Part 7

And, as the other looked at him with astonishment, he added, very red, bursting with vanity and embarrassment:

-- I'm one of them, she invited me this morning.

But a great movement was taking place in the drawing room. Vandeuvres and Fauchery could insist no further with the count. The Marquis de Chouard had just entered, and everyone was hurrying. He had advanced with difficulty, his legs weak; and he remained in the middle of the room, pale, his eyes blinking, as if he were coming out of some dark alley, blinded by the light of the lamps.

-- I no longer expected to see you, father, said the countess. I should have been uneasy until tomorrow.

He looked at her without answering, with the air of a man who does not understand. His nose, very large in his shaven face, seemed the swelling of a white disease; while his lower lip hung down. Madame Hugon, seeing him so overcome, pitied him, full of charity.

-- You work too much. You ought to rest... At our age, one must leave work to the young people.

-- Work, ah! yes, work, he finally stammered. Always much work...

He was recovering, he was straightening his bent waist, passing his hand, with a gesture that was familiar to him, over his white hair, whose rare curls floated behind his ears.

-- What are you working on so late? asked Madame Du Joncquoy. I thought you were at the reception of the Minister of Finance.

But the countess intervened.

-- My father had to study a bill.

-- Yes, a bill, he said, a bill, precisely... I had shut myself away... It is about the factories, I should like Sunday rest to be observed. It is truly shameful that the government will not act with vigor. The churches are emptying, we are headed for catastrophes.

Vandeuvres had looked at Fauchery. Both found themselves behind the marquis, and they were sniffing him out. When Vandeuvres could take him aside, to speak to him of that beautiful person he was taking to the country, the old man affected great surprise. Perhaps he had been seen with the Baronne Decker, at whose house he sometimes spent a few days, at Viroflay. Vandeuvres, for his only revenge, abruptly asked him:

-- Tell me, where did you pass? Your elbow is full of cobwebs and plaster.

-- My elbow, he murmured, slightly troubled. Why! it is true... A bit of dirt... I must have caught that coming down from my place.

Several persons were leaving. It was near midnight. Two footmen were silently removing the empty cups and the plates of cakes. Before the fireplace, the ladies had reformed and narrowed their circle, chatting with more abandon in the languor of that end of the evening. The drawing room itself was dozing, slow shadows fell from the walls. Then Fauchery spoke of withdrawing. Yet, he was forgetting himself again, gazing at Countess Sabine. She was resting from her cares as hostess, in her accustomed place, mute, her eyes on a brand consuming into embers, her face so white and so closed, that he was seized again with doubt. In the glow of the hearth, the black hairs of the mark she had at the corner of her lips were turning blond. Absolutely Nana's mark, even to the color. He could not help saying a word of it in Vandeuvres's ear. It was truly so; the latter had never noticed it. And both continued the parallel between Nana and the countess. They found them a vague resemblance in the chin and in the mouth; but the eyes were not at all alike. Then, Nana looked a good girl; while one did not know with the countess, she might have been a sleeping cat, claws drawn in, paws barely stirred by a nervous shiver.

-- Still, one would sleep with her, declared Fauchery.

Vandeuvres was undressing her with his eyes.

-- Yes, still, he said. But, you know, I distrust the thighs. She has no thighs, do you want to bet!

He fell silent. Fauchery was touching his elbow sharply, pointing with a sign at Estelle, seated on her stool, before them. They had raised their voices without noticing her, and she must have heard them. However, she remained stiff, motionless, with her thin neck of a girl grown too fast, where not a little hair had moved. Then, they moved away three or four steps. Vandeuvres was swearing that the countess was a very honest woman.

At that moment, voices rose before the fireplace. Madame Du Joncquoy was saying:

-- I granted you that Monsieur de Bismarck was perhaps a man of wit... Only, if you go as far as genius...

These ladies had come back to their first subject of conversation.

-- What! still Monsieur de Bismarck! murmured Fauchery. This time, I am really escaping.

-- Wait, said Vandeuvres, we need a definitive no from the count.

