Nana/Miller's Daughter/Captain Burle/Death of Olivier Becaille
by Emile Zola
Hypertext Meanings and Commentaries
from the Encyclopedia of the Self
by Mark Zimmerman
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"Yes, let's go on," Fauchery repeated. "We'll arrange the scene
tomorrow."

And with that they dragged on again and rehearsed their parts with
as much listlessness and as fine an indifference as ever. During
the dispute between manager and author Fontan and the rest had been
taking things very comfortably on the rustic bench and seats at the
back of the stage, where they had been chuckling, grumbling and
saying fiercely cutting things. But when Simonne came back, still
smarting from her blow and choking with sobs, they grew melodramatic
and declared that had they been in her place they would have
strangled the swine. She began wiping her eyes and nodding
approval. It was all over between them, she said. She was leaving
him, especially as Steiner had offered to give her a grand start in
life only the day before. Clarisse was much astonished at this, for
the banker was quite ruined, but Prulliere began laughing and
reminded them of the neat manner in which that confounded Israelite
had puffed himself alongside of Rose in order to get his Landes
saltworks afloat on 'change. Just at that time he was airing a new
project, namely, a tunnel under the Bosporus. Simonne listened with
the greatest interest to this fresh piece of information.

As to Clarisse, she had been raging for a week past. Just fancy,
that beast La Faloise, whom she had succeeded in chucking into
Gaga's venerable embrace, was coming into the fortune of a very rich
uncle! It was just her luck; she had always been destined to make
things cozy for other people. Then, too, that pig Bordenave had
once more given her a mere scrap of a part, a paltry fifty lines,
just as if she could not have played Geraldine! She was yearning
for that role and hoping that Nana would refuse it.

"Well, and what about me?" said Prulliere with much bitterness. "I
haven't got more than two hundred lines. I wanted to give the part
up. It's too bad to make me play that fellow Saint-Firmin; why,
it's a regular failure! And then what a style it's written in, my
dears! It'll fall dead flat, you may be sure."

But just then Simonne, who had been chatting with Father Barillot,
came back breathless and announced:

"By the by, talking of Nana, she's in the house."

"Where, where?" asked Clarisse briskly, getting up to look for her.

The news spread at once, and everyone craned forward. The rehearsal
was, as it were, momentarily interrupted. But Bordenave emerged
from his quiescent condition, shouting:

"What's up, eh? Finish the act, I say. And be quiet out there;
it's unbearable!"

Nana was still following the piece from the corner box. Twice
Labordette showed an inclination to chat, but she grew impatient and
nudged him to make him keep silent. The second act was drawing to a
close, when two shadows loomed at the back of the theater. They
were creeping softly down, avoiding all noise, and Nana recognized
Mignon and Count Muffat. They came forward and silently shook hands
with Bordenave.

"Ah, there they are," she murmured with a sigh of relief.

Rose Mignon delivered the last sentences of the act. Thereupon
Bordenave said that it was necessary to go through the second again
before beginning the third. With that he left off attending to the
rehearsal and greeted the count with looks of exaggerated
politeness, while Fauchery pretended to be entirely engrossed with
his actors, who now grouped themselves round him. Mignon stood
whistling carelessly, with his hands behind his back and his eyes
fixed complacently on his wife, who seemed rather nervous.

"Well, shall we go upstairs?" Labordette asked Nana. "I'll install
you in the dressing room and come down again and fetch him."

Nana forthwith left the corner box. She had to grope her way along
the passage outside the stalls, but Bordenave guessed where she was
as she passed along in the dark and caught her up at the end of the
corridor passing behind the scenes, a narrow tunnel where the gas
burned day and night. Here, in order to bluff her into a bargain,
he plunged into a discussion of the courtesan's part.

"What a part it is, eh? What a wicked little part! It's made for
you. Come and rehearse tomorrow."

Nana was frigid. She wanted to know what the third act was like.

"Oh, it's superb, the third act is! The duchess plays the courtesan
in her own house and this disgusts Beaurivage and makes him amend
his way. Then there's an awfully funny QUID PRO QUO, when Tardiveau
arrives and is under the impression that he's at an opera dancer's
house."

