The Kill - Emile Zola [132]
He swore and seemed ready to lash out at someone. Then, without waiting for an answer, without making eye contact, he turned on his heel and dove back behind the curtains. The ladies laughed at this singular apparition.
The group of men around Saccard had gathered behind the last row of chairs. One of the chairs had been pulled out of line for Baron Gouraud, whose legs had been swollen for some time. The group included M. Toutin-Laroche, whom the Emperor had just named to the Senate; M. de Mareuil, whose second election had been duly accredited by the Chamber; M. Michelin, recently decorated; and somewhat farther back, Mignon and Charrier, one of whom wore a large diamond in his tie while the other sported an even larger one on his finger. These gentlemen were engaged in conversation. Saccard left them for a moment to exchange a few words in hushed tones with his sister, who had just come and sat down between Louise de Mareuil and Mme Michelin. Mme Sidonie appeared as a magician. Louise had cheekily dressed as a page, which made her look like quite the naughty boy. And the Michelin girl, in the costume of an Egyptian dancer, smiled amorously through veils of gold lamé.
“Did you find out anything?” Saccard asked his sister quietly.
“No, nothing yet,” she replied. “But the lucky fellow must be here tonight. . . . I’ll catch them, you can count on it.”
“Let me know right away, will you?”
Turning first to his right and then to his left, Saccard complimented Louise and Mme Michelin. He compared the latter to one of Mohammed’s houris 2 and the former to one of Henri III’s mignons.3 His Provençal accent added a musical note to his shrill and strident nature, making him seem thrilled with delight. When he rejoined the group of serious men, M. de Mareuil took him aside to discuss the marriage of their children. Nothing had changed: the signing of the contract was still set for Sunday.
“Exactly right,” Saccard agreed. “I’m even planning to announce the wedding to our friends tonight, if you see no reason not to. . . . I’m only waiting for my brother the minister to arrive, as he promised me he’d be here.”
The new deputy was delighted. Meanwhile, M. Toutin-Laroche raised his voice as if in outrage. “Yes, gentlemen,” he was saying to M. Michelin and the two contractors, who had gathered round him, “I should never have been so obliging as to allow my name to get mixed up in an affair of that sort.” And on seeing that Saccard and Mareuil had rejoined the group, he added, “I was just telling these gentlemen about the deplorable fate of the Société Générale des Ports du Maroc. You know what I’m talking about, Saccard?”
Saccard did not flinch. The company in question had just collapsed in a terrible scandal. Certain overly inquisitive shareholders had wished to know how things stood with the construction of the much-discussed commercial facilities along the Mediterranean coast, and an official inquiry had revealed that the Moroccan ports existed only as engineer’s drawings—very fine drawings hanging on the walls of the company’s headquarters. At that point M. Toutin-Laroche began screaming even louder than the shareholders, and in his outrage he insisted that his good name be restored, cleansed of any taint. Indeed, he raised such a ruckus that the government, in order to calm this useful fellow down and rehabilitate him in the eyes of the public, decided to send him to the Senate. Thus, from a scandal that might well have landed him in criminal court, he emerged with the senate seat he had coveted for so long.
“It’s awfully good of you to concern yourself with that fiasco,” Saccard replied. “After all, you can always point to your great work, the Crédit Viticole, which has emerged triumphant