The Belly of Paris - Emile Zola [136]
The women then put their heads together, lowering their voices, and decided that it might be dangerous to attack Beautiful Lisa; they had better keep an eye on the Red so that he didn't eat up any more of poor Monsieur Gavard's money.
At the mention of Gavard's name, they fell into silence. They all looked at one another cautiously. And since they were breathing heavily, it was the Camembert they smelled. The Camembert had a scent like venison and had won out over less assertive smells such as the Marolles and Limbourgs. It exhaled more extensively, smothering the other smells with its surprising amount of foul breath. Into this powerful assertion, the Parmesan still periodically added a thin high note as from a panpipe while the Bries kept thudding like damp tambourines. Then the Livarot smothered with its reprise and the symphony was held for an instant by the high sharp note of anise-seeded Géromé, suspended like the breathing chord of an organ.
“I saw Madame Léonce,” continued Mademoiselle Saget with a look fraught with meaning.
This made the two others pay attention. Madame Léonce was Gavard's concierge on rue de la Cossonnerie. There she lived in an old house that was set back from the street. The ground floor was occupied by a distributor of oranges and lemons who had painted the facade blue, clear up to the second floor. Madame Léonce looked after Gavard's housekeeping, kept the keys to the cupboards, and brought him herbal tea when he had a cold. She was a stern woman, a bit more than fifty years old, who spoke slowly and interminably. One day she was angry because Gavard had pinched her, but that hadn't stopped her from placing leeches on him in a very delicate spot after he hurt himself in a fall.
Mademoiselle Saget, who had coffee at her home every Wednesday night, had forged an even closer friendship with her when the poulterer moved in. They chatted for hours about the fine man. They were very fond of him and wished him well.
“Yes, I saw Madame Léonce,” Mademoiselle Saget said again. “We had coffee together yesterday. She was extremely upset. Apparently Monsieur Gavard does not come home before one in the morning anymore. On Sunday she thought he wasn't looking well, so she brought him up some broth.”
“She knows what she's doing,” said Madame Lecœur, who was bothered by the concierge's attentions.
“Not at all. You're mistaken. Madame Léonce is too good for her station in life. She's a very proper woman. Obviously, if she had wanted to help herself to Monsieur Gavard's things by the handful, she could have long ago. All she had to do was open her hands. It seems he leaves everything just lying around. That's really what I wanted to talk to you about, but you have to promise not to breathe a word of this. You have to swear to it.”
They swore to the gods in Heaven that their lips would be sealed. They stretched their necks to get closer. Then Mademoiselle Saget said with great solemnity, “You know, this has been going on with Monsieur Gavard for some time. He has bought a weapon—one of those big pistols that revolves, you know. Madame Léonce said that it's horrible, that the pistol is always on the table or the mantel and she's afraid to do the dusting. And that's not all. His money …”
“His money,” Madame Lecœur repeated, her cheeks turning bright red.
“Well, there are no more stocks. They've all been sold. All he has left is a pile of gold in the closet.”
“A pile of gold!” repeated the enraptured La Sarriette.
“Yes, a big pile of gold. A whole shelf stuffed with it. It's stunning. Madame Léonce told me that one morning he opened the armoire when she was there, and it glowed so brightly, it hurt her eyes.”
Silence fell once again. The three woman batted their eyes as though they had just seen the pile of gold. La Sarriette was the first to start laughing as she muttered, “If my uncle gave it all to me, what a time I could have with Jules. We'd never get up. We'd have scrumptious treats brought to us by the restaurant.”
Madame Lecœur seemed dumbfounded