Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [64]
“Thank goodness! it isn’t so warm in here,” said Gaga, with a slight shiver, as she entered the dining-room.
The window had been left open. Two lamps lighted up the table, on which the coffee was served with some liqueurs. There were no chairs, so they all took their coffee standing; whilst the noise caused by the waiters in the next room increased. Nana had disappeared; but no one was troubled about her absence. They got on very well without her, helping themselves, searching in the sideboard drawers for the spoons they wanted. Several groups were formed—those who had been separated during the supper rejoining one another, and exchanging looks, significant smiles, or a few words which summed up the situation.
“I say, Augustus,” said Rose Mignon, “ought not M. Fauchery to come and lunch with us one of these days?”
Mignon, who was playing with his watch chain, looked at the journalist severely for a second. Rose, he thought, was mad. As a good manager, he would put a stop to all such waste. For an article, well and good; but after that no admittance. However, as he knew that his wife would sometimes have her own way, and that he made a rule of paternally allowing her to commit a folly whenever he could not prevent it, he replied in his most amiable manner, “Certainly, I shall be delighted. Why not come to-morrow, then, M. Fauchery?”
Lucy Stewart, who was conversing with Steiner and Blanche, overheard the invitation. She raised her voice, and said to the banker, “Is it a mania they’ve all got? One of them has even stolen my puppy. Really, now, is it my fault if you’ve discarded her?”
Rose turned her head. Her face was very pale as she looked fixedly at Steiner, slowly sipping her coffee the while, and all the repressed anger she felt at her abandonment gleamed in her eyes like a flame of fire. She understood the matter better than Mignon. It was absurd to try and repeat the Jonquier experiment. That sort of things did not come off twice. Well, so much the worse! she would have Fauchery. She had felt a hankering for him ever since the supper, and if Mignon didn’t like it, it would teach him to act differently another time.
“You are not going to fight, I hope?” Vandeuvres came and said to Lucy Stewart.
“Oh, no! never you fear. Only she had better keep quiet, or I’ll give her a piece of my mind”; and, calling to Fauchery in a haughty tone of voice, Lucy added, “Young ‘un, I’ve got your slippers at home. I’ll have ’em left to-morrow with your concierge.”
He tried to jest about it, but she moved away from him with the air of a queen. Clarisse, who was leaning against the wall so as the more conveniently to drink a glass of kirsch, shrugged her shoulders. What a fuss to make about a man! Wasn’t it the custom, whenever two women found themselves together with their lovers, for each to try and get hold of the other’s? It was quite a settled thing. If she had chosen, she might have scratched out Gaga’s eyes, all on account of Hector. But, pooh! she didn’t care a button. Then, as La Faloise passed near her she contented herself with saying to him, “Listen! you seem to like them very far advanced. You are not satisfied with their being ripe, you want them rotten!”
La Faloise appeared very much put out. He continued uneasy. Seeing Clarisse scoffing at him he suspected her. “No humbug,” he murmured, “you have taken my handkerchief. Give me my handkerchief.”
“What a nuisance he is with his handkerchief!” she