The Beast Within - Emile Zola [94]
As she pulled the doorbell, a fresh wave of panic ran through her, but a manservant took her name, quickly ushered her into an anteroom and invited her to take a seat. The doors had been left slightly ajar, and through them she distinctly heard the sound of two voices engaged in heated conversation. There then came a long silence, during which all she was conscious of was a steady drumming in her temples. She concluded that the examining magistrate was still with Monsieur Camy-Lamotte, and that she would probably be kept waiting for a long time. It was more than she could bear. Suddenly, however, much to her surprise, the manservant summoned her, and she was conducted into the Secretary-General’s study. She was sure that Denizet had not left; she sensed he was still there, hidden behind a door.
The Secretary-General’s study was a large room with dark furniture, a thick carpet and heavy door-curtains. It felt very austere and enclosed. No sound reached it from outside. There was, however, a bronze vase containing a few pale roses, which suggested that behind this severe façade there lay a hidden gentility, a taste for the finer things in life. The master of the house stood waiting to receive her, dressed formally in a frock-coat and looking as austere as his surroundings. He had a rather pinched face, filled out somewhat by his greying side-whiskers. He still had about him something of the stylish young beau he had been in his youth. He looked slim and distinguished, but one sensed a kindly nature beneath the cultivated stiffness of his official manner. The subdued light of the room made him appear very tall.
As she entered, Séverine was overwhelmed by the hot, enclosed atmosphere of the room, draped with curtains and wall-hangings. All she was aware of was Monsieur Camy-Lamotte watching her as she walked towards him. He did not invite her to sit down and made a point of not being the first to speak, leaving it to her to explain the reason for her visit. There was a long silence. Séverine was at a loss how to begin. Eventually, taking her courage in both hands, speaking calmly and choosing her words carefully, she said, ‘Monsieur, please excuse my boldness in coming to seek your help. You will be aware of the irreparable loss I have suffered. I feel helpless. I ventured to think that you might assist us; that you might somehow be able to continue the protection that your friend, my guardian, afforded us ... before his untimely death.’
Monsieur Camy-Lamotte had no alternative but to ask her to sit down. She had spoken eloquently, with no effusive display of humility or grief, but with an instinctive mastery of feminine artifice. He continued to say nothing. He sat down himself and waited for her to continue. Realizing that she was required to say more, Séverine began again.
‘You may have forgotten, monsieur,’ she said, ‘but I had the honour of seeing you at Doinville. Ah, what happy times they were! But something terrible has happened, and you are the only one I can turn to. I beg you, monsieur, in the name of the dear friend we have lost, if you truly loved him, do not abandon me. Take his place beside me.’
Monsieur Camy-Lamotte had watched her carefully as she spoke. She seemed so natural, so charming, as she sat there sadly pleading with him, that his suspicions were unsettled. He had