Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [88]
“My husband will be here directly, and then you will see!”
The actors, with their overcoats on, and looking very fatigued, now began to leave one by one. Groups of men and women went down the little winding staircase, casting shadows of old knocked-about hats and ragged shawls on the wall, with the ghastliness of strollers who have wiped off their rouge. On the stage, where all the gas-jets were being turned out, the prince was listening to an anecdote of Bordenave’s. He was waiting for Nana. When she at length appeared, the stage was in darkness, and the fireman was going round with a lantern giving a last look to everything. To save His Highness from having to go through the Passage des Panoramas, Bordenave had the doors opened of the corridor leading from near the doorkeeper’s room to the vestibule of the theatre, and several of the women scurried along there, delighted at escaping from the men who were waiting for them outside the stage-door. They pushed against each other, squeezing their way through, glancing back every instant, and holding their breath until they found themselves outside; whilst Fontan, Bosc, and Prulliere moved slowly off home, joking amongst themselves about the ladies’ protectors—solemn-looking gentlemen, who were walking up and down the Galerie des Variétés near the stage-door, at the same time that the damsels themselves were hastening along the Boulevards in the company of the chosen ones of their hearts. But Clarisse was especially cunning. She determined to beware of La Faloise. And, in fact, he was still in the doorkeeper’s room with the other gentlemen who obstinately stuck to Madame Bron’s chairs. They were all watching and listening intently; so, keeping close to a friend, she passed rapidly before them. The gentlemen blinked their eyes, bewildered by the rapid succession of skirts whirling round at the foot of the narrow stair-case, and quite despondent, after having waited so long for the ladies, at seeing them all disappear like that without being able to recognise a single one. The litter of black kittens were asleep on the oil-cloth, cuddled up against their mother, who, with a look of intense happiness, had separated her legs to receive them; whilst the big tortoise-shell cat, seated at the other end of the table with its tail stretched out, watched with its yellow eyes the women hurrying away.
“If His Highness will pass through here,” said Bordenave, at the foot of the stairs, as he pointed to the corridor.
A few women were still there pushing past each other. The prince followed Nana, and Muffat and the marquis came after them. It was a long passage situated between the theatre and the next house, in fact, a sort of narrow alley covered with a sloping roof, in which were two or three sky-lights. A dampness hung about the walls, and the footsteps resounded over the pavement the same as in a tunnel. It was full of the disorder of a garret. There was a carpenter’s bench, on which the doorkeeper’s husband occasionally planed a piece of scenery, and quite a collection of wooden barriers used of an evening to regulate the pressure of the crowd. Nana was obliged to hold up her skirts as she passed a water-tap which, not being properly turned off, was inundating the place. On reaching the vestibule everyone bowed. And when Bordenave was left alone, he summed