Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [177]
“By the way,” resumed Nana, “do you know a little old fellow, very tidy in his appearance, and with very bad teeth? A Monsieur Venot. He called on me this morning.”
“Monsieur Venot!” echoed George in amazement. “It can’t be! He’s a Jesuit.”
“Precisely, I soon found that out. Oh! you’ve no idea what we talked about! It was so funny! He spoke of the count, and of his disunited family, the happiness of which he implored me to restore. He was very polite, too, and smiling all the time. Then I told him I should be only too pleased to do as he wished; and in the end I promised to make the count return to his wife. You know, it’s not a joke; for I shall be delighted to see the whole lot of them happy! Besides, it will give me a rest, for there are days when he is really too tiresome!”
Her weariness of the last few months escaped her in that cry from her heart. With all that, too, the count appeared to be in great straits for money. He was careworn; the bill he had given to Labordette was coming due, and he did not see his way to meet it.
“Why, there is the countess over there,” said George, who had been glancing along the stands.
“Where?” exclaimed Nana. “What eyes he has, that baby! Hold my parasol, Philippe.”
But George, with a quick movement, forestalled his brother, and was quite delighted at holding the blue silk parasol, with silver fringe. Nana looked through an enormous field-glass.
“Ah, yes! I see her,” said she at length. “In the stand to the right, close to a pillar, is she not? She is in mauve, with her daughter in white beside her. Why! there’s Daguenet going up to them.”
Then Philippe talked of Daguenet’s approaching marriage with that stick Estelle. It was a settled thing; they were publishing the banns. The countess objected at first, but the count, so it was said, had insisted. Nana smiled.
“I know, I know,” murmured she. “So much the better, Paul. He’s a nice fellow—he deserves it”; and leaning towards little Louis, she added, “Well, are you amusing yourself? How serious the child looks!”
The child, without a smile, watched the crowd about him, looking very old, and as though full of sad reflections on what he saw. Bijou, driven from the skirts of the young woman, who was always moving about, had gone to shiver against the little one.
The space around was rapidly filling up. Vehicles of all sorts continuously arrived in a compact, interminable line. There were enormous omnibuses, like the “Pauline” which had started from the Boulevard des Italiens with its fifty passengers and which took up a position near the stands. Then there were dog-carts, victorias, and most elegant landaus, which mingled with old tumble-down cabs dragged by the most wretched horses; and four-in-hands and stage-coaches, with their owners seated on the top, and the servants inside taking care of the hampers of champagne; and light traps of every description, some driven tandem fashion, and accompanied by a jingling of bells. Now and again a gentleman on horseback passed, or a crowd of persons on foot rushed in amongst the vehicles. The rumbling noise which accompanied the latter all along the winding turnings of the Bois de Boulogne ceased as they drove on to the grass. Nothing was heard but the murmur of the ever-increasing crowd, shouts and calls and cracking of whips, which resounded in the open air. And each time the sun appeared from out the clouds scattered by the wind, a blaze of golden light lit up the mounted harnesses and the varnished panels, and brought out the brilliant colours of the costumes; whilst in that flood of sunshine