Part 9

But La Faloise grew angry. He spoke of his ancestors, stammering. He threatened to throw a carafe at Foucarmont's head. Count de Vandeuvres had to step in to assure him that Foucarmont was very funny. Everyone was laughing, indeed. That shook the bewildered young man, who agreed to sit back down; and he ate with the obedience of a child, whenever his cousin ordered him to eat, deepening his voice. Gaga had taken him back beside her; only, from time to time, he cast sly and anxious glances over the guests, still looking for his handkerchief.

Then Foucarmont, in a witty mood, attacked Labordette across the whole table. Louise Violaine tried to silence him, because, she said, when he was teasing others like that, it always ended badly for her. He had hit upon a joke consisting of calling Labordette "madame"; it must have amused him greatly, for he kept repeating it, while Labordette, calmly, shrugged his shoulders, saying each time:

-- Do be quiet, my dear, it's stupid.

But when Foucarmont continued and came to insults, for no reason anyone could see, Labordette stopped answering him and addressed Count de Vandeuvres.

-- Sir, make your friend be quiet... I do not wish to lose my temper.

He had fought two duels. People saluted him, admitted him everywhere. There was a general uprising against Foucarmont. The table was merry, finding him very witty; but that was no reason to spoil the night. Vandeuvres, whose fine face was taking on a coppery tint, insisted that he restore Labordette's sex. The other men, Mignon, Steiner, Bordenave, well warmed up, also intervened, shouting, drowning his voice. And alone, the old gentleman, forgotten near Nana, kept his grand air, his weary and silent smile, following with his pale eyes this collapse of the dessert.

-- My little cat, shall we take coffee here? said Bordenave. We are very comfortable.

Nana did not answer at once. Since the beginning of the supper, she no longer seemed at home. All these people had drowned and dizzied her, calling the waiters, talking loud, making themselves at ease, as if they were at a restaurant. She herself forgot her role as hostess, occupied only with the fat Steiner, who was bursting with apoplexy at her side. She listened to him, still refusing with a shake of her head, with her provocative laugh of a plump blonde. The champagne she had drunk made her all pink, her mouth moist, her eyes shining; and the banker offered more each time she gave a coaxing movement of her shoulders, a slight voluptuous swelling of her neck, when she turned her head. He saw there, near the ear, a delicate little corner, a satin that drove him mad. At times, Nana, disturbed, remembered her guests, trying to be pleasant, to show that she knew how to entertain. Toward the end of the supper, she was very drunk; it distressed her, champagne made her drunk at once. Then an idea exasperated her. It was a dirty trick these ladies were playing on her, misbehaving in her own house. Oh! she saw clearly! Lucy had winked to push Foucarmont against Labordette, while Rose, Caroline and the others excited the gentlemen. Now the uproar was such you could not hear yourself, just to say you could get away with anything when supping at Nana's. Well! they would see. Drunk as she was, she was still the most decent and the most proper.

-- My little cat, Bordenave resumed, do say to serve the coffee here... I prefer that, on account of my leg.

But Nana had risen abruptly, murmuring in the ears of the stupefied Steiner and old gentleman:

-- It serves me right, that will teach me to invite dirty people.

Then, she pointed with a gesture to the door of the dining room, and added aloud:

-- You know, if you want coffee, there is some there.

They left the table, pushed toward the dining room, without noticing Nana's anger. And soon there remained in the salon only Bordenave, holding to the walls, advancing with caution, raging against those damned women, who didn't care a fig for papa now that they were full. Behind him, the waiters were already clearing the cloth, under the loud orders of the head waiter. They hurried, jostled one another, making the table disappear like a fairy scene, at the whistle of the chief machinist. These ladies and gentlemen were to return to the salon, after taking coffee.

-- Thunder! it is less hot here, said Gaga with a slight shiver, entering the dining room.

