The Belly of Paris - Emile Zola [160]
“What was that about?” Florent wondered. “Did I scare him?”
That morning there had been serious events at the Quenu-Gradelles'. At sunrise Auguste had run to his mistress in great excitement with the news that the police had come to arrest Florent. Then, stammering even more, he gave a muddled account of how Florent had already left, no doubt to escape arrest. Beautiful Lisa, uncorseted and in her camisole, unfazed, hurried upstairs to her brother-in-law's room, where she took the photo of the Norman after a quick look around to make sure there was nothing to implicate any of them. On her way down, she ran into the police on the second floor. The police inspector asked her to go with them. They spoke in hushed voices for a few moments, and he and his men went into the bedroom, advising her to open the shop as on a normal day, so that no one would suspect anything. The trap was set.
The only thing worrying Lisa in this entire episode was the blow it would be to poor Quenu. That was partly because she feared he would burst into tears as soon as he found out that the police were there. Because of this she made Auguste promise not to say a word about it. Then she went back upstairs to put on her corset and to make up some story for her husband to explain the commotion. A half hour later she was standing at the doorway of the charcuterie, coiffed and corseted, her face pink and smooth. Auguste was calmly working on the window display. Quenu appeared outside for a minute, yawning and trying to wake up in the fresh morning air. There was nothing to give away the drama that was about to unfold upstairs.
But the police inspector himself had tipped off the entire neighborhood when he had visited the Méhudin household on rue Pirouette. He had remarkably detailed notes. In the anonymous letters sent to the prefecture, it had been established that Florent frequently slept with the Beautiful Norman. Could he be hiding there? The commandant, accompanied by two policemen, went over and pounded on the door in the name of the law. The Méhudins had barely gotten up. The old woman opened the door, at first in a rage and then more calm, even snickering when she understood the situation. Pulling up her clothes, she sat down and told her visitors, “We are respectable people with nothing to fear. You can search the house.”
Since the Norman was slow to open her door, the inspector had it knocked down. She was dressing. Her upper body was bare, her splendid shoulders showing, an undergarment clasped in her teeth. This violent, unexplained entrance infuriated her. She dropped the garment and was about to attack the men in her shift, reddened by anger and not embarrassment. The inspector, faced with this large, naked woman, stepped forward to protect his men, repeating in an icy voice, “In the name of the law! In the name of the law!”
Then she fell into a chair, sobbing, overtaken by emotion at feeling so helpless and not understanding what was expected of her. Her hair had come undone, her shift did not even come down to her knees, and the policemen were casting sideways glances for a better view. The inspector tossed her a shawl that he found hanging on the wall. She didn't use it. She started crying even harder, watching the police roughly searching her bed, smacking the pillows, running their hands down the sheets.
“What have I done?” she finally stuttered. “What are you looking for in my bed?”
The inspector said the name “Florent,” and since the old woman had remained in the doorway of the room, the Norman shouted, “It's her doing, the old battle-ax!” and tried to lunge across the room at her mother.
She would have pummeled her. But she was restrained and forcibly wrapped in her shawl. She struggled and managed to get out in a strangled voice, “What do you think I am? This Florent has never been in my room, do you understand? There's nothing between us. They're trying to smear my name in the neighborhood. But let just one of them come here and say it to my face. Then you'll see. Then