The Belly of Paris - Emile Zola [108]
This was how their long walks went. When Cadine was walking around by herself with her bouquets of violets, she filled out the itinerary, going back to certain shops she particularly liked, especially the Taboureau bakery, of which an entire window was devoted to displaying cakes. She worked up and down rue de Turbigo, retracing her steps ten times so that she could pass by almond cakes, Saint-Honoré cakes, savarins, flans, fruit tarts, platters of babas,4 éclairs, and cream puffs. She was especially taken with the pickling jars filled with cookies, macaroons, and madeleines. The bright bakery had large mirrors and marble and gilded ornaments, wrought-iron bread racks, and a second window where long glazed breads stood on one end on a crystal shelf, the other end leaning against a brass rod. When overcome by temptation, she would buy herself a brioche for a couple of sous.
There was another shop across from the square des Innocents that awakened the unrequited longings of her gluttonous searching. The shop specialized in meat turnovers. She would stop to reflect on the classic turnover but also pike turnovers and turnovers of foie gras and truffles. She would stand there motionless, dreaming of how someday she really must try one of them.
Cadine also had her vain moments and then she would imagine fantastic dresses that could be made for her from the window display at Fabriques de France, which adorned the pointe Saint-Eustache with great swaths of bright fabric, draped from the mezzanine to the street. Slightly hampered by her tray of violets among the women of Les Halles, who brushed their dirty aprons against her Sunday-bests of the future, she stroked the wools, the flannels, and the cottons, to make sure of the weave and suppleness of the material. She promised herself a flannel dress in vivid colors or a flowered cotton or a scarlet poplin. Sometimes she even chose from the windows displays. Among the draped fabrics set out by the window dresser, she would choose a soft pale silk in sky blue or apple green and imagine how she would look wearing it with pink ribbons.
In the evening she would stand in the glitter of the big jewelers on rue Montmartre. This harrowing street deafened her with its unending traffic and jostled her with its relentless wave of people. But nothing could make her move from her spot, and her eyes filled with the flaming splendor under the row of lamps in front of the shop. First there were the smooth bright white lights illuminating the silver: rows of watches and hanging chains, silverware displayed in crosses, cups and snuff boxes, napkin rings and combs, laid out on the shelves. She especially liked the silver thimbles, with their domes rising along the porcelain shelves, all covered by a glass dome. Then on the other side the amber glow of gold turned yellow in the mirrors. A panel of long chains hung like a curtain. Small ladies' watches draped over their boxes like fallen stars. Wedding rings were threaded on thin wire. Bracelets, brooches, and valuable jewels sparkled on the black velvet of their cases. Rings glowed with quick flames of blue, green, yellow, or mauve in their chubby square boxes, and all the shelves, in two or three rows, were arranged with earrings, crucifixes, medallions, decorating the glass cases with all the richness of an altar cloth. The reflection of such golden wealth shone out halfway across the street, as bright as sunshine.
To Cadine, there was something holy about this place displaying the emperor's treasures. She spent a long time staring at the kind of jewelry the fish vendors bought, carefully studying the price tag attached to each piece, written in large numbers. She decided on pear-shaped earrings made of artificial coral, dangling from golden roses.
One morning Claude happened upon her, mesmerized in front