The Belly of Paris - Emile Zola [128]
This made Muche laugh. He was very enterprising and selfconfident. “What a dummy you are!” he said. “Who cares what your mama said? Let's play at pushing each other. Do you want to?”
He was considering a villainous plot to get Pauline dirty. But when she saw him about to shove her in the back, she stepped backward as though she were going to go back into the shop. Then he softened and hitched up his pants like a man of the world.
“Don't be silly it's just for a laugh. You know, you look very nice like that. Is that little cross your mama's?”
She said it was her own.
He quietly led her to the corner of rue Pirouette. He touched her skirt and was surprised at how oddly stiff it felt, and that greatly amused the little boy. All the time she had been posing outside, she had been upset that no one was paying any attention. But despite the flattery of Muche's attentions, she didn't want to leave the sidewalk.
“Dumb fatso!” shouted Muche, reverting to his crude ways. “I'm going to sit you in a basket of poop, Madame Big Butt.”
She started to panic. He had grabbed her by the hand, but seeing his mistake he spoke sweetly again as he fished around in his pocket for something. “I have a sou,” he said.
Pauline was calmed by the sight of the sou, which he held in front of her with his fingertips, so hypnotically that she followed the coin into the street without noticing. Clearly, good fortune was coming little Muche's way.
“What would you like?” he asked.
She did not answer immediately because she didn't know. She liked so many things. He suggested a whole lineup of scrumptious treats—licorice, molasses, gumdrops, powdered sugar. The little girl had to think carefully a minute about powdered sugar, the way you stuck your fingers in it and licked. It was very nice. But she remained quite stern until she decided, “No, I like cornets.”
So he took her by the arm and led her away. She did not resist. They crossed rue Rambuteau and followed the wide sidewalk of Les Halles until they reached a little grocery store on rue de la Cossonnerie that was renowned for its cornets. Cornets are thin paper cones into which grocers pour the debris from their window display; broken dragées, marrons glacés that have fallen to pieces3—the dubious scraps from the candy jars.
Muche did this well. He let Pauline choose her own cornet, one with blue paper, and he did not grab it from her when paying with his sou. Outside she emptied the assortment of crumbs into her two apron pockets, which were so small that they were filled quickly. She crunched slowly, crumb by crumb, elated, as she wet her finger to pick up the fine powder, which made the crumbs melt. Two brown stains appeared on her apron pockets. Muche laughed wickedly. He held the girl by the waist, rumpling her dress as he swung her around the corner of rue Pierre-Lescot over to square des Innocents. “Now you'll play huh?” he said. “You like what's in your pockets. See, I wasn't going to harm you, you big silly.”
And he stuck his fingers in her pockets too. They moved into the square, which was probably exactly the place where little Muche had wanted to lure his conquest all along. He showed her around the square as though it were his own private property, and actually it was a favorite afternoon haunt. Pauline had never wandered so far away and probably would have been in tears were it not for the sugar in her pockets.
The fountain squirted and poured down in the midst of lawns trimmed with circular flower beds. Jean Goujon's nymphs,4 so white against the gray of the stone, tilted their urns and gave grace to the seedy air of rue Saint-Denis. The children walked around watching the water empty into the six basins. They were drawn to the lawn and, no doubt, thought about scampering across the center one and into the holly and rhododendron beds that ran along the square's railings.
Now little Muche, who had already managed to crumple the back of her dress, said with his sly laugh, “Let's play throwing sand at each other.”
Pauline had been completely