"And what does Geraldine do in it all?" interrupted Nana.

"Geraldine?" repeated Bordenave in some embarrassment. "She has a
scene--not a very long one, but a great success. It's made for you,
I assure you! Will you sign?"

She looked steadily at him and at length made answer:

"We'll see about that all in good time."

And she rejoined Labordette, who was waiting for her on the stairs.
Everybody in the theater had recognized her, and there was now much
whispering, especially between Prulliere, who was scandalized at her
return, and Clarisse who was very desirous of the part. As to
Fontan, he looked coldly on, pretending unconcern, for he did not
think it becoming to round on a woman he had loved. Deep down in
his heart, though, his old love had turned to hate, and he nursed
the fiercest rancor against her in return for the constant devotion,
the personal beauty, the life in common, of which his perverse and
monstrous tastes had made him tire.

In the meantime, when Labordette reappeared and went up to the
count, Rose Mignon, whose suspicions Nana's presence had excited,
understood it all forthwith. Muffat was bothering her to death, but
she was beside herself at the thought of being left like this. She
broke the silence which she usually maintained on such subjects in
her husband's society and said bluntly:

"You see what's going on? My word, if she tries the Steiner trick
on again I'll tear her eyes out!"

Tranquilly and haughtily Mignon shrugged his shoulders, as became a
man from whom nothing could be hidden.

"Do be quiet," he muttered. "Do me the favor of being quiet, won't
you?"

He knew what to rely on now. He had drained his Muffat dry, and he
knew that at a sign from Nana he was ready to lie down and be a
carpet under her feet. There is no fighting against passions such
as that. Accordingly, as he knew what men were, he thought of
nothing but how to turn the situation to the best possible account.

It would be necessary to wait on the course of events. And he
waited on them.

"Rose, it's your turn!" shouted Bordenave. "The second act's being
begun again."

"Off with you then," continued Mignon, "and let me arrange matters."

Then he began bantering, despite all his troubles, and was pleased
to congratulate Fauchery on his piece. A very strong piece! Only
why was his great lady so chaste? It wasn't natural! With that he
sneered and asked who had sat for the portrait of the Duke of
Beaurivage, Geraldine's wornout roue. Fauchery smiled; he was far
from annoyed. But Bordenave glanced in Muffat's direction and
looked vexed, and Mignon was struck at this and became serious
again.

"Let's begin, for God's sake!" yelled the manager. "Now then,
Barillot! Eh? What? Isn't Bosc there? Is he bloody well making
game of me now?"

Bosc, however, made his appearance quietly enough, and the rehearsal
began again just as Labordette was taking the count away with him.
The latter was tremulous at the thought of seeing Nana once more.
After the rupture had taken place between them there had been a
great void in his life. He was idle and fancied himself about to
suffer through the sudden change his habits had undergone, and
accordingly he had let them take him to see Rose. Besides, his
brain had been in such a whirl that he had striven to forget
everything and had strenuously kept from seeking out Nana while
avoiding an explanation with the countess. He thought, indeed, that
he owed his dignity such a measure of forgetfulness. But mysterious
forces were at work within, and Nana began slowly to reconquer him.
First came thoughts of her, then fleshly cravings and finally a new
set of exclusive, tender, well-nigh paternal feelings.

The abominable events attendant on their last interview were
gradually effacing themselves. He no longer saw Fontan; he no
longer heard the stinging taunt about his wife's adultery with which
Nana cast him out of doors. These things were as words whose memory
vanished. Yet deep down in his heart there was a poignant smart
which wrung him with such increasing pain that it nigh choked him.
Childish ideas would occur to him; he imagined that she would never
have betrayed him if he had really loved her, and he blamed himself
for this. His anguish was becoming unbearable; he was really very
wretched. His was the pain of an old wound rather than the blind,
present desire which puts up with everything for the sake of
immediate possession. He felt a jealous passion for the woman and
was haunted by longings for her and her alone, her hair, her mouth,
her body. When he remembered the sound of her voice a shiver ran
through him; he longed for her as a miser might have done, with
refinements of desire beggaring description. He was, in fact, so
dolorously possessed by his passion that when Labordette had begun
to broach the subject of an assignation he had thrown himself into
his arms in obedience to irresistible impulse. Directly afterward
he had, of course, been ashamed of an act of self-abandonment which
could not but seem very ridicubus in a man of his position; but
Labordette was one who knew when to see and when not to see things,
and he gave a further proof of his tact when he left the count at
the foot of the stairs and without effort let slip only these simple
words:

"The right-hand passage on the second floor. The door's not shut."

