The Belly of Paris - Emile Zola [94]
The next day Mademoiselle Saget was at the charcuterie at eight o'clock sharp. There she found Madame Lecœur and La Sarriette, their noses diving into the heating stove as they bought warmed sausages for their lunch. Since the old woman had dragged them into the feud with the Beautiful Norman over the ten sous' worth of dabs, they had befriended Beautiful Lisa again. Now that fishmonger wasn't worth a brick of butter. And they derided the Méhudins as worthless girls who were interested only in men's money. The truth was that Mademoiselle Saget had let Madame Lecœur believe that Florent sometimes shared the Beautiful Norman and her sister with Gavard and that the four of them had nighttime orgies at Baratte's, arranged at the poultry dealer's expense. Madame Lecœur was visibly upset, her eyes yellow and watery.
That morning it was Madame Quenu the old girl was aiming for. She looked around the counter, and then, in a sweet voice, she murmured, “I saw Monsieur Quenu last night. I must say, they seem to enjoy themselves in that little room. They certainly make noise.”
Lisa had turned toward the street, listening carefully but trying not to show it. Mademoiselle Saget paused, hoping for a question. Then, lowering her voice, she added, “They had a woman with them. Oh, I don't mean Monsieur Quenu. I'm not saying that, I don't know …”
“It's Clémence,” La Sarriette interrupted. “A cold fish who puts on airs because she went to boarding school. She lives with a shabby-looking teacher. I've seen them together. They always look like they're turning each other in to the police.”
“I know, I know,” said the old woman, who knew both Charvet and Clémence well and was only trying to upset Lisa.
But Lisa did not flinch. She gave the impression that she was watching something tremendously interesting in the market. So the old woman had to use more drastic means. She turned to Madame Lecœur. “I want to tell you that you would be wise to advise your brother-in-law to be more careful. They shout alarming things in that room. Men aren't rational once they start on politics. If they were overheard, it could be very bad for them.”
“Gavard does what he wants,” sighed Madame Lecœur. “He doesn't worry about it. But I will die of worry if he is ever thrown in prison.” And a spark shot out of her foggy eyes.
La Sarriette laughed, shaking her head, her little face as fresh as the morning air. “Jules is the one,” she said, “who takes care of anyone who says anything bad about the empire. They should all be thrown in the Seine, because, as he explained it to me, there isn't one good man among them.”
“Oh,” said Mademoiselle Saget, “it doesn't do any harm if an imprudent remark is overheard by someone like me. I'd sooner have my hand cut off. You know that. For example, last night Monsieur Quenu was saying …”
She stopped again, detecting a slight movement in Lisa.
“Monsieur Quenu was saying that the deputies and ministers, the whole gang, ought to be shot.”
This time Lisa turned abruptly, her face turned white, her hands gripping her apron. “Quenu said that?” she asked curtly.
“And other things that I don't remember. You understand, it was just me who heard them. No need to worry about it, Madame Quenu. You know that with me nothing goes any further. I'm old enough to understand the harm that could be done if something like that got out. It stays between us.”
Lisa regained her equilibrium. She took pride in a happy home, and she would not acknowledge the least shadow of a disagreement between herself and her husband. She just shrugged her shoulders and said with a smile, “Silly stories for children.”
As soon as the three women were out on the sidewalk, they all agreed that Beautiful Lisa had looked peculiar.