The window of this room had remained open. Two lamps lit the table, where the coffee was served, with liqueurs. There were no chairs, they drank the coffee standing, while the murmur of the waiters, next door, increased still more. Nana had vanished. But no one worried about her absence. They got along perfectly without her, each serving himself, rummaging in the buffet drawers, to find small spoons, which were missing. Several groups had formed; persons, separated during the supper, drew near one another; and they exchanged glances, significant laughs, words that summed up situations.

-- Isn't it so, Auguste, said Rose Mignon, that Monsieur Fauchery should come and lunch one of these days?

Mignon, who was playing with his watch chain, brooded for a second on the journalist with his severe eyes. Rose was mad. As a good administrator, he would put an end to this waste. For one article, very well; but afterwards, door shut. However, as he knew his wife's stubbornness, and as he had for rule to permit her paternally a foolishness, when needful, he answered, making himself agreeable:

-- Certainly, I shall be very happy... Do come tomorrow, Monsieur Fauchery.

Lucy Stewart, in the midst of talking with Steiner and Blanche, heard this invitation. She raised her voice, saying to the banker:

-- It is a rage they all have. There is one who stole even my dog from me... Come now, my dear, is it my fault if you drop her?

Rose turned her head. She drank her coffee in little sips, she looked fixedly at Steiner, very pale; and all the contained anger of her abandonment passed into her eyes like a flame. She saw more clearly than Mignon; it was stupid to have wanted to begin again the Jonquier affair, those machines did not succeed twice. Too bad! she would have Fauchery, she had taken a fancy to him since the supper; and if Mignon was not pleased, it would teach him.

-- You are not going to fight? came Vandeuvres to say to Lucy Stewart.

-- No, do not be afraid. Only, let her keep quiet, or I'll let her have it.

And, calling Fauchery with an imperious gesture:

-- My little one, I have your slippers at home. I'll have them left tomorrow with your concierge.

He tried to joke. She moved away with the air of a queen. Clarisse, who had leaned against a wall in order to drink quietly a glass of kirsch, shrugged her shoulders. What a fuss for a man! Was it not, the moment two women found themselves together with their lovers, the first idea to steal them from each other? It was settled, that. She, for example, if she had wished, would have scratched out Gaga's eyes, on account of Hector. Ah! not she! she did not care. Then, as La Faloise passed, she merely said to him:

-- Listen, you like them advanced, you do! Not ripe, they must be overripe for you.

La Faloise seemed much vexed. He remained uneasy. Seeing Clarisse mock him, he suspected her.

-- No joking, he murmured. You took my handkerchief, give me back my handkerchief.

-- Does he bore us enough with his handkerchief! she cried. Come now, idiot, why should I have taken it?

-- Why! he said with mistrust, to send to my family, to compromise me.

Meanwhile, Foucarmont was attacking the liqueurs. He continued to snigger looking at Labordette, who drank his coffee, in the midst of these ladies. And he let fall scraps of sentences: the son of a horse dealer, others said the bastard of a countess; no income, and always twenty-five louis in his pocket; the servant of the girls, a fellow who never slept with anyone.

-- Never! never! he repeated, growing angry. No, you see, I must slap his face.

He emptied a small glass of chartreuse. The chartreuse did not disturb him at all; not that, he said; and he made the nail of his thumb click against his teeth. But, all at once, at the moment he advanced upon Labordette, he turned pale and fell before the buffet, like a lump. He was dead drunk. Louise Violaine was in despair. She said so, that it would end badly; now she had the rest of her night to nurse him. Gaga reassured her, examining the officer with the eye of an experienced woman, declaring it was nothing, that this gentleman would sleep like that twelve to fifteen hours, without accident. They carried Foucarmont away.

-- Why! where has Nana gone? asked Vandeuvres.

Yes, indeed, she had flown off on leaving the table. They remembered her, everyone called for her. Steiner, uneasy for a moment, questioned Vandeuvres about the old gentleman, also disappeared. But the count reassured him, he had just seen the old man out; a foreign personage whose name it was useless to mention, a very rich man who contented himself with paying for the suppers. Then, as they forgot Nana again, Vandeuvres noticed Daguenet, his head at a door, calling him with a sign. And, in the bedroom, he found the mistress of the house seated, stiffened, her lips white, while Daguenet and Georges, standing, looked at her with a consterned air.

