The Beast Within - Emile Zola [162]
Roubaud walked across the room without a word. When he reached the door, he turned round, fixing her in a sullen gaze.
‘Go to hell!’ he muttered.
He went out, not even bothering to shut the door behind him. He didn’t appear to have noticed Jacques sitting there; he didn’t even mention him.
After a long silence, Séverine turned towards Jacques.
‘I don’t believe it!’ she said.
Jacques had not spoken, but he now stood up.
‘He’s finished!’ he declared.
They agreed. At first they were amazed that, having killed one lover, he should put up with another. Then they found themselves despising him; how could a husband be so complacent? When a man reached that stage, he was in a mess; he would end up in the gutter.
From that day on, Séverine and Jacques were free to do as they wanted; they no longer needed to bother about Roubaud. Their main worry now, however, was Madame Lebleu, the nosey woman next door; she was convinced something was going on. When he came to see Séverine, Jacques crept along the corridor as quietly as possible. But to no avail; every time, he saw the door opposite being inched open and an eye watching him through the crack. It was becoming intolerable; he hardly dared come any more. When he did come, Madame Lebleu always knew he was there and would be outside with her ear glued to the door; they couldn’t kiss or even hold a proper conversation. Séverine was so exasperated by this new intrusion into her love life that she once more began to press to have the Lebleus’ apartment transferred to her. Traditionally the apartment had always been assigned to the assistant stationmaster. It was no longer the splendid view that attracted her, with the windows looking out on to the station forecourt and the Ingouville hills; her only reason for wanting it, although she kept this to herself, was that the apartment had a back door opening on to the tradesman’s entrance. Jacques would be able to come and go as he pleased, and Madame Lebleu would be none the wiser. They would at last be free!
It was to prove far from easy, however. This dispute had been the subject of heated debate before; everyone on the corridor knew about it. But things had now come to a head. Madame Lebleu, feeling herself threatened, made no secret of her objections. It would kill her if she was shut up in a dingy room at the back, with only the station roof to look at; it would be like living in a prison cell! How could she be expected to live in a pokey little hole like that, when she was used to a nice, bright room with a fine view, where she could watch all the passengers coming and going? Her legs were so bad she couldn’t get out for a walk; she’d just have to sit looking at a lead roof! They might as well just kill her and have done with it! But no matter how upset she got, in the end she had to admit she was only living there as the result of a favour; the previous assistant stationmaster, Roubaud’s predecessor, had let them have it because he was a bachelor and lived on his own. Her husband had even written a letter undertaking to return it if the new assistant stationmaster wanted it. The letter could no longer be found, and Madame Lebleu denied that it had ever existed. The more untenable her position seemed to be, the more violent and aggressive she became. At one point she tried to get Madame Moulin, the other assistant stationmaster’s wife, on her side by involving her in the quarrel; Madame Moulin, she claimed, had seen Madame Roubaud kissing men on the stairs. Moulin had got very angry. His wife was a quiet, retiring person, whom you hardly ever saw. She had been reduced to tears; she swore she had seen nothing and had said no such thing. For a week the arguments raged from one end of the corridor to the other. Madame Lebleu’s mistake,