Part 4

-- From a gentleman, she answered.

-- Well! said the aunt again, they used to say you'd had it from a mason who beat you... Anyway, you'll tell me about that one day; you know how discreet I am!... Go on, I'll take care of him, as if he were the son of a prince.

She had given up the florist trade and lived on her savings, six hundred francs of income saved penny by penny. Nana promised to rent her a nice little place; moreover, she would give her a hundred francs a month. At this sum, the aunt forgot herself, told her niece to squeeze the gulls since she had them; she was talking about men. The two embraced again. But Nana, in the midst of her joy, as she brought the conversation back to Louiset, seemed to darken at a sudden memory.

-- How annoying, I have to go out at three o'clock! she murmured. What a chore!

Just then Zoé came to say that madame was served. They passed into the dining room, where an elderly lady was already seated at the table. She had not removed her hat, dressed in a dark gown of indistinct color, between flea and goose dung. Nana did not seem surprised to see her there. She simply asked her why she had not come into the bedroom.

-- I heard voices, the old woman answered. I thought you had company.

Madame Maloir, with a respectable air, having manners, served as an old friend to Nana; she kept her company and went about with her. The presence of Madame Lerat at first seemed to worry her. Then, when she learned it was an aunt, she looked at her with a gentle air, with a pale smile. Meanwhile, Nana, who said she had her stomach in her heels, fell upon some radishes, which she crunched without bread. Madame Lerat, grown ceremonious, would not have radishes; that gave you phlegm. Then, when Zoé had brought some chops, Nana picked at the meat, contenting herself with sucking the bone. From time to time, she examined out of the corner of her eye the hat of her old friend.

-- Is it the new hat I gave you? she finally said.

-- Yes, I rearranged it, murmured Madame Maloir, her mouth full.

The hat was extravagant, flared over the forehead, plumed with a tall feather. Madame Maloir had the mania of redoing all her hats; she alone knew what suited her, and in a trice she made a cap out of the most elegant headgear. Nana, who had precisely bought her this hat so as no longer to blush for her when she took her out, nearly lost her temper. She cried:

-- Take it off, at least!

-- No, thank you, the old woman answered with dignity, it doesn't bother me, I eat perfectly well with it on.

After the chops, there were cauliflowers and the remains of a cold chicken. But Nana, at each dish, made a little grimace, hesitating, sniffing, leaving everything on her plate. She finished her lunch with some jam.

Dessert dragged on. Zoé did not clear the table to serve the coffee. These ladies had simply pushed their plates away. They were still talking about the fine evening of the night before. Nana was rolling cigarettes, which she smoked rocking back and forth, thrown back in her chair. And, as Zoé had remained there, leaning against the sideboard, her hands hanging, they came to listen to her story. She said she was the daughter of a midwife from Bercy, who had failed in business. At first, she had entered the service of a dentist, then of an insurance broker; but that did not suit her; and she went on to enumerate, with a touch of pride, the ladies with whom she had served as chambermaid. Zoé spoke of those ladies as a person who had held their fortune in her hand. Surely more than one, without her, would have had some queer tales. Thus, one day when Madame Blanche was with Monsieur Octave, along comes the old man; what does Zoé do? she pretends to fall as she crosses the salon, the old man rushes, runs to fetch her a glass of water in the kitchen, and Monsieur Octave escapes.

-- Ah! that's a good one, I must say! said Nana, who listened with a tender interest, a sort of submissive admiration.

-- Me, I've had many misfortunes..., began Madame Lerat.

And, drawing near Madame Maloir, she confided in her. Both took to eating duck. But Madame Maloir received others' secrets, without ever giving anything away about herself. They said she lived on a mysterious pension in a room no one entered.

Suddenly Nana flared up.

-- Aunt, do stop playing with the knives... You know that turns me inside out.

