Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [128]
But she gradually quieted down. After all, they could say what they liked. She thought no more of them than of the mud on her shoes. It would defile her to pay the least attention to such people. She had her conscience, and that was enough for her. And Francis became more familiar, seeing her expose her inmost feelings as she stood there in her dirty old gown, and he ventured to give her some advice. She was foolish to sacrifice everything simply for an infatuation; infatuations spoilt life. She listened to him, holding down her head, whilst he spoke in a sad tone of voice, like a connoisseur who grieved to see so lovely a girl throw herself away in such a manner.
“That’s my business,” she ended by saying. “But thanks all the same, old fellow.”
She squeezed his hand, which was always a trifle greasy, in spite of his perfect get-up; then she left him and went to buy her fish. During the day the story of the kick behind occupied her a great deal. She even spoke of it to Fontan, again affecting the style of a strong-minded woman who would not submit to an insult from any one. Fontan, like the superior being he was, declared that all those grand gentlemen were muffs, and that they should despise them. And from that moment Nana was filled with a real disdain.
It happened that evening that they went to the Bouffes Theatre to see a little woman, whom Fontan knew, make her first appearance in a part of ten lines. It was nearly one o‘clock in the morning when they at last got back to Montmartre on foot. In the Rue de la Chaussée d’Antin they had stopped to buy a cake, a mocha; and they ate it in bed, because the night was cold, and it was not worth while lighting a fire. Sitting up in bed, side by side, with the clothes well over them, and the pillows piled up behind, they talked of the little woman as they supped. Nana thought her ugly and quite without go. Fontan, who slept on the outside of the bed, passed the slices of cake, which stood on the night-table between a box of matches and the candle. But they ended by quarrelling.
“Oh! is it possible to talk so?” cried Nana. “Her eyes are like gimlet holes, and her hair is the colour of tow.”
“Shut up!” replied Fontan. “She has beautiful hair, and her eyes are full of fire. It’s funny that you women always pull each other to pieces!” He seemed greatly annoyed. “There, that’s enough!” he said at length, in a rough tone of voice. “You know I don’t like wrangling. We’ll go to sleep, or there’ll be a row.”
And he blew out the candle. Nana was furious, and continued talking. She was not going to be spoken to like that; she was in the habit of being respected. As he no longer answered, she was obliged to leave off; but she could not go to sleep—she kept turning over and turning over.
“Damn it all! have you finished moving about?” he asked suddenly, jumping up in a sitting posture.
“It’s not my fault if there are crumbs in the bed,” said she sharply.
And there were indeed crumbs in the bed. She even felt them under her legs, they were all about her. The smallest crumb irritated her, and made her scratch herself till her flesh bled. Besides, when one eats anything in bed, one should always shake the clothes afterwards. Fontan, in a towering rage, lit the candle. They both got out; and in their night-dresses, and with their feet bare, they uncovered the bed and swept the crumbs away