Muffat was alone in that silent corner of the house. As he passed
before the players' waiting room, he had peeped through the open
doors and noticed the utter dilapidation of the vast chamber, which
looked shamefully stained and worn in broad daylight. But what
surprised him most as he emerged from the darkness and confusion of
the stage was the pure, clear light and deep quiet at present
pervading the lofty staircase, which one evening when he had seen it
before had been bathed in gas fumes and loud with the footsteps of
women scampering over the different floors. He felt that the
dressing rooms were empty, the corridors deserted; not a soul was
there; not a sound broke the stillness, while through the square
windows on the level of the stairs the pale November sunlight
filtered and cast yellow patches of light, full of dancing dust,
amid the dead, peaceful air which seemed to descend from the regions
above.

He was glad of this calm and the silence, and he went slowly up,
trying to regain breath as he went, for his heart was thumping, and
he was afraid lest he might behave childishly and give way to sighs
and tears. Accordingly on the first-floor landing he leaned up
against a wall--for he was sure of not being observed--and pressed
his handkerchief to his mouth and gazed at the warped steps, the
iron balustrade bright with the friction of many hands, the scraped
paint on the walls--all the squalor, in fact, which that house of
tolerance so crudely displayed at the pale afternoon hour when
courtesans are asleep. When he reached the second floor he had to
step over a big yellow cat which was lying curled up on a step.
With half-closed eyes this cat was keeping solitary watch over the
house, where the close and now frozen odors which the women nightly
left behind them had rendered him somnolent.

In the right-hand corridor the door of the dressing room had,
indeed, not been closed entirely. Nana was waiting. That little
Mathilde, a drab of a young girl, kept her dressing room in a filthy
state. Chipped jugs stood about anyhow; the dressing table was
greasy, and there was a chair covered with red stains, which looked
as if someone had bled over the straw. The paper pasted on walls
and ceiling was splashed from top to bottom with spots of soapy
water and this smelled so disagreeably of lavender scent turned sour
that Nana opened the window and for some moments stayed leaning on
the sill, breathing the fresh air and craning forward to catch sight
of Mme Bron underneath. She could hear her broom wildly at work on
the mildewed pantiles of the narrow court which was buried in
shadow. A canary, whose cage hung on a shutter, was trilling away
piercingly. The sound of carriages in the boulevard and neighboring
streets was no longer audible, and the quiet and the wide expanse of
sleeping sunlight suggested the country. Looking farther afield,
her eye fell on the small buildings and glass roofs of the galleries
in the passage and, beyond these, on the tall houses in the Rue
Vivienne, the backs of which rose silent and apparently deserted
over against her. There was a succession of terrace roofs close by,
and on one of these a photographer had perched a big cagelike
construction of blue glass. It was all very gay, and Nana was
becoming absorbed in contemplation, when it struck her someone had
knocked at the door.

She turned round and shouted:

"Come in!"

At sight of the count she shut the window, for it was not warm, and
there was no need for the eavesdropping Mme Bron to listen. The
pair gazed at one another gravely. Then as the count still kept
standing stiffly in front of her, looking ready to choke with
emotion, she burst out laughing and said:

"Well! So you're here again, you silly big beast!"

The tumult going on within him was so great that he seemed a man
frozen to ice. He addressed Nana as "madame" and esteemed himself
happy to see her again. Thereupon she became more familiar than
ever in order to bounce matters through.

