The Kill - Emile Zola [16]
On seeing her, the little marquise got up eagerly, ran over to her, and took both her hands. While examining her from head to toe, she murmured in a piping voice, “Ah! Chère belle, chère belle!”
A considerable bustle ensued as all the guests came over to greet beautiful Madame Saccard, to use the name by which Renée was known in society. She touched the hand of nearly every man in the room. Then she kissed Christine and asked for news of their father, who never visited the town house at Parc Monceau. She remained on her feet, smiling, still nodding at her guests, her shoulders slumping slightly as she stood before the circle of women, who were carefully scrutinizing the rivière and the aigrette.
Blonde Mme Haffner could not resist temptation. She moved toward Renée, stared at the jewelry for quite some time, and then said in a jealous voice, “You’re wearing the rivière and aigrette, aren’t you?”
Renée nodded. After that, compliments came gushing forth from all the women: the jewels were ravishing, divine. With admiration tinged with envy, they discussed the Aurigny sale, where Saccard had bought these pieces for his wife. They complained that tarts like Laure d’Aurigny took all the most beautiful things, that soon there would be no diamonds left for respectable women. Their complaints betrayed a desire to feel against their naked skin jewels like these, which all Paris had seen on the shoulders of an illustrious debauchee—jewels that might whisper in their ears of the bedroom scandals to which these grandes dames were so eagerly attuned. They knew the high prices that had been paid. They mentioned a superb cashmere and some splendid lace. The aigrette had sold for 15,000 francs, the rivière for 50,000. These figures roused Mme d’Espanet to enthusiasm. She called out to Saccard. “Come over here so that we can congratulate you. Now, there’s a good husband!”
Aristide Saccard came over, bowed, and feigned modesty, but the expression on his face betrayed keen satisfaction. Out of the corner of his eye he glanced at the two contractors, the two masons who had struck it rich and who were standing just a few feet away, and saw that on hearing the figures 15,000 and 50,000 they reacted with obvious signs of respect.
At that moment, Maxime, who had just come in and who looked adorably stiff in his black frock coat, leaned familiarly on his father’s shoulder and spoke to him in a low voice, as to a friend, gesturing toward the bricklayers with a flick of his eyes. Saccard smiled discreetly, like an actor taking his bows.
Still more guests arrived. At least thirty people were now gathered in the salon. Conversation resumed. During the moments of silence, faint sounds of china and silver could be heard on the other side of the wall. At last Baptiste opened the double doors and majestically uttered the sacramental phrase, “Dinner is served, madame.”
Slowly the parade began. Saccard offered his arm to the little marquise. Renée took the arm of an elderly gentleman, a senator, Baron Gouraud, before whom everyone bowed and scraped. Maxime, for his part, was obliged to offer his arm to Louise de Mareuil, after which the remainder of the guests followed in procession, with the two contractors bringing up the rear, arms dangling.
The vast dining room was square in design, and the stained and varnished pear-wood wainscoting was as tall as a man and decorated with thin fillets of gold. The four large panels must have been intended to hold still lifes, but they remained empty, no doubt because the owner of the house had recoiled at the thought of spending so much for mere works of art. Swaths of bright green velvet filled the space instead. Upholstery, drapes, and door curtains of the same fabric gave the room a grave and sober character calculated to focus all the radiance of the lighting on the table.
At that moment, in fact, the table