Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [38]
“You must send them all to the right about,” resumed Nana, following her original idea. “Begin with the blackamoor.”
“I sent him off a long time ago, madame,” said Zoé with a smile. “He merely wished to tell madame that he couldn’t come to-night.”
What great joy! Nana clapped her hands. He wasn’t coming—what luck! Then she would be free! She sighed with relief, as though she had been pardoned when about to endure the most abominable of punishments. Her first thought was for Daguenet—that poor duck whom she had just put off till the Thursday! Quick, Madame Maloir must write another letter! But Zoé said that, as usual, Madame Maloir had gone off without letting any one know. Then Nana, after speaking of sending some one, began to hesitate. She was very tired. A whole night for sleep—it would be so nice! The idea of such a treat at length proved irresistible. She might, just for once, stand herself that.
“I shall go to bed at once on returning from the theatre,” she murmured, in a greedy sort of way, “and you must let me sleep till twelve o‘clock.” Then, raising her voice, she added, “Now, then, look alive! shove ’em all on to the staircase!”
Zoé didn’t stir. She would never permit herself openly to give advice to madame, only she arranged matters in such a way as to enable madame to profit by her vast experience, when she saw that madame was about to do something foolish.
“M. Steiner also?” she briefly asked.
“Certainly,” replied Nana. “He before the others.”
The maid still waited, to give madame time to reflect. Wouldn’t madame be proud to do her rival, Rose Mignon, out of such a rich gentleman—one so well known in all the theatres?
“Look sharp, my dear,” resumed Nana, who understood perfectly, “and tell him that he plagues me.” But she suddenly altered her mind. On the morrow she might want him; so, winking her eye, she laughingly added, “After all, if I want to hook him, the best thing is chuck him out.”
Zoé seemed very much struck with the remark. She gazed on her mistress with a look of admiration, then went and sent Steiner about his business without hesitation. Nana waited a few minutes to give her time to sweep the place, as she termed it. One had never before heard of such an assault! She looked into the drawing-room; it was empty—the dining-room also; but as she continued her inspection, quite reassured, and certain she would not come across any one, she suddenly found herself in the company of a very little fellow, on opening the door of a spare room. He was seated on the top of a trunk, very quiet and looking very good, with an enormous bouquet on his knees.
“Oh, heavens!” she exclaimed. “There is still one in here!”
On seeing her the little fellow jumped to the floor, his face as red as a poppy, and he did not seem to know what to do with his bouquet, which he passed from one hand to the other, almost strangled by emotion. His youth, his embarrassment, the comical figure he cut with his flowers, touched Nana, who burst out laughing. What! children as well? Now men came to her when they had scarcely left off their swaddling clothes. She became quite easy, familiar, maternal, even, in her way; and, slapping her thighs, asked him, for a bit of fun,
“Have you then come to be whipped, baby?”
“Yes,” replied the youngster, in low and entreating accents.
This reply amused her all the more. He was seventeen years old, his name was George Hugon. He was at the Variety Theatre on the previous evening, and he had come to see her.
“Are those flowers