"Don't do it in the dignified way! You wanted to see me, didn't
you? But you didn't intend us to stand looking at one another like
a couple of chinaware dogs. We've both been in the wrong--Oh, I
certainly forgive you!"

And herewith they agreed not to talk of that affair again, Muffat
nodding his assent as Nana spoke. He was calmer now but as yet
could find nothing to say, though a thousand things rose
tumultuously to his lips. Surprised at his apparent coldness, she
began acting a part with much vigor.

"Come," she continued with a faint smile, "you're a sensible man!
Now that we've made our peace let's shake hands and be good friends
in future."

"What? Good friends?" he murmured in sudden anxiety.

"Yes; it's idiotic, perhaps, but I should like you to think well of
me. We've had our little explanation out, and if we meet again we
shan't, at any rate look like a pair of boobies."

He tried to interrupt her with a movement of the hand.

"Let me finish! There's not a man, you understand, able to accuse
me of doing him a blackguardly turn; well, and it struck me as
horrid to begin in your case. We all have our sense of honor, dear
boy."

"But that's not my meaning!" he shouted violently. "Sit down--
listen to me!"  And as though he were afraid of seeing her take her
departure, he pushed her down on the solitary chair in the room.
Then he paced about in growing agitation. The little dressing room
was airless and full of sunlight, and no sound from the outside
world disturbed its pleasant, peaceful, dampish atmosphere. In the
pauses of conversation the shrillings of the canary were alone
audible and suggested the distant piping of a flute.

"Listen," he said, planting himself in front of her, "I've come to
possess myself of you again. Yes, I want to begin again. You know
that well; then why do you talk to me as you do? Answer me; tell me
you consent."

Her head was bent, and she was scratching the blood-red straw of the
seat underneath her. Seeing him so anxious, she did not hurry to
answer. But at last she lifted up her face. It had assumed a grave
expression, and into the beautiful eyes she had succeeded in
infusing a look of sadness.

"Oh, it's impossible, little man. Never, never, will I live with
you again."

"Why?" he stuttered, and his face seemed contracted in unspeakable
suffering.

"Why? Hang it all, because--It's impossible; that's about it. I
don't want to."

He looked ardently at her for some seconds longer. Then his legs
curved under him and he fell on the floor. In a bored voice she
added this simple advice:

"Ah, don't be a baby!"

But he was one already. Dropping at her feet, he had put his arms
round her waist and was hugging her closely, pressing his face hard
against her knees. When he felt her thus--when he once more divined
the presence of her velvety limbs beneath the thin fabric of her
dress--he was suddenly convulsed and trembled, as it were, with
fever, while madly, savagely, he pressed his face against her knees
as though he had been anxious to force through her flesh. The old
chair creaked, and beneath the low ceiling, where the air was
pungent with stale perfumes, smothered sobs of desire were audible.

"Well, and after?" Nana began saying, letting him do as he would.
"All this doesn't help you a bit, seeing that the thing's
impossible. Good God, what a child you are!"

His energy subsided, but he still stayed on the floor, nor did he
relax his hold of her as he said in a broken voice:

"Do at least listen to what I came to offer you. I've already seen
a town house close to the Parc Monceau--I would gladly realize your
smallest wish. In order to have you all to myself, I would give my
whole fortune. Yes, that would be my only condition, that I should
have you all to myself! Do you understand? And if you were to
consent to be mine only, oh, then I should want you to be the
loveliest, the richest, woman on earth. I should give you carriages
and diamonds and dresses!"

At each successive offer Nana shook her head proudly. Then seeing
that he still continued them, that he even spoke of settling money
on her--for he was at loss what to lay at her feet--she apparently
lost patience.

"Come, come, have you done bargaining with me? I'm a good sort, and
I don't mind giving in to you for a minute or two, as your feelings
are making you so ill, but I've had enough of it now, haven't I? So
let me get up. You're tiring me."

She extricated herself from his clasp, and once on her feet:

"No, no, no!" she said. "I don't want to!"

