Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [59]
“My boy,” said Daguenet, giving him the benefit of his experience, “don’t take any fish, it’s not advisable to do so so late at night as this; and stick to the Léoville, it is less treacherous.”
The atmosphere was becoming quite impregnated with the heat from the candles and the fumes of the dishes and of everything else on the table, around which thirty-eight persons were almost suffocating; and the waiters, becoming careless, were scurrying about over the carpet, which was already grease-stained in several places. The supper, however, still continued a rather quiet affair. The ladies trifled with their food, leaving half of it on their plates. Tatan Néné alone ate greedily of everything. At that late hour of the night there were nothing but nervous appetites, the caprices of disordered stomachs. Seated beside Nana the old gentleman declined all the dishes offered him. He had merely taken a spoonful of soup; and he silently looked about him in front of his empty plate. There was a good deal of discreet yawning. Now and again some of the guests quite closed their eyes, whilst the faces of others became really cadaverous-looking. It was most awfully slow, as Vandeuvres said. Suppers of that sort, to be amusing, should not be too select. Otherwise, if all were on their good behaviour, and everything was highly respectable, one might just as well go and feed in good society, where one could not be more bored. If it hadn’t been for Bordenave, who continued his shouting, every one would have gone to sleep. The lazy beast, his leg carefully stretched out, put on the airs of a sultan, as he allowed his neighbours, Lucy and Rose, to wait on him. They did nothing but look after him and pamper him, and see that his glass and his plate were constantly filled; but all that did not prevent him complaining.
“Who will cut up my meat for me? I can’t do it myself, the table is a mile away.”
Every moment Simone continued going and standing behind him, and cutting up his meat and his bread. All the women interested themselves in what he had to eat. They called back the waiters and had his plate filled again and again. Then Simone having wiped his mouth, whilst Rose and Lucy changed his plate and knife and fork, he thought it all very nice; and, deigning at last to show his pleasure, he said, “There! You are right, my girl. A woman is made for nothing else.”
Every one began to wake up a bit, and the conversation became more general. Some orange sherbet had just been served round. The hot roast was a truffled fillet of beef, and the cold roast a galantine of guinea-fowl with jelly. Nana, who was quite put out by the want of animation among her guests, now commenced to talk very loud.
“You know that the Prince of Scotland has already had a stage-box booked for him to see the ‘Blonde Venus,’ when he comes for the Exhibition.”
“I hope all the princes will come and see it,” said Bordenave, with his mouth full.
“The Shah of Persia is expected on Sunday,” observed Lucy Stewart.
Then Rose Mignon talked of the Shah’s diamonds. He wore a tunic which was quite covered with precious stones, it was a marvel, a blazing star, and was worth millions; and all the ladies, with pale faces and eyes glaring with covetousness, stretched their necks as they mentioned the other kings and emperors who were expected. They were all thinking of some caprice of royalty, of a fortune made in a night.
“I say, my dear,” asked Caroline Héquet, leaning towards Vandeuvres, “how old is the Emperor of Russia?”
“Oh! he’s no age,” replied the count, laughing. “You’ve no chance in that quarter, I assure you.”
Nana pretended