Count Muffat was chatting with his father-in-law and some grave men. Vandeuvres took him off, renewed the invitation, supporting it, saying that he himself was of the supper. A man could go everywhere; no one would think of seeing harm where there was at most some curiosity. The count listened to these arguments, eyes lowered, face mute. Vandeuvres felt in him a hesitation, when the Marquis de Chouard approached with an interrogative air. And when the latter knew what it was about, when Fauchery invited him in turn, he stealthily looked at his son-in-law. There was a silence, an awkwardness; but both were encouraging each other, they would no doubt have ended by accepting, if Count Muffat had not caught sight of M. Venot, who was looking at him fixedly. The little old man was no longer smiling, he had an earthy face, steel eyes, clear and sharp.

-- No, answered the count at once, in so clear a tone, that there was no insisting.

Then, the marquis refused with even more severity. He spoke of morals. The upper classes must set the example. Fauchery smiled and shook Vandeuvres's hand. He was not waiting for him, he was leaving at once, for he had to stop at his newspaper.

-- At Nana's, at midnight, is it not?

La Faloise was also withdrawing. Steiner had just bowed to the countess. Other men were following them. And the same words were running, each repeating: "At midnight, at Nana's," as they went to take their overcoats in the anteroom. Georges, who was not to leave except with his mother, had placed himself on the threshold, where he indicated the exact address, third floor, the door to the left. However, before going out, Fauchery threw a last glance. Vandeuvres had resumed his place in the middle of the ladies, joking with Léonide de Chezelles. Count Muffat and the Marquis de Chouard were mingling in the conversation, while good Madame Hugon was falling asleep with open eyes. Lost behind the skirts, M. Venot, having become quite small again, had found his smile. Midnight struck slowly in the vast solemn room.

-- What! what! resumed Madame Du Joncquoy, you suppose that Monsieur de Bismarck will make war on us and beat us... Oh! that one surpasses everything!

They were laughing, indeed, around Madame Chantereau, who had just repeated this saying, heard by her in Alsace, where her husband owned a factory.

-- The Emperor is there, fortunately, said Count Muffat with his official gravity.

It was the last word Fauchery could hear. He was closing the door, after having looked once more at Countess Sabine. She was calmly chatting with the chief clerk and seemed interested in the conversation of that stout man. Decidedly, he must have been mistaken, there was no crack. It was a pity.

-- Well! are you not coming down? La Faloise cried to him from the vestibule.

And, on the pavement, as they separated, they repeated again:

-- Till tomorrow, at Nana's.

IV

Since the morning, Zoé had surrendered the apartment to a maître d'hôtel, come from Brébant's with a staff of assistants and waiters. It was Brébant who was to supply everything, the supper, the dishes, the crystal, the linen, the flowers, even some seats and stools. Nana would not have found a dozen napkins at the bottom of her closets; and, not yet having had time to set herself up in her new launch, disdaining to go to the restaurant, she had preferred to bring the restaurant to her. It seemed more stylish to her. She wanted to celebrate her great success as an actress with a supper that would be talked about. As the dining room was too small, the maître d'hôtel had set the table in the drawing room, a table that held twenty-five covers, a bit cramped.

-- Is everything ready? asked Nana, returning at midnight.

-- Ah! I do not know, brutally answered Zoé, who seemed beside herself. Thank God! I have nothing to do with it. They are making a massacre in the kitchen and throughout the apartment!... Besides, I had to quarrel. The two others came again. Upon my word, I threw them out the door.

She was speaking of the two former gentlemen of the lady, the merchant and the Wallachian, whom Nana had decided to dismiss, certain of the future, wishing to turn over a new leaf, as she said.

-- What clinging creatures! she murmured. If they come back, threaten them with going to the commissioner.

