Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [71]
But Simone said they ought not to forget Madame Bron’s little profit. She clapped her hands, delighted, devouring Fontan with her eyes, whilst his goat-like face kept moving with a continual play of the eyes, nose, and mouth. “Oh! that Fontan!” she murmured; “there is nobody like him, there is nobody like him!”
The two doors were wide open, showing the passage leading to the dressing-rooms; and along the yellow wall, vividly lighted up by an unseen gas-lamp, shadows were rapidly passing of men in various costumes, women, half-naked, wrapped in shawls, all the chorus of the second act, with the masqueraders of the “Boule Noire”; and from the end of the passage one could hear the sound of their feet stamping on the five wooden steps which led on to the stage. As tall Clarisse rapidly passed by, Simone called to her; but she answered that she would be back in a minute. And, in fact, she returned shortly afterwards, shivering in the thin tunic and sash which formed Iris’s costume.
“By Jove!” said she, “it isn’t very warm; and I’ve been and left my fur-cloak in my dressing-room!” Then, standing before the fire, warming her legs, the tights covering which showed the colour of the flesh beneath, she continued, “The prince has arrived.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the others inquisitively.
“Yes; I went to ascertain; I wanted to see. He is in the first stage-box on the right, the same as on Thursday. Well! it’s the third time he’s been in a week. Isn’t she lucky, Nana? I had bet that he wouldn’t come again.”
Simone opened her mouth, but her words were drowned by a fresh cry, which burst out close to the green-room. The shrill voice of the old call-boy shouted along the passage, “The curtain is going up!”
“Three times! Well, it’s becoming something surprising,” said Simone, as soon as she could be heard. “You know, he won’t go to her place; he takes her to his. And it seems it costs him a pretty penny.”
“Why, of course! one must pay for one’s enjoyments!” maliciously observed Prullière, rising to glance into the glass at his well-formed figure, which created such havoc among the occupants of the boxes.
“The curtain’s rising! the curtain’s rising!” repeated the old call-boy in the distance, as he hurried along the different passages.
Then Fontan, who knew what had taken place the first time between the prince and Nana, related the story to the two women who were squeezing up against him, and laughed very loud each time he stooped to give them certain details. Old Bosc, full of indifference, hadn’t moved. Such tales as that didn’t interest him. He was stroking a big tortoise-shell cat curled up asleep on the bench; and he ended by taking it in his arms with the tender simplicity of a crazy king. The cat arched its back; then, after sniffing a considerable while at his long white beard, disgusted, apparently, by the smell of the gum, it returned to the bench, where, curling itself up, it soon fell asleep. Bosc remained solemn and thoughtful.
“All the same, if I were you, I would have the champagne from the café; it will be much better,” said he suddenly to Fontan, as the latter finished his story.
“The curtain’s up!” drawlingly exclaimed the old call-boy in a cracked tone of voice. “The curtain’s up! the curtain’s up!”
The cry lasted for an instant, and then died away. There was a sound of scurrying footsteps; then the sudden opening of the door at the end of the passage admitted a blast of music, a distant hubbub, and the door closed again with a dull thud. Once more a heavy quiet reigned in the green-room, as though it were a hundred miles away from the crowded audience that was applauding vociferously. Simone and Clarisse were still talking of Nana. She never hurried herself!—only the night before she missed her entrance cue. But they stopped speaking as a tall girl thrust her head in at the door, then, seeing she had made a mistake, hurried off to the end of the passage. It was Satin, wearing a bonnet and veil, and looking like a lady out visiting. “A pretty