With that he gathered himself up painfully and feebly dropped into a
chair, in which he leaned back with his face in his hands. Nana
began pacing up and down in her turn. For a second or two she
looked at the stained wallpaper, the greasy toilet table, the whole
dirty little room as it basked in the pale sunlight. Then she
paused in front of the count and spoke with quiet directness.

"It's strange how rich men fancy they can have everything for their
money. Well, and if I don't want to consent--what then? I don't
care a pin for your presents! You might give me Paris, and yet I
should say no! Always no! Look here, it's scarcely clean in this
room, yet I should think it very nice if I wanted to live in it with
you. But one's fit to kick the bucket in your palaces if one isn't
in love. Ah, as to money, my poor pet, I can lay my hands on that
if I want to, but I tell you, I trample on it; I spit on it!"

And with that she assumed a disgusted expression. Then she became
sentimental and added in a melancholy tone:

"I know of something worth more than money. Oh, if only someone
were to give me what I long for!"

He slowly lifted his head, and there was a gleam of hope in his eyes.

"Oh, you can't give it me," she continued; "it doesn't depend on
you, and that's the reason I'm talking to you about it. Yes, we're
having a chat, so I may as well mention to you that I should like to
play the part of the respectable woman in that show of theirs."

"What respectable woman?" he muttered in astonishment.

"Why, their Duchess Helene! If they think I'm going to play
Geraldine, a part with nothing in it, a scene and nothing besides--
if they think that! Besides, that isn't the reason. The fact is
I've had enough of courtesans. Why, there's no end to 'em! They'll
be fancying I've got 'em on the brain; to be sure they will!
Besides, when all's said and done, it's annoying, for I can quite
see they seem to think me uneducated. Well, my boy, they're jolly
well in the dark about it, I can tell you! When I want to be a
perfect lady, why then I am a swell, and no mistake! Just look at
this."

And she withdrew as far as the window and then came swelling back
with the mincing gait and circumspect air of a portly hen that fears
to dirty her claws. As to Muffat, he followed her movements with
eyes still wet with tears. He was stupefied by this sudden
transition from anguish to comedy. She walked about for a moment or
two in order the more thoroughly to show off her paces, and as she
walked she smiled subtlely, closed her eyes demurely and managed her
skirts with great dexterity. Then she posted herself in front of
him again.

"I guess I've hit it, eh?"

"Oh, thoroughly," he stammered with a broken voice and a troubled
expression.

"I tell you I've got hold of the honest woman! I've tried at my own
place. Nobody's got my little knack of looking like a duchess who
don't care a damn for the men. Did you notice it when I passed in
front of you? Why, the thing's in my blood! Besides, I want to
play the part of an honest woman. I dream about it day and night--
I'm miserable about it. I must have the part, d'you hear?"

And with that she grew serious, speaking in a hard voice and looking
deeply moved, for she was really tortured by her stupid, tiresome
wish. Muffat, still smarting from her late refusals, sat on without
appearing to grasp her meaning. There was a silence during which
the very flies abstained from buzzing through the quiet, empty place.

"Now, look here," she resumed bluntly, "you're to get them to give
me the part."

He was dumfounded, and with a despairing gesture:

"Oh, it's impossible! You yourself were saying just now that it
didn't depend on me."

She interrupted him with a shrug of the shoulders.

"You'll just go down, and you'll tell Bordenave you want the part.
Now don't be such a silly! Bordenave wants money--well, you'll lend
him some, since you can afford to make ducks and drakes of it."

And as he still struggled to refuse her, she grew angry.

"Very well, I understand; you're afraid of making Rose angry. I
didn't mention the woman when you were crying down on the floor--I
should have had too much to say about it all. Yes, to be sure, when
one has sworn to love a woman forever one doesn't usually take up
with the first creature that comes by directly after. Oh, that's
where the shoe pinches, I remember! Well, dear boy, there's nothing
very savory in the Mignon's leavings! Oughtn't you to have broken
it off with that dirty lot before coming and squirming on my knees?"

He protested vaguely and at last was able to get out a phrase.

"Oh, I don't care a jot for Rose; I'll give her up at once."

