Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [214]
“Well, I’m willing,” said she. ”Have you the money?”
No, he had not got the money. He would have given his life to have had it. Never before had he felt so miserable, so useless, such a child. All his poor body, shaken with sobs, expressed a grief so great that she ended by seeing it and feeling for him. She pushed him gently on one side.
“Come, ducky, let me pass; you must. Be reasonable. You’re a baby, and it was all very nice for a week; but to-day I must attend to my affairs. Think it over now. Your brother, too, is a man. I don’t say with him—Ah! do me a kindness; don’t mention to him anything of all this. He has no need to know where I’m going. I always say too much when I’m angry.”
She laughed. Then, putting her arms round him and kissing him on the forehead, she added,
“Good-bye, baby; it’s over, all over, you understand. Now, I’m off.”
And she left him. He was standing in the centre of the parlour. The last words sounded like a knell in his ears, “It is over, all over”; and the ground seemed to open beneath his feet. In the vacuum of his brain, the man who was awaiting Nana had disappeared; Philippe alone remained, continually in the woman’s bare arms. She did not deny it; she certainly loved him, as she wished to spare him the grief of knowing her to be unfaithful. It was over, all over. He drew a long breath, he gazed around the room, choked by a weight that was crushing him. Recollections returned to him one by one—the merry nights at La Mignotte, hours of love during which he thought himself her child, the voluptuous pleasures snatched in that very room. And never, never more! He was too little, he had not grown quick enough; Philippe had taken his place, because he had a beard. So, it was the end, he could no longer live. His vice had become full of an infinite tenderness, of a sensual adoration, in which his whole being was centred. Then, how could he forget, when his brother would remain there—his brother, who was of the same blood, another self whose pleasure drove him mad with jealousy? It was the end, he wished to die.
All the doors were left open as the servants noisily scuttled about, they having seen madame go out on foot. Downstairs, on the bench in the hall, the baker was laughing with Charles and François. As Zoé crossed the parlour at a run, she appeared surprised at seeing George, and asked him if he was waiting for madame. Yes, he was waiting for her, he had forgotten to tell her something. And, when he was again alone, he ferreted about. Finding nothing better, he took from the dressing-room a pair of sharply pointed scissors, which Nana was continually using, cutting her hangnails and little hairs with them.
Then, for an hour, he waited patiently, his hand in his pocket, his fingers nervously clutching the scissors.
“Here’s madame,” said Zoé, coming back; she had probably been watching for her out of the bed-room window.
More scuttling about was heard in the house, and sounds of laughter died away as doors were closed. George heard Nana pay the baker and utter a few brief words. Then she came up the stairs.
“What! you’re still here!” said she, as she caught sight of him. “Ah! we shall have a row, my little man!”
He followed her whilst she moved towards the bed-room.
“Nana, will you marry me?”
But she shrugged her shoulders. It was too absurd, she did not answer. Her idea was to bang the door in his face.
“Nana, will you marry me?”
She slammed the door. With one hand he opened it, whilst he withdrew the other hand holding the scissors from his pocket. And, simply, with one violent blow, he thrust them into his chest.
Nana, however, had had a feeling that something terrible was going to happen. She turned round. When she saw him strike himself, she was seized with indignation.
“But he’s cracked! he’s cracked! And with my scissors too! Will you leave off, you wicked child! Ah! good heavens!—ah! good heavens!”
She was seized with fear. The youngster, fallen on his knees, had struck himself a second blow, which had laid him flat on the carpet. He