The Kill - Emile Zola [143]
The prefect had his eye on a leg of lamb. At just the right moment he reached through an opening in the sea of shoulders and calmly claimed his prize, having already stuffed his pockets with rolls. The contractors also returned, Mignon with one bottle of champagne and Charrier with two, but they’d only been able to get hold of two glasses. This didn’t matter, however, because they would be glad, they said, to drink from the same glass. The three men dined together off the corner of a jardinière at the end of the room. They did not even take off their gloves but inserted slices of lamb into the rolls while keeping the champagne bottles tucked safely under their arms. And, standing up, they chatted with their mouths full, jutting out their jaws so that the juice would fall on the carpet rather than on their coats.
Charrier, having finished his wine before his bread, asked a servant if he could have a glass of champagne.
“You’ll have to wait, sir,” the alarmed servant angrily replied, losing his head and forgetting that he was not in the kitchen. “Three hundred bottles have been drunk already.”
Meanwhile, the voices of the orchestra grew louder, erupting in sudden squalls of sound. People were dancing the polka known as “Baisers,” or “Kisses,” a favorite of the dance halls, in which each male dancer was expected to mark the rhythm by kissing his partner on the beat. Mme d’Espanet appeared at the door of the dining room, flushed and rather disheveled, trailing her long silver gown behind her with charming weariness. Since people barely moved out of her way, she was obliged to use her elbow to clear a path for herself. She made her way around the table, uncertain which dishes to choose, her lips expressing her hesitation with a pout. Then she went straight to M. Hupel de la Noue, who had finished eating and was wiping his mouth with his handkerchief.
“Would you be kind enough to find me a chair, sir?” she asked with an adorable smile. “I’ve been all around the table in vain.”
Although the prefect was annoyed with the marquise, his gallantry did not hesitate. He had soon found a chair and placed Mme d’Espanet in it, whereupon he stood behind it and served her. All she wanted was a few shrimp with a little butter and a splash of champagne. She ate daintily compared to the gluttony of the men. The table and chairs were reserved exclusively for the ladies, but an exception was always made for Baron Gouraud. He sat squarely in front of a block of pâté, slowly munching its crust. The marquise reestablished her dominion over the prefect by telling him that she would never forget the artistic emotions she had experienced in performing “The Amours of Handsome Narcissus and the Nymph Echo.” She even explained why they hadn’t waited for him in a way that consoled him completely: when the ladies learned that the minister had arrived, they had decided that it would be inappropriate to prolong the intermission. Eventually she asked him to go and rescue Mme Haffner, who was dancing with Mr. Simpson, a brute of a man, she said, whom she disliked. Once Suzanne had rejoined her, however, she paid no further attention to M. Hupel de la Noue.
Saccard, followed by MM Toutin-Laroche, de Mareuil, and Haffner, had taken possession of one of the sideboards. The table was full, and as M. de Saffré happened to pass by with Mme Michelin on his arm, he detained them and insisted that the pretty brunette share their food. She nibbled some pastry, smiled, and raised her bright eyes to take in the five men gathered around her. They leaned toward her, fingered her belly dancer’s veils woven of golden thread, and backed her up against the sideboard, so that in the end she was supporting herself against it as she took petits fours from the very gentle and caressing hands of all the gentlemen with the amorous docility of a slave among lords. At the other end of the room, M. Michelin was single-handedly finishing off a terrine of foie gras that he