-- What is the matter with you? he asked, surprised.

She did not answer, she did not turn her head. He repeated his question.

-- What is the matter, she cried at last, is that I will not have people make fun of me!

Then she let loose what came to her mouth. Yes, yes, she was not a fool, she saw clearly. They had made fun of her during the supper, they had said horrid things to show they despised her. A pack of sluts who did not come up to her ankle! She would not again give herself such trouble, only to be dug at afterwards! She did not know what kept her from flinging all that dirty crowd to the door. And, rage choking her, her voice broke in sobs.

-- Come, my girl, you are drunk, said Vandeuvres, who began to use the familiar form. You must be reasonable.

No, she refused beforehand, she would stay there.

-- I am drunk, that may be. But I want to be respected.

For a quarter of an hour, Daguenet and Georges had vainly begged her to come back into the dining room. She was stubborn, her guests might do as they pleased; she despised them too much to go back with them. Never, never! They might have cut her in pieces, she would have remained in her room.

-- I should have been on my guard, she resumed. It is that camel of a Rose who plotted it. Thus, that honest woman I expected this evening, surely Rose prevented her.

She spoke of Madame Robert. Vandeuvres gave her his word of honor that Madame Robert had refused of her own accord. He listened and argued without laughing, accustomed to such scenes, knowing how to handle women, when they were in that state. But, as soon as he tried to take her hands, to lift her from her chair and lead her away, she struggled, with a redoubled anger. For example, they would never make her believe that Fauchery had not turned Count Muffat from coming. A true serpent, that Fauchery; an envious man, a man capable of hounding a woman and destroying her happiness. For, after all, she knew it, the count had taken a fancy to her. She might have had him.

-- He, my dear, never! cried Vandeuvres, forgetting himself and laughing.

-- Why not? she asked, serious, a little sobered.

-- Because he goes in for priests, and if he touched you with the tip of his fingers, he would go confess it the next day... Take good advice. Do not let the other slip.

For an instant, she remained silent, reflecting. Then, she rose, went to bathe her eyes. Yet, when they wanted to take her into the dining room, she still cried no, furiously. Vandeuvres left the room with a smile, without insisting further. And, as soon as he was no longer there, she had a fit of tenderness, throwing herself into Daguenet's arms, repeating:

-- Ah! my Mimi, there is only you... I love you, you know! I love you dearly!... It would be too good, if one could always live together. My God! how unhappy women are!

Then, seeing Georges, who was growing very red at seeing them kiss, she kissed him also. Mimi could not be jealous of a baby. She wanted Paul and Georges always to agree, because it would be so nice to stay like that, all three, knowing they loved one another well. But a singular noise disturbed them, someone was snoring in the room. Then, having searched, they perceived Bordenave who, after taking his coffee, must have installed himself there, comfortably. He slept on two chairs, his head against the edge of the bed, his leg stretched out. Nana found him so funny, mouth open, nose moving at each snore, that she was shaken with a wild laugh. She left the room, followed by Daguenet and Georges, crossed the dining room, entered the salon, laughing louder and louder.

-- Oh! my dear, she said, throwing herself almost into Rose's arms, you have no idea, come see that.

All the women had to follow her. She took their hands with caresses, led them by force, in a burst of such frank gaiety, that all were already laughing with confidence. The band disappeared, then came back, after remaining a minute, breath suspended, around Bordenave, spread out majestically. And the laughs burst forth. When one of them called for silence, you could hear in the distance Bordenave's snores.

