Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [103]
“It is the last one, is it not?” quietly inquired the countess of Fauchery, affecting not to recognise Nana.
The wheels of Nana’s carriage almost grazed her, but she did not move back an inch. The two women had exchanged a searching look—one of those scrutinising glances lasting but a second, yet complete and definite. As for the men, they behaved admirably. Fauchery and Daguenet, perfectly impassive, recognised no one. The marquis, anxious, and afraid of some practical joke on the part of the girls, had plucked a blade of grass, which he was twirling between his fingers. Vandeuvres alone, being at some little distance from the others, just moved his eyelids by way of recognising Lucy, who smiled at him as she passed.
“Take care!” murmured M. Venot, standing behind Count Muffat.
The latter, greatly agitated, followed with his eyes, that vision of Nana, flying away from him. His wife had turned slowly round and was examining him. Then he looked on the ground, as though to lose sight of the galloping horses, who were carrying off his flesh and his heart. His agony almost made him cry aloud. He had understood all on seeing George lost amongst Nana’s skirts. A child! It broke his heart to think that she should have preferred a child to himself! He did not mind about Steiner, but a child!
Madame Hugon, however, had not recognised George at first. On passing over the bridge he would have jumped into the stream, had not Nana’s knees held him. So, white as snow and cold as ice, he sat immovable, looking at no one. Perhaps they would not see him.
“Ah! good heavens!” suddenly exclaimed the old lady, “it is George who is with her.”
The carriages had passed in the midst of that uneasiness felt by persons who knew each other, and who yet did not bow. This delicate encounter, so rapid in reality, had seemed to last an eternity. And, now, the wheels were gaily carrying away into the sunny country those vehicles full of girls, with the wind blowing in their faces. Ribbons were flying about, the laughter commenced again, and jokes passed from one to another; whilst some stood up and gazed back at those highly respectable people, who had remained stationary at the side of the road, looking very much put out. Nana, as she glanced round, could see them hesitate, then retrace their steps without crossing the bridge at all. Madame Hugon was leaning on Count Muffat’s arm, silent, and so sad that no one dared console her.
“I say,” cried Nana to Lucy, who was leaning out of the carriage in front of hers, “did you notice Fauchery, my dear? Didn’t he look a dirty rip? He shall smart for it. And Paul, a chap to whom I have been so kind—not the least sign. Really, they are polite!”
Then she had a frightful quarrel with Steiner, who considered that the gentlemen had behaved admirably. So they were not even worth the raising of a hat? The first blackguard they met might insult them? Thanks, he also was a nice fellow, he was; it only wanted that. One should always bow to a woman.
“Who was the tall one?” called out Lucy, in the midst of the noise caused by the wheels.
“Countess Muffat,” answered Steiner.
“There now! I thought as much!” exclaimed Nana. “Well, my boy, in spite of her being a countess, I can tell you she’s not worth much. Yes, yes, not worth much. You know I’ve an eye for that sort of thing, I have. Now, I know her as if I had made her, your countess. Will you bet that that viper Fauchery isn’t her lover? I tell you that he