Then, she called Daguenet and Georges, who had stayed behind in the anteroom, where they were hanging up their overcoats. Both had met at the exit of the artists, Passage des Panoramas, and she had brought them in a cab. As there was no one yet, she cried to them to come into the dressing room, while Zoé arranged her. In haste, without changing her dress, she had her hair put up, stuck white roses in her chignon and at her bodice. The room was encumbered with the drawing room furniture, which had been rolled there, a heap of guéridons, sofas, armchairs, legs in the air; and she was ready, when her skirt caught in a caster and tore. Then, she swore, furious; such things happened only to her. Raging, she took off her dress, a white foulard dress, very simple, so supple and so fine, that it clothed her like a long shift. But at once she put it back on, finding none other to her taste, nearly crying, saying she was done up like a ragpicker. Daguenet and Georges had to pin the tear from the inside, while Zoé redid her hair. All three hurried around her, the little one especially, on his knees on the floor, hands in the skirts. She ended by calming down, when Daguenet assured her that it must be at most a quarter past midnight, so much had she hurried the third act of the Blonde Vénus, eating the lines, skipping the couplets.

-- It is still too good for that heap of imbeciles, she said. Did you see? there were faces, this evening!... Zoé, my girl, you will wait here. Do not go to bed, I may need you... Hang it! it was time. Here is company.

She slipped away. Georges remained on the floor, the tail of his coat sweeping the ground. He blushed seeing Daguenet look at him. However, they had taken a tenderness for each other. They retied their cravat before the large pier glass, and gave each other a brush, all white from having rubbed against Nana.

-- One would say it was sugar, murmured Georges, with his greedy baby laugh.

A footman, hired for the night, was showing the guests into the small drawing room, a narrow room where they had left only four armchairs, to pile the world in there. From the neighboring large drawing room came a noise of dishes and silver being moved; while, under the door, a streak of vivid light shone. Nana, on entering, found, already installed in one of the armchairs, Clarisse Besnus, whom La Faloise had brought.

-- What! you are the first! said Nana, who had treated her familiarly since her success.

-- Eh! it is him, answered Clarisse. He is always afraid of not arriving... If I had known, I would not have taken the time to remove my rouge and my wig.

The young man, who saw Nana for the first time, was bowing and complimenting her, speaking of his cousin, hiding his trouble under an exaggeration of politeness. But Nana, without listening to him, without knowing him, shook his hand, then advanced quickly toward Rose Mignon. This time, she became very distinguished.

-- Ah! dear madame, how kind you are!... I so wanted to have you!

-- It is I who am delighted, I assure you, said Rose, equally full of amiability.

-- Do sit down... You need nothing?

-- No, thank you... Ah! I forgot my fan in my pelisse. Steiner, look in the right pocket.

Steiner and Mignon had entered behind Rose. The banker went back, reappeared with the fan, while Mignon, fraternally, kissed Nana and forced Rose to kiss her too. Were they not all of the same family, at the theater? Then, he winked, as if to encourage Steiner; but the latter, troubled by Rose's clear gaze, contented himself with placing a kiss on Nana's hand.

At that moment, the Comte de Vandeuvres appeared with Blanche de Sivry. There were great bows. Nana, quite ceremonious, led Blanche to an armchair. However, Vandeuvres was laughing as he told how Fauchery was quarrelling below, because the concierge had refused to let Lucy Stewart's carriage in. In the anteroom, they heard Lucy calling the concierge a dirty boor. But, when the footman had opened the door, she advanced with her laughing grace, named herself, took Nana's two hands, telling her that she had loved her at once and that she found her a fine talent. Nana, swollen with her new role of hostess, thanked her, truly confused. Yet, she seemed preoccupied since Fauchery's arrival. As soon as she could approach him, she asked in a low voice:

-- Will he come?

-- No, he would not, brutally answered the journalist taken by surprise, although he had prepared a story to explain Count Muffat's refusal.

He became conscious of his stupidity, seeing the young woman's pallor, and tried to recover his phrase.

-- He could not, he is taking the countess this evening to the ball at the Ministry of the Interior.

-- That is well, murmured Nana, who suspected him of ill will. You will pay me for that, my little one.

-- Ah! say then, resumed he, hurt by the threat, I do not like those errands. Apply to Labordette.

