Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [78]
“Oh! nonsense!” exclaimed Bordenave; “you look very well as you are!”
She risked a few more of her hesitating, ingenuous ways, quivering the while as though she was being tickled, and repeating, “His Highness honours me too much. I beg His Highness to excuse me for receiving him in such a condition—”
“It is I, madame, who am obtrusive,” said the prince; “but I could not resist the desire of coming to compliment you.”
Then, in order to get to her dressing-table, she quietly walked in her drawers through the midst of the gentlemen, who all made way for her. Around her substantial hips her drawers looked like a balloon, as, with chest expanded, she continued to greet her visitors with her sly smile. Suddenly she appeared to recognise Count Muffat, and she shook hands with him as a friend. Then she scolded him for not having come to her supper. His Highness deigned to chaff Muffat, who stuttered out an explanation, trembling at the idea of having held in his hot hand for a second those tiny fingers, that were as cool as the water they had just been washed in. The count had dined well at the prince’s, who was a great eater and a splendid drinker. They were both, in fact, slightly tipsy, although they did not show it. To hide his confusion Muffat was only able to make a remark about the heat.
“How very warm it is in here,” said he. “However do you manage to exist in such a temperature, madame?”
And the conversation was about to start from that, when the sound of loud voices was heard at the door. Bordenave slid aside a little board that closed a convent-like peep-hole. It was Fontan, who was accompanied by Prullière and Bosc, all three carrying bottles of champagne under their arms, and with their hands full of glasses. He knocked, he shouted that it was his saint’s-day and that he was standing champagne. Nana, with a look, consulted the prince. Why, of course! His Highness did not wish to be in anyone’s way, he would be only too delighted! But without waiting for the permission, Fontan entered the room, saying:
“I’m not ill-bred; I stand champagne—”
But he suddenly caught sight of the prince, whom he did not know was there. He stopped short, and putting on a ludicrously solemn look, he said:
“King Dagobert is outside, and requests the honour of drinking with Your Royal Highness.”
The prince having smiled, everyone thought it very witty. The dressing-room, however, was too small for all these people. They were obliged to huddle up together, Satin and Madame Jules at the end of the room, against the curtain, and the gentlemen close to each other around Nana, who was half-naked. The three actors were still in their second act costumes. While Prullière took off his Swiss admiral’s hat, the immense plume of which would have touched the ceiling, Bosc, in his purple cassock and his tin crown, steadied himself on his drunken legs, and greeted the prince like a monarch receiving the son of a powerful neighbour. The wine was poured out and they clinked glasses.
“I drink to Your Highness!” said old Bosc, right royally.
“To the army!” added Prullière.
“To Venus!” shouted Fontan.
The prince complaisantly balanced his glass in his hand. He waited, and then bowed thrice, murmuring, “Madame—admiral—sire.”
And he swallowed the wine at a draught. Count Muffat and the Marquis de Chouard had done the same. There was no more jesting now, they were all at court. This theatrical world was making them forget the real one, with a serious farce performed beneath the hot glare of the gas. Nana, forgetting that she was in her drawers and displaying the tail of her chemise, acted the grand lady, Queen Venus, opening her private apartments to the great personages of the state. To every sentence she uttered she added the words “royal highness,” which she accompanied with curtsies, and she treated those masqueraders, Bosc and Prullière, in the style of a queen accompanied by her prime minister. And no one smiled at the strange mixture, of a real prince,