Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [16]
“As if their pieces were always funny!” Lucy kept repeating as she ascended the stairs.
Fauchery and La Faloise stood in their places, examining the house, which was now very brilliant. The crystal gasalier blazed with prismatic hues, and the light was reflected from the ceiling on to the pit like a shower of gold. The garnet-coloured velvet of the seats appeared as though shot with lake, whilst the glitter of the gilding was softened by the decorations of pale green beneath the coarse paintings of the ceiling. The foot-lights blazed upon the crimson curtain, the richness of which suggested the most fabulous of palaces, and offered a melancholy contrast to the poverty of the frame, the crevices in which showed the plaster beneath the gilding. It was already excessively warm. In the orchestra the musicians were tuning their instruments, and the light trills of the flute, the stifled sighs of the horn, the singing notes of the violin, were drowned by the increasing hum of voices. All the spectators were talking together, pushing and squeezing each other in their endeavours to reach their seats; and the crush in the corridors was so great that it was with difficulty the doors gave ingress to the never-ceasing flow of people. Friends nodded to each other from a distance, and with the rustling of clothes came a procession of gay costumes and headdresses, broken now and again by a black dress suit or a dark overcoat. However, the seats were gradually filling; here and there appeared a bright coloured robe, and a head with a delicate profile displayed a chignon on which sparkled some valuable jewel. In one of the boxes a glimpse was caught of a woman’s naked shoulder, seemingly as white as ivory. Other women, calmly waiting, fanned themselves languidly as they watched the surging crowd; while a group of young dandies standing in the orchestra stalls—all shirt front, and wearing gardenias in their button-holes—gazed through their opera-glasses, which they held with the tips of their daintily-gloved fingers.
Then the two cousins looked around in search of acquaintances. Mignon and Steiner sat side by side in a box, with their arms resting on the velvet balustrade. Blanche de Sivry appeared to be alone in one of the stage-boxes. But La Faloise watched more especially Daguenet, who had an orchestra stall two rows in front of his. Next to him was seated a youngster, some seventeen years old, just fresh from college, who opened his cherub-like eyes wide with delight. Fauchery smiled as he caught sight of him.
“Who is that lady in the balcony?” asked La Faloise, suddenly. “I mean the one who has a young girl in blue next her.”
He directed his companion’s glance to a woman whose stout figure was tightly laced, and whose once blonde hair, now grey, was dyed yellow, whilst her round puffed face, coloured with rouge, almost disappeared beneath a shower of little baby curls.
“That’s Gaga,” replied Fauchery simply; and, as the name seemed to convey no information to his cousin, he added, “Haven’t you heard of Gaga? She was one of the beauties of the first years of Louis Philippe’sf reign. Now she is never seen anywhere without her daughter.”
La Faloise had no eyes for the young girl. Gaga, however, affected him strangely; he could not cease looking at her. He thought her still very handsome, though he