Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [156]
At first the author was quite bewildered, then he burst out,
“Oh, no! you can’t mean it—it must be a joke. Every one would laugh at it.”
“Well! it’s something to get people to laugh! Think it over, dear boy. The count is very much smitten with the idea.”
Muffat, to conceal his emotion, had taken an object that he did not seem to recognise from amidst the dust on a shelf. It was an egg-cup, the foot of which had been mended with plaster. He kept it in his hand without knowing he did so, and advanced towards the others to murmur:
“Yes, yes, it would be capital.”
Fauchery turned round upon him, with an impatient gesture. The count had nothing to do with his piece; and he exclaimed in a decided tone of voice:
“Never! Nana as the gay woman as much as you like, but as the grand lady, not if I know it!”
“You do not judge her fairly, I assure you,” resumed Muffat, becoming bolder. “Only just now, she was showing me how well she could play the grand lady.”
“Where?” inquired Fauchery, whose astonishment increased.
“Upstairs, in one of the dressing-rooms. Well! she did it splendidly. Oh! such distinction! She can give such glances, too, you know, in passing—this way.”
And with the egg-cup in his hand, he tried to imitate Nana, forgetting himself in the force of his desire to convince the two other men. Fauchery watched him in amazement. He understood, and his anger vanished. The count, who felt his glance upon him, in which there was derision and pity combined, blushed slightly and stopped.
“Well! it may be so,” murmured the author, obligingly. “She would perhaps do it very well, only the part is already given. We cannot take it away from Rose.”
“Oh! if that’s all,” said Bordenave, “I will undertake to manage that.”
But then, seeing them both against him, understanding that Bordenave had some hidden motive for acting as he did, the young man, not wishing to give way, declined again, but with increased energy, and in a manner not to admit of any further discussion.
“No, I say! and no, and always no! Even if the part was not filled up I would never give it to her—there, is that clear enough for you? And now let me be, I don’t want to damn my own piece.”
After this there was an embarrassed silence. Bordenave, thinking himself in the way, withdrew some distance off. The count stood with his head bowed down. He raised it with an effort, and said, in a broken voice,
“My dear fellow, if I ask you to do it as a special favour to myself?”
“I cannot, I cannot,” repeated Fauchery, struggling.
Muffat’s voice became harsher.
“I beg of you—I wish it!
And he looked him straight in the eyes. Beneath that black look, in which he read a menace, the young man suddenly gave way, stammering confusedly,
“Well, after all, do as you wish—I don’t care. Ah! you are unfair. You will see—you will see—”
The embarrassment then became greater. Fauchery had leant up against some shelves, and was nervously stamping on the floor with his foot. Muffat appeared to be examining the egg-cup very attentively, as he continued to turn it round between his fingers.
“It’s an egg-cup,” Bordenave obligingly came and said.
“Why! yes, it’s an egg-cup,” repeated the count.
“Excuse me, you’re all covered with dust,” continued the manager, as he replaced the article on a shelf. “You see, it would be impossible to be dusting here every day—one would always be at it. The consequence is it’s not very clean. What a mixture, isn’t it? Well, believe me if you like, it represents a lot of money. Look here—and here.”
He led Muffat, in the greenish light that came from the courtyard, in front of all the shelves, naming the different articles, wishing to interest him in his rag merchant’s inventory, as he called it. Then, when they had worked their way round to where Fauchery stood, he said, in an easy tone of voice,
“Listen! As we are now agreed, we’ll settle this matter at once. Ah! there is Mignon.”
For a little