Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [203]
“By Jove! they can’t be very cold in there!” murmured La Faloise.
Their eyes blinked on coming from out of the mysterious shadows of the garden; and they drew each other’s attention to the Marquis de Chouard, who, standing all alone, and stretched to the full height of his tall figure, overlooked the bare shoulders around him. His pale face appeared very severe, and bore an expression of haughty dignity beneath his crown of scanty white locks. Scandalized by Count Muffat’s conduct, he had publicly broken off all connection with him, and affected not to visit at the house. If he had consented to appear on this occasion, it was on account of the earnest entreaties of his grand-daughter, whose marriage, however, he disapproved of in indignant language against the disorganisation of the upper classes by the shameful compromises of modern debauchery.
“Ah! the end is at hand,” Madame du Joncquoy, beside the fire-place, was whispering to Madame Chantereau. “That hussy has so bewitched the unhappy fellow. We who used to know him so staunch a believer—so noble!”
“It appears that he’s ruining himself,” continued Madame Chantereau. “My husband has had a note of his. He lives now altogether in that mansion of the Avenue de Villiers. All Paris is talking about him. Really! I cannot excuse Sabine either, though we must admit that he gives her a great many causes for complaint; and, well! if she also throws the money out of the window—”
“She does not only throw money,” interrupted the other. “Well, as they are both at work, they will reach the end all the sooner. A regular drowning in the mire, my dear.”
But a gentle voice interrupted them. It was M. Venot. He had come and seated himself behind them, as though desirous of being out of the way; and leaning towards them, he murmured,
“Why despair? God manifests Himself when all seems lost.”
He was peacefully assisting at the downfall of that house which once upon a time he had governed. Ever since his sojourn at Les Fondettes, he had quietly allowed the undermining to go on, fully aware of how powerless he was to cope with it. He had accepted everything—the count’s mad infatuation for Nana, Fauchery’s close attendance on the countess, even Daguenet’s marriage with Estelle. What mattered those things? And he showed himself more supple, more mysterious, entertaining the idea of influencing the young couple the same as he had the now disunited one, knowing that great disorders lead to great devotions. Providence would have its hour.
“Our friend,” continued he in a low voice, “is still animated with the best religious sentiments. He has given me the sweetest proofs.”
“Well, then!” said Madame du Joncquoy; “he should first of all make it up with his wife.”
“No doubt. Just now I happen to have the hope that their reconciliation will not be long in coming about.”
Then the two old ladies questioned him; but he became very humble again. They must let Heaven accomplish it in its own way. His sole desire in bringing the count and countess closer together was to avoid a public scandal. Religion tolerated many failings when appearances were kept up.
“At any rate,” resumed Madame du Joncquoy, “you ought to have prevented this marriage with this adventurer.”
“You are mistaken; M. Daguenet is a very worthy young man. I am acquainted with his ideas. He wishes to cause his youthful errors to be forgotten. Estelle will bring him into the right path, you may be sure.”
“Oh, Estelle!” disdainfully murmured