Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [87]
“Are you going with the old boy?” asked Simone of Clarisse, in a whisper.
“Never! not if I know it!” answered the latter out loud.
The dresser, a very ugly and very familiar young girl, who was helping Simone to put on her cloak, burst out laughing. They all three incited one another, murmuring words which redoubled their merriment.
“Come, Clarisse; kiss the gentleman,” said Fauchery. “You know he can afford it.” And turning towards the count, he added, “You’ll see, she’s very nice; she’s going to kiss you.”
But Clarisse had had enough of the men. She spoke vehemently of the beasts who were waiting below in the doorkeeper’s room. Besides, she was in a hurry to get down, they would make her miss her cue in the last scene. Then, as Fauchery stood in front of the door to detain her, she kissed Muffat’s whiskers, saying:
“It’s not because it’s you, anyhow! it’s merely because Fauchery bothers me!” And she hastened away.
The count felt very uneasy in the presence of his father-in-law. He became very red in the face. When in Nana’s dressing-room, surrounded by all the luxury of mirrors and hangings, he had not experienced the acrid excitation of the shameful misery of that garret, full of the two women’s indelicacy. The marquis, however, had gone off after Simone, who seemed in a great hurry, whispering in her ear, whilst she kept shaking her head. Fauchery followed them laughing. Then the count found himself left alone with the dresser, who was rinsing out the basins. So he also went off and descended the staircase, his legs scarcely able to bear his weight, startling women in their petticoats, and causing doors to be hastily closed as he passed. But in the midst of this hurry-skurry of girls across the four storeys, the only thing he distinctly saw was a cat—the big tortoise-shell cat who, in that furnace poisoned with musk, crawled down the stairs rubbing its back against the rails of the balustrade, with its tail erect.
“Well! exclaimed a woman’s hoarse voice, ”I thought they were going to keep us to-night! They’re always having calls!”
It was the end; the curtain had just gone down. There was a rush up the staircase, which resounded with exclamations of all kinds; everyone was in a violent hurry to get dressed and go home. As Count Muffat reached the foot of the stairs he saw Nana and the prince walking slowly along the passage. Stopping suddenly, the young woman smiled and said in a low tone of voice:
“Very well, then; in a few minutes.”
The prince returned to the stage, where Bordenave awaited him. Then, finding himself alone with Nana, Muffat gave way to an impulse of rage and desire and hastened after her, and, just as she reached her dressing-room, he kissed her roughly on the back of the neck, where the little golden curls hung between her shoulders. It was as though he was returning the kiss he had received upstairs. Nana, in a fury, raised her arm, but, when she recognised the count, she smiled.
“Oh! you frightened me,” was all she said.
And her smile was adorable, confused and submissive, as if she had despaired of that kiss and was happy at having received it. But she could not respond to it, neither then nor on the morrow. They must wait. Even if she had not been obliged to do so, she would have made him wait. Her look said all these things. At length she resumed:
“You know, I am a landowner now. Yes, I have purchased a small estate near Orleans, in a part of the country where you go sometimes. Baby told me so—little George Hugon; you know him, do you not? Come and see me there.”
The timid count, frightened at his own rude outburst, ashamed of what he had done, bowed ceremoniously and promised to avail himself of her invitation. Then he went off to rejoin the prince, walking as though in a dream, and as he passed the green-room he heard Satin exclaim:
“You are a dirty old beast! Leave me alone!”
It was the