They turned their backs, they were angry. Just then, Mignon was pushing Steiner toward Nana. When she was alone, he said to her in a low voice, with the good-natured cynicism of a confederate who wants a friend's pleasure:

-- You know he is dying of it... Only, he is afraid of my wife. You will defend him, will you not?

Nana did not seem to understand. She smiled, she looked at Rose, her husband and the banker; then, she said to the latter:

-- Monsieur Steiner, you will sit next to me.

But laughter came from the anteroom, whisperings, a puff of gay and chattering voices, as if a whole escaped convent were there. And Labordette appeared, dragging five women behind him, his boarding school, according to the spiteful word of Lucy Stewart. There was Gaga, majestic in a blue velvet dress that laced her tightly, Caroline Héquet, always in black faille trimmed with chantilly, then Léa de Horn, bundled up as usual, the fat Tatan Néné, a good-natured blonde with a nurse's bosom, whom they mocked, finally little Maria Blond, a girl of fifteen, of a gamin's thinness and vice, whom her debut at the Folies was launching. Labordette had brought all that in a single carriage; and they were still laughing at having been squeezed, Maria Blond on the others' knees. But they pinched their lips, exchanging handshakes and salutes, all very proper. Gaga was playing the child, lisping from excess of good breeding. Only Tatan Néné, to whom they had told on the way that six negroes, absolutely naked, would serve Nana's supper, was worried, asking to see them. Labordette called her a turkey, begging her to be silent.

-- And Bordenave? asked Fauchery.

-- Oh! imagine, I am desolated, cried Nana, he will not be able to be one of us.

-- Yes, said Rose Mignon, his foot caught in a trapdoor, he has an abominable sprain... If you heard him swear, his leg tied up and stretched on a chair!

Then, everyone regretted Bordenave. One did not give a good supper without Bordenave. Finally, they would try to do without him. And they were already talking of something else, when a loud voice rose.

-- What now! what now! is that how you bury me!

There was a cry, everyone turned their head. It was Bordenave, enormous and very red, his leg stiff, standing on the threshold, where he leaned on Simonne Cabiroche's shoulder. For the moment, he was sleeping with Simonne. This little one, who had received an education, playing the piano, speaking English, was a perfectly cute blonde, so delicate, that she bent under Bordenave's rough weight, smiling and submissive however. He posed for a few seconds, feeling that they made a picture, the two of them.

-- Eh? one must love you, he continued. Upon my word, I was afraid of being bored, I said to myself: I'm going...

But he interrupted himself to let loose a curse.

-- God damn!

Simonne had taken a step too fast, her foot had just borne the weight. He jostled her. She, without ceasing to smile, lowering her pretty face like a beast that fears being beaten, supported him with all her strength of a little plump blonde. Besides, amid exclamations, they were hurrying. Nana and Rose Mignon were rolling an armchair, into which Bordenave let himself fall, while the other women slipped a second armchair under his leg. And all the actresses who were there kissed him, naturally. He grumbled, he sighed.

-- God damn! god damn!... Well, the stomach is solid, you will see that.

Other guests had arrived. One could no longer stir in the room. The noises of dishes and silver had ceased; now, a quarrel came from the large drawing room, where the maître d'hôtel's furious voice was rumbling. Nana was losing patience, expecting no more guests, astonished that they were not serving. She had sent Georges to ask what was happening, when she remained very surprised to see still more people enter, men, women. Those, she did not know at all. Then, a bit embarrassed, she questioned Bordenave, Mignon, Labordette. They did not know them either. When she addressed the Comte de Vandeuvres, he suddenly remembered; they were the young men he had picked up at Count Muffat's. Nana thanked him. Very well, very well. Only, they would be jolly cramped; and she begged Labordette to go have seven covers added. Scarcely had he gone out, than the valet introduced three persons again. No, this time, it was becoming ridiculous; they would surely not fit. Nana, who was beginning to get angry, said with her grand air that it was hardly proper. But, on seeing two more arrive, she began to laugh, she found it too funny. Too bad! they would fit as they could. All were standing, there were only Gaga and Rose Mignon seated, Bordenave monopolizing two armchairs alone. The voices buzzed, they spoke low, stifling slight yawns.