Without noticing, Madame Lerat had just put two knives crossed on the table. Besides, the young woman denied being superstitious. Thus, spilled salt meant nothing, nor did Friday; but knives, that was stronger than her, never had they lied. Certainly, something unpleasant would happen to her. She yawned, then, with an air of deep boredom:

-- Already two o'clock... I have to go out. What a nuisance!

The two old women looked at each other. All three shook their heads without speaking. Surely, it was not always amusing. Nana had thrown herself back again, lighting yet another cigarette, while the others pursed their lips out of discretion, full of philosophy.

-- While we wait for you, we'll have a game of bezique, said Madame Maloir after a silence. Does madame play bezique?

Of course Madame Lerat played it, and to perfection. There was no need to disturb Zoé, who had disappeared; a corner of the table would do; and they turned up the tablecloth, over the dirty plates. But, as Madame Maloir was about to take the cards herself from a drawer in the sideboard, Nana said that before sitting down to play, she would be very kind to write her a letter. Writing bored her, then she was not sure of her spelling, whereas her old friend turned out letters full of heart. She ran to fetch some fine paper from her room. An inkstand, a bottle of three-sous ink, lay on a piece of furniture, with a pen caked in rust. The letter was for Daguenet. Madame Maloir, of her own accord, put in her fine hand: "My dear little man"; and she then warned him not to come the next day, because "it could not be"; but, "far or near, at every moment, she was with him in thought."

-- And I'll close with "a thousand kisses," she murmured.

Madame Lerat had approved each phrase with a nod. Her eyes blazed, she adored finding herself in love affairs. So she wanted to add her own, taking a tender air, cooing:

-- "A thousand kisses on your beautiful eyes."

-- That's it: "A thousand kisses on your beautiful eyes!" repeated Nana, while a beatific expression passed over the faces of the two old women.

They rang for Zoé to take the letter down to a messenger. Just then, she was talking with the theater boy, who was bringing madame a call sheet, forgotten in the morning. Nana had this man in, and charged him with taking the letter to Daguenet's on his way back. Then, she questioned him. Oh! Monsieur Bordenave was very pleased; there was already bookings for eight days; madame could not imagine the number of people who had asked for her address since morning. When the boy had gone, Nana said she would be out at most half an hour. If visitors came, Zoé would have them wait. As she spoke, the electric bell tingled. It was a creditor, the carriage hirer; he had installed himself on the bench in the anteroom. That one could twiddle his thumbs till evening; nothing was urgent.

-- Come, courage! said Nana, numbed with laziness, yawning and stretching again. I ought to be there by now.

Yet she did not move. She watched her aunt's game, who had just announced a hundred of aces. Her chin in her hand, she was absorbed. But she gave a start, on hearing three o'clock strike.

-- Goddamn! she let out brutally.

Then Madame Maloir, who was counting the tricks, encouraged her in her soft voice.

-- My dear, you'd better get your errand over with right away.

-- Hurry up, said Madame Lerat, shuffling the cards. I'll take the half-past four train, if you're here with the money before four.

-- Oh! it won't drag on, she murmured.

In ten minutes, Zoé helped her into a dress and a hat. She didn't care about being badly put together. As she was about to go down, there was a new tinkle of the bell. This time, it was the coal man. Well! he could keep the carriage hirer company; that would amuse those people. Only, fearing a scene, she crossed the kitchen and slipped out by the servants' stairs. She often went that way, and got off with hitching up her skirts.

-- When one is a good mother, that makes all forgiven, said Madame Maloir sententiously, left alone with Madame Lerat.

-- I have eighty of kings, answered the latter, whom the game passionated.

And both sank into an interminable game.

The table had not been cleared. A troubled haze filled the room, the smell of lunch, the smoke of cigarettes. These ladies had gone back to eating duck. They had been playing and sipping for twenty minutes, when, at a third call of the bell, Zoé came in abruptly and jostled them, as if they were her pals.

-- I say, someone's ringing again... You can't stay there. If a lot of people come, I need the whole apartment... Come on, up! up!