Nana seemed satisfied on this point. She continued:

"Well then, what's bothering you? Bordenave's master here. You'll
tell me there's Fauchery after Bordenave--"

She had sunk her voice, for she was coming to the delicate part of
the matter. Muffat sat silent, his eyes fixed on the ground. He
had remained voluntarily ignorant of Fauchery's assiduous attentions
to the countess, and time had lulled his suspicions and set him
hoping that he had been deceiving himself during that fearful night
passed in a doorway of the Rue Taitbout. But he still felt a dull,
angry repugnance to the man.

"Well, what then? Fauchery isn't the devil!" Nana repeated, feeling
her way cautiously and trying to find out how matters stood between
husband and lover. "One can get over his soft side. I promise you,
he's a good sort at bottom! So it's a bargain, eh? You'll tell him
that it's for my sake?"

The idea of taking such a step disgusted the count.

"No, no! Never!" he cried.

She paused, and this sentence was on the verge of utterance:

"Fauchery can refuse you nothing."

But she felt that by way of argument it was rather too much of a
good thing. So she only smiled a queer smile which spoke as plainly
as words. Muffat had raised his eyes to her and now once more
lowered them, looking pale and full of embarrassment.

"Ah, you're not good natured," she muttered at last.

"I cannot," he said with a voice and a look of the utmost anguish.
"I'll do whatever you like, but not that, dear love! Oh, I beg you
not to insist on that!"

Thereupon she wasted no more time in discussion but took his head
between her small hands, pushed it back a little, bent down and
glued her mouth to his in a long, long kiss. He shivered violently;
he trembled beneath her touch; his eyes were closed, and he was
beside himself. She lifted him to his feet.

"Go," said she simply.

He walked off, making toward the door. But as he passed out she
took him in her arms again, became meek and coaxing, lifted her face
to his and rubbed her cheek against his waistcoat, much as a cat
might have done.

"Where's the fine house?" she whispered in laughing embarrassment,
like a little girl who returns to the pleasant things she has
previously refused.

"In the Avenue de Villiers."

"And there are carriages there?"

"Yes."

"Lace? Diamonds?"

"Yes."

"Oh, how good you are, my old pet! You know it was all jealousy
just now! And this time I solemnly promise you it won't be like the
first, for now you understand what's due to a woman. You give all,
don't you? Well then, I don't want anybody but you! Why, look
here, there's some more for you! There and there AND there!"

When she had pushed him from the room after firing his blood with a
rain of kisses on hands and on face, she panted awhile. Good
heavens, what an unpleasant smell there was in that slut Mathilde's
dressing room! It was warm, if you will, with the tranquil warmth
peculiar to rooms in the south when the winter sun shines into them,
but really, it smelled far too strong of stale lavender water, not
to mention other less cleanly things! She opened the window and,
again leaning on the window sill, began watching the glass roof of
the passage below in order to kill time.

Muffat went staggering downstairs. His head was swimming. What
should he say? How should he broach the matter which, moreover, did
not concern him? He heard sounds of quarreling as he reached the
stage. The second act was being finished, and Prulliere was beside
himself with wrath, owing to an attempt on Fauchery's part to cut
short one of his speeches.

"Cut it all out then," he was shouting. "I should prefer that!
Just fancy, I haven't two hundred lines, and they're still cutting
me down. No, by Jove, I've had enough of it; I give the part up."

He took a little crumpled manuscript book out of his pocket and
fingered its leaves feverishly, as though he were just about to
throw it on Cossard's lap. His pale face was convulsed by outraged
vanity; his lips were drawn and thin, his eyes flamed; he was quite
unable to conceal the struggle that was going on inside him. To
think that he, Prulliere, the idol of the public, should play a part
of only two hundred lines!

"Why not make me bring in letters on a tray?" he continued bitterly.

"Come, come, Prulliere, behave decently," said Bordenave, who was
anxious to treat him tenderly because of his influence over the
boxes. "Don't begin making a fuss. We'll find some points. Eh,
Fauchery, you'll add some points? In the third act it would even be
possible to lengthen a scene out."

"Well then, I want the last speech of all," the comedian declared.
"I certainly deserve to have it."

