The Beast Within - Emile Zola [139]
‘Are you coming back to the train?’ Misard asked Jacques.
‘Yes,’ said Jacques, ‘I’ll follow you.’
Misard went out, shutting the door behind him. Phasie held Jacques back and whispered into his ear: ‘If I peg it, you watch his face when he can’t find the money! It makes me laugh to think about it. So I shall die happy!’
‘But then, Aunt Phasie, no one would find it. Aren’t you going to leave it to your daughter?’
‘Leave it to Flore! So that he can take it off her! I should think not! I’m not even leaving it to you, dear, because you’re a bit soft too. He’d find a way of getting his hands on it. I’m leaving it to nobody ... except the earth! And when I die I’ll have it all to myself!’
She was now very weak. Jacques laid her back on the bed and calmed her down, giving her a kiss and promising to come and see her again soon. She appeared to drop off to sleep. Jacques walked over to Séverine, who was still sitting beside the stove. He smiled at her and raised a finger to warn her not to make a noise. He came up behind her. Without a sound, she threw her head back, offering him her lips. He leaned over her, quietly put his mouth to hers and kissed her passionately. As their lips came together, they closed their eyes. When they opened them again, they were horrified to see Flore, who had walked in through the door, standing in front of them, staring at them.
‘Has madame finished with the bread?’ she asked bluntly.
Séverine was annoyed and confused.
‘Yes. Thank you. Yes,’ she muttered vaguely.
Jacques glared at Flore angrily, not knowing quite what to do. His lips moved as if he were about to say something. Then with a furious wave of his hand he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Flore remained standing where she was, tall and proud like an Amazon, her thick blonde hair falling in long tresses about her face. So her suspicions about this lady whom she saw in Jacques’s train every Friday were right. She had been looking for some explanation all the time they had been there, and now she had it; everything had become clear. The man she loved would never love her. He had chosen this other woman, this thin slip of a girl sitting in front of her! Why had she refused herself that night when he had tried to take her by force? She now regretted it so bitterly she could have wept. To her simple way of thinking, it would be her he would be kissing now, if she had given herself to him before this other woman. But what chance did she have now of being alone with him, of flinging her arms round his neck and crying, ‘Take me, I was stupid, I didn’t know!’ She could do nothing about it; she felt herself growing angrier and angrier towards the frail little creature that sat there in front of her, muttering with embarrassment. She could have taken her in her big, brawny arms and crushed her to death like a tiny bird. Why didn’t she? Was it because she didn’t have the courage? She swore that one day she would be avenged. She knew things about her rival that could have landed her in prison. But they had let her go free, like all the other whores who have sold themselves to old men with money and influence. She was consumed with jealousy and could hardly contain her anger. She snatched away the rest of the bread and the remaining pears with neither a please nor a thank you.
‘If madame has finished with these, I’ll take them in to the others.’
It struck three, and then four. Time dragged on and on. Everyone was overcome with weariness and they were getting more and more frustrated. It was now beginning to grow dark again, and a general gloom settled over the snow-covered landscape. The men, who went out every ten minutes or so to see how the work was progressing, came back saying that the engine still seemed to be stuck in the snow. Even the two English girls were crying from tiredness. In a corner of the room, the pretty dark-haired woman had fallen asleep on the shoulder of the young man from Le Havre. Her husband hadn’t even noticed; things had reached such a pass that social