Madame Maloir wanted to finish the game; but Zoé having made as if to pounce on the cards, she decided to remove the game without disturbing anything, while Madame Lerat moved the cognac bottle, the glasses and the sugar. And both ran to the kitchen, where they installed themselves on one end of the table, between the drying dishcloths and the basin still full of dishwater.

-- We said three hundred forty... Your deal.

-- I play hearts.

When Zoé returned, she found them again absorbed. After a silence, as Madame Lerat shuffled the cards, Madame Maloir asked:

-- Who is it?

-- Oh! nobody, answered the maid negligently, a young lad... I wanted to send him away, but he's so pretty, not a hair of beard, with his blue eyes and his girl's face, that I ended up telling him to wait... He's holding an enormous bouquet he never consented to part with... If that isn't asking for a slap, a brat who ought still to be at school!

Madame Lerat went to fetch a carafe of water, to make a grog; the duck had made her thirsty. Zoé murmured that, all the same, she would gladly drink one too. She said she had, her mouth bitter as gall.

-- So, you put him...? resumed Madame Maloir.

-- Why! in the back cabinet, the little unfurnished room... There's just a trunk of madame's and a table. That's where I lodge the greenhorns.

And she was sweetening her grog strongly, when the electric bell made her jump. Good Lord! weren't they going to let her drink in peace? It promised to be something, if the bell was already starting. Yet she ran to open. Then, on her return, seeing Madame Maloir questioning her with her eyes:

-- Nothing, a bouquet.

All three refreshed themselves, greeting each other with a nod. There were, one on top of another, two more rings, while Zoé at last cleared the table, bringing the plates to the sink, one by one. But none of that was serious. She kept the kitchen informed, she repeated twice her disdainful phrase:

-- Nothing, a bouquet.

Meanwhile, these ladies, between two deals, had a laugh, on hearing her tell of the creditors' faces, in the anteroom, when the flowers arrived. Madame would find her bouquets on her dressing table. Pity it was so dear and one couldn't get even ten sous out of it. Still, there was a lot of money lost.

-- Me, said Madame Maloir, I would be content per day with what men spend in flowers for women, in Paris.

-- I should think so, you're not hard to please, murmured Madame Lerat. One would only have the money for the stem... My dear, sixty of queens.

It was ten to four. Zoé was astonished, not understanding why madame stayed so long outside. Usually, when madame was forced to go out, in the afternoon, she got it done, and smartly. But Madame Maloir declared one did not always do things as one wished. Certainly, there were hitches in life, said Madame Lerat. Best was to wait; if her niece lingered, it must be that her occupations detained her, wasn't it? Besides, they were not laboring much. It was nice in the kitchen. And, as she had no more hearts, Madame Lerat threw a diamond.

The bell was starting again. When Zoé reappeared, she was all aflame.

-- Children, the big Steiner! she said from the door, lowering her voice. That one, I put him in the little salon.

Then Madame Maloir spoke of the banker to Madame Lerat, who did not know these gentlemen. Was he in the process of dropping Rose Mignon? Zoé nodded, she knew things. But, again, she had to go open.

-- Good! a blow! she murmured on returning. It's the darkie! I kept telling him madame was out, he installed himself in the bedroom... We weren't expecting him till tonight.

At a quarter past four, Nana was not there yet. What could she be doing? It made no sense. Two more bouquets were brought in. Zoé, annoyed, looked to see if there was coffee left. Yes, these ladies would gladly finish the coffee, it would wake them up. They were dozing, hunched on their chairs, continually drawing cards from the stock, with the same gesture. The half hour struck. Decidedly, something had been done to madame. They whispered among themselves.

Suddenly, forgetting herself, Madame Maloir announced in a ringing voice:

-- I have the five hundred!... Major sequence of trumps!

-- Do be quiet! said Zoé angrily. What will all those gentlemen think?

And, in the silence that reigned, in the stifled murmur of the two old women quarreling, a sound of rapid steps rose from the servants' stairs. It was Nana at last. Before she had opened the door, one heard her breathlessness. She came in very red, with a brusque gesture. Her skirt, whose fastenings must have broken, was wiping the steps, and the flounces had just soaked in a puddle, some rot leaked from the first floor, where the maid was a true slut.