It was near four o'clock. In the dining room, they had just set up a card table, where Vandeuvres, Steiner, Mignon and Labordette had seated themselves. Standing, behind them, Lucy and Caroline bet; while Blanche, sleepy, discontented with her night, asked Vandeuvres every five minutes if they were not soon going. In the salon, they tried to dance. Daguenet was at the piano, "on the chest," as Nana said; she would have no "pounder," Mimi played waltzes and polkas, as long as asked. But the dancing languished, these ladies talked among themselves, drowsy at the back of the sofas. Suddenly, there was a clamor. Eleven young men, who arrived in a band, laughed very loud in the anteroom, pushed at the salon door; they came from the ball at the ministry of the interior, in evening dress and white tie, with unknown orders on their breasts. Nana, angered at this noisy entrance, called the waiters left in the kitchen, ordering them to throw these gentlemen out; and she swore she had never seen them. Fauchery, Labordette, Daguenet, all the men had advanced, to make the hostess respected. Big words flew, arms stretched out. For an instant, a general exchange of slaps might be feared. Yet a little blond, sickly looking, repeated with insistence:

-- Come, Nana, the other evening, at Peters's, in the large red salon... Do remember! You invited us.

The other evening, at Peters's? She did not remember at all. What evening, first? And when the little blond told her the day, Wednesday, she well recalled having supped at Peters's on Wednesday; but she had invited no one, she was almost sure.

-- However, my girl, if you invited them, murmured Labordette, who began to be taken with doubt. You were perhaps a little gay.

Then Nana began to laugh. It was possible, she no longer knew. Well, since these gentlemen were there, they might come in. All was arranged, several of the newcomers found friends in the salon, the scandal ended in handshakes. The little sickly blond bore one of the great names of France. Besides, they announced that others were to follow them; and, indeed, at every instant the door opened, men presented themselves, gloved in white, in official attire. It was always the exit from the ministry ball. Fauchery asked jokingly if the minister was not going to come. But Nana, vexed, answered that the minister went to people certainly no better than she. What she did not say, was a hope that had seized her: that of seeing Count Muffat enter, among that tail of the world. He might have changed his mind. While talking with Rose, she watched the door.

Five o'clock struck. They no longer danced. Only the players persisted. Labordette had given up his place, the women had returned to the salon. A drowsiness of prolonged waking grew heavy there, under the troubled light of the lamps, whose charred wicks reddened the globes. These ladies were at the hour of vague melancholy where they felt the need to tell their story. Blanche de Sivry spoke of her grandfather, the general, while Clarisse invented a romance, a duke who had seduced her at her uncle's, where he came to hunt wild boar; and both, backs turned, shrugged their shoulders, asking if it was possible God to tell such lies. As for Lucy Stewart, she quietly avowed her origin, she willingly spoke of her youth, when her father, the greaser of the Nord railway, treated her on Sundays to an apple turnover.

-- Oh! let me tell you! suddenly cried little Maria Blond. There is, opposite my place, a gentleman, a Russian, in short an exceedingly rich man. Well, yesterday I receive a basket of fruit, but a basket of fruit! enormous peaches, grapes big as that, in short something extraordinary in this season... And in the middle six thousand-franc notes... It was the Russian... Naturally, I sent it all back. But it gave me a little heartache, for the fruit!

These ladies looked at one another, pinching their lips. At her age, little Maria Blond had a pretty nerve. As if such stories happened to drabs of her sort! These were, among them, deep contempts. They especially envied Lucy, furious at her three princes. Since Lucy, every morning, took a ride in the Bois, which had launched her, all rode horseback, a rage held them.

Day was about to appear. Nana turned her eyes from the door, losing hope. They were bored to death. Rose Mignon had refused to sing the Slipper, curled on a sofa, where she talked low with Fauchery, waiting for Mignon who was already winning some fifty louis of Vandeuvres. A stout gentleman, decorated and of serious mien, had indeed just recited the Sacrifice of Abraham, in Alsatian patois; when God swears, he says: "Holy name of me!" and Isaac always answers: "Yes, papa!" Only, no one having understood, the piece had seemed stupid. They knew not what to do to be gay, to end the night madly. For an instant, Labordette imagined denouncing the women to La Faloise's ear, who went roaming around each, looking if she had not his handkerchief in her bosom. Then, as bottles of champagne remained on the buffet, the young men began to drink again. They called to one another, excited themselves; but a dreary drunkenness, of a stupidity to weep, invaded the salon, invincibly. Then, the little blond, he who bore one of the great names of France, at end of invention, despairing of finding anything funny, had an idea: he carried off his bottle of champagne and finished emptying it into the piano. All the others writhed.

