The Belly of Paris - Emile Zola [67]
The saleswomen were beginning to set up their stalls. There was a great rush of water from the faucets at the corners of the marble slabs. There was a gurgling sound, the hiss of jets of water sloshing along the edges of the tables with a line of drops rolling down with the hush of a stream, slopping into the alleys where little rivers coursed, filling holes and indents, turning them into miniature lakes and then into a thousand tributaries that ran downhill to rue Rambuteau. A haze, a dust cloud of rain, rose up, refreshing Florent's face, a breath of sea air, the air both bitter and salty, that he remembered well. He once more saw, in the fish that were being spread out, opalescent pinks, brilliant corals, and milky pearls, all the colors and pastels of the sea.
This first morning left him feeling uncertain. He already regretted having given in to Lisa. Ever since his escape from the fatty repose of the sleepy kitchen, he had been accusing himself of cowardice with such vehemence that he almost wept. But he could not go back on his word. He was intimidated by Lisa and could picture the curl of her lips, the silent reproach on her beautiful face. She seemed too imposing a woman and far too confident to argue with. Fortunately Gavard had given him a comforting idea. On the evening of the day on which Monsieur Verlaque had given him his tour, Gavard pulled him aside and explained to him hesitantly that “the poor devil” was not happy. Then, after tearing into the miserable government that worked its people to death without even assuring them the means to die well, he suggested that it would be a charitable thing to donate part of his salary to the former inspector. Florent agreed enthusiastically.
It was so perfectly fair. After all, he was supposed to be a temporary replacement for Monsieur Verlaque. Besides, Florent ate and slept at his brother's and didn't need anything. Gavard added that fifty francs out of a monthly salary of one hundred fifty francs would seem quite generous and added in a low voice that he wouldn't have to give it for very long because the man was consumptive to his bones. It was agreed that Florent would arrange everything with Verlaque's wife so as not to upset her husband.
This largesse made Florent feel better about the position, and he could now take it on as a way of helping someone else, reestablishing himself in his customary role. But he made the poultry dealer swear not to tell anyone about the arrangement, and Gavard, who was a bit afraid of Lisa, kept the secret.
Now the entire charcuterie was happy. Beautiful Lisa was very warm toward her brother-in-law. She made sure that he got to bed early so that he would get up good and early and she would have a hot breakfast waiting. And now that he wore his official braided cap, she was no longer embarrassed to be seen chatting with him in the doorway. Quenu, thrilled by all these positive signs, sat at the evening table between his wife and his brother, more content than ever. Dinner often continued until nine o'clock, with only Augustine manning the shop. They lingered over their digestion with neighborhood gossip and Lisa's opinionated judgments on the politics of the day. Florent was made to tell how things had gone at the fish market that day.
Bit by bit Florent succumbed and developed a taste for the stable life. The light yellow dining room's middle-class tidiness softened him whenever he crossed its threshold. Beautiful Lisa's care wrapped him in a warm comforter and softened both his body and mind. It was an atmosphere of mutual esteem and serenity.
But Gavard thought that things at the Quenu-Gradelles' were just a bit too sleepy. He forgave Lisa her fondness for the emperor because, he said, you cannot argue politics with women and the beautiful charcuterie woman was, after all, an honest person who managed her business well. Personally, he preferred to spend his evenings at Monsieur Lebigre's, where he had a circle of friends who shared his views. When Florent was named