-- There you are! it's about time! said Madame Lerat, lips pinched, still vexed at Madame Maloir's five hundred. You may flatter yourself making people wait!

-- Madame is not reasonable, truly! added Zoé.

Nana, already displeased, was exasperated by these reproaches. If that was how she was received, after the nuisance she had just had!

-- Leave me alone, huh! she cried.

-- Hush! madame, there's company, said the maid.

Then, lowering her voice, the young woman stammered, breathless:

-- Do you think I had fun? It wouldn't end. I'd have liked to see you there... I was boiling, I felt like slapping... And not a cab to get back. Luckily, it's just a step. Anyway, I ran like mad.

-- You have the money? asked the aunt.

-- There! that question! answered Nana.

She had sat down on a chair, against the stove, her legs cut by her run; and, without catching her breath, she drew from her bodice an envelope, in which were four hundred-franc bills. The bills could be seen through a large tear, which she had made with a brutal finger, to assure herself of the contents. The three women, around her, looked fixedly at the envelope, a big crumpled and soiled paper, between her small gloved hands. It was too late, Madame Lerat would go to Rambouillet only the next day. Nana launched into lengthy explanations.

-- Madame, there is company waiting, repeated the chambermaid.

But she flared up again. The company could wait. Later, when she was no longer busy. And, as her aunt advanced her hand toward the money:

-- Ah! no, not all, she said. Three hundred francs to the nurse, fifty francs for your trip and expenses, that makes three hundred fifty... I keep fifty francs.

The great difficulty was to find change. There was not ten francs in the house. They did not even apply to Madame Maloir, who listened with a disinterested air, never having on her but the six sous for an omnibus. Finally, Zoé went out saying she would look in her trunk, and she brought back a hundred francs, in hundred-sous pieces. They counted them on one end of the table. Madame Lerat left at once, after promising to bring Louiset back the next day.

-- You say there's company? resumed Nana, still seated, resting.

-- Yes, madame, three persons.

And she named the banker first. Nana made a moue. If this Steiner thought she would let herself be bored, because he had thrown her a bouquet the night before!

-- Besides, she declared, I've had enough. I won't receive. Go say you no longer expect me.

-- Madame will reflect, madame will receive Monsieur Steiner, murmured Zoé without moving, with a grave air, vexed to see her mistress on the point of again doing something stupid.

Then, she spoke of the Wallachian, who must be beginning to find the time long, in the bedroom. Then Nana, furious, grew more stubborn. Nobody, she wanted to see nobody! Who was it who had stuck her with such a clinging man!

-- Throw all that outside! Me, I'm going to have a bezique with Madame Maloir. I prefer that.

The bell cut her short. That was the last straw. Another bore! She forbade Zoé to go open. The latter, without listening, had left the kitchen. When she reappeared, she said with an air of authority, putting down two cards:

-- I answered that madame was receiving... Those gentlemen are in the salon.

Nana had risen in a rage. But the names of the Marquis de Chouard and the Comte Muffat de Beuville, on the cards, calmed her. She remained silent a moment.

-- Who are those? she asked at last. You know them?

-- I know the old one, answered Zoé, pinching her mouth in a discreet way.

And, as her mistress continued to question her with her eyes, she simply added:

-- I've seen him somewhere.

This word seemed to decide the young woman. She left the kitchen with regret, that tepid refuge where one could chat and abandon oneself in the smell of coffee, warming at a remnant of embers. Behind her back, she left Madame Maloir, who, now, was playing solitaire; she had still not taken off her hat; only, to make herself comfortable, she had just untied the strings and thrown them back on her shoulders.

In the dressing room, where Zoé quickly helped her into a peignoir, Nana took revenge for the annoyances caused her, by chewing sour oaths against men. These coarse words grieved the chambermaid, for she saw with regret that madame was not quickly ridding herself of her beginnings. She even dared to beg madame to calm herself.