-- Say, my girl, asked Bordenave, if we sat down to table all the same?... We are complete, are we not?

-- Ah! yes, indeed, we are complete! she answered laughing.

She passed her eyes around. But she became serious, as if astonished at not finding someone there. No doubt a guest was missing whom she did not speak of. They had to wait. A few minutes later, the guests perceived in their midst a tall gentleman, of noble countenance and beautiful white beard. And the most surprising was that no one had seen him enter; he must have slipped into the small drawing room by a door of the bedroom, left ajar. A silence reigned, whisperings ran. The Comte de Vandeuvres certainly knew who the gentleman was, for they had exchanged a discreet handshake; but he answered the women's questions with a smile. Then, Caroline Héquet, half-voice, bet on an English lord, who was returning the next day to marry in London; she knew him well, she had had him. And this story made the round of the ladies; only, Maria Blond claimed, on her side, to recognize a German ambassador, proof being that he often slept with one of her friends. Among the men, in rapid phrases, they judged him. A serious gentleman's head. Perhaps he was paying for the supper. Probable. It smelled of that. Bah! provided the supper was good! Finally, they remained in doubt, they were already forgetting the white-bearded old man, when the maître d'hôtel opened the door of the large drawing room.

-- Madame is served.

Nana had accepted Steiner's arm, without seeming to notice a movement of the old man, who began to walk behind her, alone. Besides, the procession could not be organized. The men and women entered straggling, joking with a bourgeois good-nature about this lack of ceremony. A long table went from one end to the other of the vast room, empty of furniture; and this table was still too small, for the plates touched. Four candelabra of ten candles lit the cover, a plated centerpiece, with bouquets of flowers to the right and left. It was a restaurant luxury, gold-bordered porcelain, without a cipher, silver worn and dimmed by continual washings, crystal whose mismatched dozens could be completed in all the bazaars. It smelled of a housewarming hung too quickly, amid a sudden fortune, and when nothing was yet in place. A chandelier was missing; the candelabra, whose very high candles were barely melting, made a pale and yellow light above the compotes, the mounted plates, the bowls, where the fruits, the small cakes, the jams, alternated symmetrically.

-- You know, said Nana, one sits where one wants... It is more amusing.

She stood, in the middle of the table. The old gentleman, whom no one knew, had placed himself at her right, while she kept Steiner at her left. Guests were already seating themselves, when curses broke from the small drawing room. It was Bordenave they were forgetting, and who had all the trouble in the world to rise from his two armchairs, bellowing, calling that bitch Simonne, slipped away with the others. The women ran, full of pity. Bordenave appeared, supported, carried by Caroline, Clarisse, Tatan Néné, Maria Blond. And it was quite a business to install him.

-- In the middle of the table, facing Nana! they cried. Bordenave in the middle! He will preside over us!

Then, these ladies seated him in the middle. But a second chair was needed for his leg. Two women lifted his leg, stretched it out delicately. It did not matter, he would eat sideways.

-- God damn! he grumbled, is one crippled though!... Ah! my little pussies, papa commends himself to you.

He had Rose Mignon at his right and Lucy Stewart at his left. They promised to take good care of him. Everyone, now, was settling in. The Comte de Vandeuvres placed himself between Lucy and Clarisse; Fauchery, between Rose Mignon and Caroline Héquet. On the other side, Hector de la Faloise had rushed to place himself near Gaga, despite Clarisse's calls from opposite; while Mignon, who would not let go of Steiner, was separated from him only by Blanche, and had Tatan Néné on his left. Then, came Labordette. Finally, at the two ends, were young men, women, Simonne, Léa de Horn, Maria Blond, without order, in a heap. It was there that Daguenet and Georges Hugon sympathized more and more, looking at Nana with smiles.

However, as two persons remained standing, they joked. The men offered their knees. Clarisse, who could not move her elbows, told Vandeuvres that she counted on him to feed her. This Bordenave took up room, with his chairs! There was a last effort, everyone could sit down; but, by example, cried Mignon, we were like herrings in a tub.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”