Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [134]
And Nana, understanding that she would only get laughed at, held her tongue. She even remained seated a short time longer, not wishing to show her annoyance. From the other room she could hear the voice of Lucy Stewart, who was standing treat to a whole table of girls, who had come from the dancing places of Montmartre and La Chapelle. It was very warm. The maid was removing piles of dirty plates, smelling strongly of the stewed fowl and rice, whilst the four gentlemen had ended by standing some strong wine to several different parties of women, in hope of making them drunk, and of hearing something smutty. What exasperated Nana was having to pay for Satin’s dinner. She was a nice hussy to allow herself to be well stuffed, and then to go off with the first who asked her, without even saying “Thank you!” It was, it is true, only three francs, but she thought it hard, all the same. It was such a dirty trick to play. She paid, however, banging her six francs down before Laure, whom she despised then more than the mud in the gutter.
In the Rue des Martyrs Nana’s rancour increased. She certainly wouldn’t go and run after Satin—she wouldn’t go near such a vile creature! But all the same her evening was spoilt, and she returned slowly towards Montmartre, feeling frightfully enraged with Madame Robert. That one certainly had a famous cheek to pretend she was a respectable woman. She was respectable enough for a dust-bin! Now she recollected perfectly of having seen her at the “Butterfly,” a foul dancing-place in the Rue des Poissonniers, where she used to sell herself for thirty sous. And she got hold of government officials by her modest ways, and she refused suppers, to which she had been honoured by an invitation, just to pretend that she was a virtuous person! Ah! she should have some virtue given her! It was always such prudes as she who got hold of the most shocking diseases, in ignoble holes that no one else knew of.
However, Nana, while thinking of all these things, had at length arrived home in the Rue Véron. She was amazed to see a light in the windows. Fontan, having been left directly after dinner by the friend who had invited him, had come home in a very bad humour. He listened in a cold way to the explanations she hastened to give in her fear of being knocked about and her bewilderment at seeing him there when she had not expected him before one in the morning; she lied, for though she admitted spending six francs, she said she had been with Madame Maloir. He remained wrapt in his dignity, and handed her a letter, which he had coolly opened although addressed to her. It was a letter from George, who was still kept at Les Fondettes, and who gave vent to his feelings every week in several pages of the most impassioned language. Nana was delighted when anyone wrote to her, expecially letters full of vows of love. She read them to everyone. Fontan was acquainted with George’s style, and appreciated it. But that night she so feared a row that she affected the greatest indifference; she glanced through the letter in a sulky sort of way, and then threw it on one side. Fontan was beating the tattoo on a window pane, not wanting to go to bed so early, and not knowing what to do to while away the evening. Suddenly he turned round.
“Suppose we write an answer to the youngster at once,” said he.
It was usually he who wrote; he had a much finer style. And then he was pleased when Nana, full of admiration for his letter, which he would read out aloud, would kiss him and exclaim that only he could find such pretty things to say. And all that ended by exciting them, and they adored each other.
“As you like,” she replied. “I will make some tea. We can go to bed afterwards.”
Then Fontan made himself comfortable at the table, with a great display of pen, ink, and paper. He rounded his arms, and thrust out his chin.
“My heart,” he began, reading out loud.
And he worked away for more than an hour, reflecting occasionally about a sentence, his head buried in his hands, and laughing to himself whenever he thought