-- Why! asked with astonishment Tatan Néné who had seen him, why does he put champagne in the piano?

-- How! my girl, you do not know that? answered Labordette gravely. There is nothing so good as champagne for pianos. It gives them tone.

-- Ah! murmured Tatan Néné convinced.

And, as they laughed, she grew angry. Did she know! They always muddled her.

It was spoiling, decidedly. The night threatened to end in a foul way. In a corner, Maria Blond had gripped with Léa de Horn whom she accused of sleeping with people not rich enough; and they came to foul words, catching at each other's faces. Lucy, who was ugly, silenced them. Face meant nothing, one had to be well made. Further off, on a sofa, an attaché of embassy had passed an arm around Simonne's waist, whom he tried to kiss on the neck; but Simonne, worn out, sulky, pushed him away each time with "You bore me!" and great blows of her fan on the face. None, besides, wished to be touched. Did they take them for girls? However, Gaga, who had caught La Faloise, held him almost on her knees; while Clarisse, between two gentlemen, disappeared, shaken with a nervous laugh of a woman being tickled. Around the piano, the little game continued, in a fit of stupid madness; they pushed, each wanted to pour his bottle dregs there. It was simple and pretty.

-- Why! old fellow, have a drop... Zounds! the piano is thirsty!... Look out! here is another; we must lose nothing.

Nana, back turned, did not see them. She definitely fell back on the fat Steiner, seated near her. Too bad! it was that Muffat's fault, who had not come. In her white foulard dress, light and crumpled like a chemise, with her touch of drunkenness that paled her, her eyes bruised, she offered herself with her tranquil air of a good girl. The roses of her chignon and bodice had shed their petals; only the stems remained. But Steiner quickly withdrew his hand from her skirts, where he had just met the pins put by Georges. A few drops of blood appeared. One fell on the dress and stained it.

-- Now, it is signed, said Nana seriously.

Day was growing. A dubious light, of an awful sadness, entered by the windows. Then, the departure began, a rout full of unease and acrimony. Caroline Héquet, angered at having lost her night, said it was time to go, if one did not wish to witness pretty things. Rose made a grimace of a compromised woman. It was always thus, with those girls; they knew not how to behave, they showed disgusting at their beginnings. And Mignon having cleaned out Vandeuvres, the couple left, without worrying about Steiner, after inviting Fauchery again for the next day. Lucy, then, refused to be seen home by the journalist, whom she sent back aloud to his little actress. Thereupon Rose, who had turned, answered with a "Filthy goose!" between her teeth. But already Mignon, paternal in women's quarrels, experienced and superior, had pushed her outside, begging her to finish. Behind them, Lucy, all alone, descended the staircase royally. Then, it was La Faloise whom Gaga had to take away, sick, sobbing like a child, calling Clarisse, slipped away long since with her two gentlemen. Simonne also had disappeared. There remained only Tatan, Léa and Maria, whom Labordette consented to take charge of, complaisantly.

-- But I have no wish at all to sleep! repeated Nana. We should do something.

She looked at the sky through the panes, a livid sky where ran clouds the color of soot. It was six o'clock. Opposite, on the other side of the boulevard Haussmann, the houses, still asleep, cut their damp roofs in the early day; while, on the deserted pavement, a troop of sweepers passed with the noise of their clogs. And, before this dismal awakening of Paris, she was seized with a tenderness of a young girl, a need of country, of idyll, of something sweet and white.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”