-- Ah! not likely! answered Nana crudely, they're bastards, they like that.

Yet, she took her princess air, as she said. Zoé had detained her, at the moment she was heading toward the salon; and, of her own accord, she introduced into the dressing room the Marquis de Chouard and the Comte Muffat. It was much better.

-- Gentlemen, said the young woman with a studied politeness, I regret having made you wait.

The two men bowed and sat down. A brocaded tulle blind arranged a half-light in the cabinet. It was the most elegant room of the apartment, hung with light fabric, with a large marble dressing table, a marquetry cheval glass, a chaise longue and blue satin armchairs. On the dressing table, the bouquets, roses, lilacs, hyacinths, made like a collapse of flowers, of a penetrating and strong perfume; while, in the moist air, in the faintness exhaled from the basins, there trailed at times a sharper odor, a few strands of dried patchouli, broken fine at the bottom of a bowl. And, curling up, drawing her badly fastened peignoir, Nana seemed to have been surprised at her toilet, the skin still damp, smiling, startled amid her laces.

-- Madame, said gravely the Comte Muffat, you will excuse us for having insisted... We come for a collection... Monsieur and I are members of the board of charity of the arrondissement.

The Marquis de Chouard hastened to add, with a gallant air:

-- When we learned that a great artist lived in this house, we promised ourselves to recommend our poor to her in a particular way... Talent does not go without heart.

Nana played modesty. She answered with little movements of the head, all the while making rapid reflections. It must be the old one who had brought the other; his eyes were too roguish. Yet, one also had to mistrust the other, whose temples swelled funnily; he might well have come alone. That was it, the concierge had named her, and they pushed each other, each for his own account.

-- Certainly, gentlemen, you were right to come up, she said, full of good grace.

But the electric bell made her start. Another visit, and this Zoé who always opened! She continued:

-- One is too happy to be able to give.

At bottom, she was flattered.

-- Ah! madame, resumed the marquis, if you knew, what misery! Our arrondissement counts more than three thousand poor, and still it is one of the richest. You do not imagine such distress: children without bread, sick women, deprived of all help, dying of cold...

-- Poor people! cried Nana, very moved.

Her pity was such that tears flooded her beautiful eyes. With a movement, she had leaned forward, no longer studying herself; and her open peignoir showed her neck, while her taut knees outlined, under the thin fabric, the roundness of the thigh. A little blood came to the earthy cheeks of the marquis. The Comte Muffat, who was about to speak, lowered his eyes. It was too hot in this cabinet, a heavy and enclosed greenhouse heat. The roses were fading, a dizziness rose from the patchouli of the bowl.

-- One would wish to be very rich on these occasions, added Nana. Well, each does what he can... Believe me, gentlemen, if I had known...

She was about to let fall a foolishness, in her emotion. So she did not finish the phrase. For an instant, she remained embarrassed, no longer remembering where she had just put her fifty francs, on taking off her dress. But she remembered, they must be at the corner of the dressing table, under an overturned pot of pomade. As she rose, the bell rang long. Good! another one! It would not end. The count and the marquis had likewise stood up, and the latter's ears had moved, pointing toward the door; no doubt he knew those rings. Muffat looked at him; then, they turned away their eyes. They were ill at ease, they grew cold again, one square and solid, with his strongly set hair, the other straightening his thin shoulders, on which fell his crown of rare white hairs.

-- Upon my word! said Nana, who brought the ten big silver pieces, taking the part of laughing, I'm going to charge you, gentlemen... It's for the poor...

And the adorable little dimple of her chin deepened. She had her good-natured air, without affectation, holding the pile of crowns on her open hand, offering it to the two men, as if to say to them: "Come now, who wants some?" The count was the quickest, he took the fifty francs; but one piece remained, and he had to, to have it, pick it up on the very skin of the young woman, a warm and supple skin that left him a shiver. She, cheered, still laughing.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”