue, a corridor of darkness, at the end of which the sun placed the vivid spot of a star. A wonder, at first silent, little by little drew exclamations from them. They had indeed tried to mock, with a touch of envy; but, decidedly, it seized them. What strength, that Irma! That gave a bold idea of woman! The trees continued, and constantly came again mantles of ivy flowing on the wall, pavilion roofs which rose above, curtains of poplars which succeeded deep masses of elms and aspens. Would it never end? These ladies would have liked to see the dwelling, weary of always turning, without perceiving anything else, at each opening, than depths of foliage. They took the bars with both hands, pressing their faces against the iron. A feeling of respect invaded them, thus held at a distance, dreaming of the invisible château in that immensity. Soon, never walking, they felt a fatigue. And the wall did not cease; at every bend of the deserted little path, the same line of grey stones stretched out. Some, despairing of reaching the end, spoke of going back. But, the more the walk broke them, the more respectful they became, filled at each step with the tranquil and royal majesty of that domain.

—It is silly, at last! said Caroline Héquet, teeth clenched.

Nana silenced her with a shrug. She, for a moment, no longer spoke, a little pale, very serious. Suddenly, at the last turn, as they came out onto the village square, the wall ceased, the château appeared, at the end of a court of honour. All stopped, seized by the haughty grandeur of the wide perrons, the twenty façade windows, the spread of the three wings whose bricks were framed in stone courses. Henri IV had lived in that historical château, where his room was preserved, with the great bed hung with Genoa velvet. Nana, suffocated, gave a little child's sigh.

—Damn name! she murmured very low, to herself.

But there was a strong emotion. Gaga, suddenly, said it was she, Irma in person, who stood over there, before the church. She recognised her well; still straight, the minx, despite her age, and still her eyes, when she took her air. They were coming out of vespers. The lady, an instant, remained under the porch. She was in dead-leaf silk, very simple and very tall, with the venerable face of an old marquise, escaped from the horrors of the Revolution. In her right hand, a big prayer-book shone in the sun. And, slowly, she crossed the square, followed by a lackey in livery, who marched fifteen paces behind. The church was emptying, all the people of Chamont bowed deeply to her; an old man kissed her hand, a woman wanted to kneel. She was a powerful queen, fulfilled with years and honours. She mounted the perron, she disappeared.

—There is where one arrives, when one has order, said Mignon with a convinced air, looking at his sons, as if to give them a lesson.

Then each said their piece. Labordette found her prodigiously preserved. Maria Blond let fall a filth, while Lucy grew angry, declaring that old age must be honoured. All, in sum, agreed that she was unheard-of. They got back into the carriages. From Chamont to the Mignotte, Nana remained silent. She had turned twice to throw a glance at the château. Rocked by the noise of the wheels, she no longer felt Steiner at her side, she no longer saw Georges before her. A vision rose from the twilight, the lady always passed, with her majesty of a powerful queen, fulfilled with years and honours.

In the evening, Georges returned to the Fondettes for dinner. Nana, more and more distracted and strange, had sent him to ask pardon of his mamma; it was owed, she said with severity, taken with a sudden respect for the family. She even made him swear not to come back to sleep that night; she was tired, and he would only fulfil his duty, in showing obedience. Georges, very annoyed by this morality, appeared before his mother, heart heavy, head low. Happily, his brother Philippe had arrived, a great devil of a soldier very gay; that cut short the scene he dreaded. Madame Hugon contented herself with looking at him with eyes full of tears, while Philippe, informed, threatened to go fetch him by the ears, if he went back to that woman. Georges, relieved, slyly calculated that he would slip away the next day, about two o'clock, to settle his appointments with Nana.

Meanwhile, at dinner, the guests of the Fondettes seemed embarrassed. Vandeuvres had announced his departure; he wanted to take Lucy back to Paris, finding it funny to carry off this girl whom he had seen for ten years, without a desire. Marquis de Chouard, nose in his plate, thought of the demoiselle of Gaga; he remembered having bounced Lili on his knees; how children grew! she was becoming very fat, that little one. But Count Muffat especially remained silent, absorbed, face red. He had cast a long glance at Georges. On leaving the table, he went up to lock himself in, speaking of a little fever. Behind him, M. Venot had hurried; and there was, upstairs, a scene, the count fallen on the bed, stifling in his pillow nervous sobs, while M. Venot, in a soft voice, called him his brother and advised him to implore divine mercy. He did not hear him, he was gasping. Suddenly, he sprang from the bed, he stammered:

—I am going there... I can no more...

—Very well, said the old man, I am coming with you.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”