The Belly of Paris - Emile Zola [163]
Now the two women were in the shop, and the paper from the window displays obstructed a clear view. But they seemed to be chatting cordially, giving each other little greetings, no doubt flattering each other.
“Look,” said Mademoiselle Saget. “The Beautiful Norman is buying something … What could she be buying? Oh, I think it's an andouille. Ah, did the rest of you see that? Beautiful Lisa gave her the photograph when she handed her the andouille.”
Then there were more pleasantries. Beautiful Lisa went beyond the courtesies she had planned on and said she would accompany the Beautiful Norman to the street. That's what she did, and they both laughed and showed the neighborhood what good friends they were. It was a cheerful moment for the neighborhood, and the fish women all went back to their stalls, agreeing that it had all gone very well.
But Mademoiselle Saget detained Madame Lecœur and La Sarriette. The drama was reaching its climax. The three of them fixed their eyes on the house across from them with a curiosity that hoped to penetrate the stone walls of the building. To pass the time, they gossiped a bit about the Beautiful Norman.
“Now she doesn't have a man,” said Madame Lecœur.
“She has Monsieur Lebigre,” observed La Sarriette, chuckling.
“Monsieur Lebigre isn't going to want her anymore.”
Mademoiselle Saget shrugged, saying, “You don't really know him. He couldn't care less about all this. He is a man who knows how to do business, and the Norman is rich. In two months they'll be together, you'll see. Mère Méhudin has been working on this marriage for a long time.”
“It doesn't matter,” the butter merchant insisted. “The inspector found her sleeping with Florent.”
“No, that's not what I said. The big beanpole had just left. I was there when they looked in her bed. The inspector examined it with his hands. There were two spots still warm.”
The elderly mademoiselle paused to catch her breath and then said with indignation, “You know what hurt most? To hear of all the terrible things that evil man taught little Muche. You wouldn't believe it. There was a whole bundle of them.”
“What horrors?” La Sarriette asked eagerly.
“Who knows? Filth, profanity. The inspector said he could be hanged for this alone. The man is a monster, going after a child like that. Little Muche doesn't amount to much, but that's no reason to fill him with that red propaganda, the poor thing.”
“Absolutely,” the other two agreed.
“Anyway, they're starting to get this scheming straightened out. I told you, you might recall, that there was ‘something hidden at the Quenus’ that didn't smell right.' You see, I have a keen nose … Thank God, now the neighborhood can breathe a little. All it needed was a good sweeping—because, I swear, it was going to end up with everyone afraid of being murdered in broad daylight. You can't live like that. Upheavals and fights and killing. And all because of one man, this Florent. And now, you see, Beautiful Lisa and the Beautiful Norman have made up, which is good news for them, and they had to do it for everyone's peace of mind. Now everything else will fall into place, you'll see. Oh, look, there's poor Monsieur Quenu laughing over there.”
Quenu was indeed outside again, his fat belly spilling over his apron, joking with Madame Taboureau's maid. He was in a good mood this morning. He squeezed the young maid's hands hard enough to make her cry out, in the best of charcuterie humor. Lisa had a hard time getting him back into the kitchen. She paced up and down the shop, fearing that Florent would appear at any moment and wanting to keep the two of them apart.
“She's awfully anxious,” said Mademoiselle Saget. “Poor Monsieur Quenu has no idea. He's laughing like a child. You know,