The Belly of Paris - Emile Zola [166]
“My uncle told me to take everything,” said the girl crisply.
“And me? I looked after him, will I get nothing?” the concierge exclaimed.
Madame Lecœur was choking. She pushed them back and clung to the wardrobe, stammering, “It's mine. I'm the nearest relative. You're a bunch of thieves. I'd rather throw it all out the window.”
There was silence while they looked at each other suspiciously. La Sarriette's shawl was now completely undone, and her admirable breasts were showing along with her moist lips and the pink around her nostrils. Madame Lecœur was disheartened to see the girl so radiant with longing.
“Listen,” she said in her muted voice, “let's not fight about this … You're his niece, and I'm willing to share. We'll take turns taking stacks.”
They pushed the other two aside and Madame Lecœur went first, a pile disappearing into her skirts. Then La Sarriette swept up a pile too. They watched each other carefully, ready to slap the other's hand. Their fingers reached at regular intervals, first the horrid gnarled ones, then the white ones smooth as silk. They filled their pockets. When there was only one stack left, La Sarriette refused to let Madame Lecœur take it, pointing out that she had taken the first round. She quickly split it between Mademoiselle Saget and Madame Léonce, who had been watching the taking of the gold with a feverish taping of the feet.
“Thanks a lot,” said the concierge. “Fifty francs for coddling him all these years with infusions and broths. And he told me he had no relatives, the old swindler.”
Before closing up the wardrobe, Madame Lecœur wanted to inspect it from top to bottom. It contained political books that were not allowed into the country, pamphlets from Brussels, scandalous stories about the Bonapartes, foreign cartoons in which the emperor seemed ludicrous. A favorite pastime of Gavard's was to lock himself up with a friend and show him all this contraband.
“He specifically asked me to burn all the papers,” La Sarriette pointed out.
“Ach, we don't have a fire, and it would take too long. I can smell the police. We should get out of here.”
And all four of them walked out of the room. No sooner had they reached the bottom of the stairs than the police arrived. Madame Léonce had to go up again to accompany them. The other three, with bent shoulders, hurried back to the street. They walked quickly in a row, the aunt and the niece encumbered by their bulging pockets. La Sarriette, in front, turned around as she stepped onto rue Rambuteau and said with her endearing laugh, “It's banging into my legs.”
Madame Lecœur spit out an obscenity, which made them all laugh. They tasted a special pleasure from the feel of this weight on their skirts like the caress of a hand. Mademoiselle Saget had kept her fifty francs in her closed fist. Her face looked serious as she worked on her plan to shake more money out of the plump pockets she was following.
Finally reaching the corner of the fish market, the elderly woman said, “Look, we got back at just the right moment. They're about to catch Florent.”
Florent was just returning from his long walk. He went to his office to change his jacket and then began his daily work, supervising the washing of the stones, strolling through the long aisles. It seemed to him that people were looking at him strangely. The fish women were whispering to each other as he walked past, their noses down and their eyes shifty. He thought some new annoyance had arisen. For some time now these fat, troublesome women had not given him a moment's peace.
When he passed by the Méhudin stall he was very surprised to hear the mother say in a sugary voice, “Monsieur Florent, someone came by asking for you just now. A middle-aged monsieur. He went up and is waiting for you in your room.