Fauchery's silence seemed to give consent, and Prulliere, still
greatly agitated and discontented despite everything, put his part
back into his pocket. Bosc and Fontan had appeared profoundly
indifferent during the course of this explanation. Let each man
fight for his own hand, they reflected; the present dispute had
nothing to do with them; they had no interest therein! All the
actors clustered round Fauchery and began questioning him and
fishing for praise, while Mignon listened to the last of Prulliere's
complaints without, however, losing sight of Count Muffat, whose
return he had been on the watch for.

Entering in the half-light, the count had paused at the back of the
stage, for he hesitated to interrupt the quarrel. But Bordenave
caught sight of him and ran forward.

"Aren't they a pretty lot?" he muttered. "You can have no idea what
I've got to undergo with that lot, Monsieur le Comte. Each man's
vainer than his neighbor, and they're wretched players all the same,
a scabby lot, always mixed up in some dirty business or other! Oh,
they'd be delighted if I were to come to smash. But I beg pardon--
I'm getting beside myself."

He ceased speaking, and silence reigned while Muffat sought how to
broach his announcement gently. But he failed and, in order to get
out of his difficulty the more quickly, ended by an abrupt
announcement:

"Nana wants the duchess's part."

Bordenave gave a start and shouted:

"Come now, it's sheer madness!"

Then looking at the count and finding him so pale and so shaken, he
was calm at once.

"Devil take it!" he said simply.

And with that there ensued a fresh silence. At bottom he didn't
care a pin about it. That great thing Nana playing the duchess
might possibly prove amusing! Besides, now that this had happened
he had Muffat well in his grasp. Accordingly he was not long in
coming to a decision, and so he turned round and called out:

"Fauchery!"

The count had been on the point of stopping him. But Fauchery did
not hear him, for he had been pinned against the curtain by Fontan
and was being compelled to listen patiently to the comedian's
reading of the part of Tardiveau. Fontan imagined Tardiveau to be a
native of Marseilles with a dialect, and he imitated the dialect.
He was repeating whole speeches. Was that right? Was this the
thing? Apparently he was only submitting ideas to Fauchery of which
he was himself uncertain, but as the author seemed cold and raised
various objections, he grew angry at once.

Oh, very well, the moment the spirit of the part escaped him it
would be better for all concerned that he shouldn't act it at all!

"Fauchery!" shouted Bordenave once more.

Thereupon the young man ran off, delighted to escape from the actor,
who was wounded not a little by his prompt retreat.

"Don't let's stay here," continued Bordenave. "Come this way,
gentlemen."

In order to escape from curious listeners he led them into the
property room behind the scenes, while Mignon watched their
disappearance in some surprise. They went down a few steps and
entered a square room, whose two windows opened upon the courtyard.
A faint light stole through the dirty panes and hung wanly under the
low ceiling. In pigeonholes and shelves, which filled the whole
place up, lay a collection of the most varied kind of bric-a-brac.
Indeed, it suggested an old-clothes shop in the Rue de Lappe in
process of selling off, so indescribable was the hotchpotch of
plates, gilt pasteboard cups, old red umbrellas, Italian jars,
clocks in all styles, platters and inkpots, firearms and squirts,
which lay chipped and broken and in unrecognizable heaps under a
layer of dust an inch deep. An unendurable odor of old iron, rags
and damp cardboard emanated from the various piles, where the debris
of forgotten dramas had been collecting for half a century.

"Come in," Bordenave repeated. "We shall be alone, at any rate."

The count was extremely embarrassed, and he contrived to let the
manager risk his proposal for him. Fauchery was astonished.

"Eh? What?" he asked.

"Just this," said Bordenave finally. "An idea has occurred to us.
Now whatever you do, don't jump! It's most serious. What do you
think of Nana for the duchess's part?"

The author was bewildered; then he burst out with:

"Ah no, no! You're joking, aren't you? People would laugh far too
much."

"Well, and it's a point gained already if they do laugh! Just
reflect, my dear boy. The idea pleases Monsieur le Comte very
much."

In order to keep himself in countenance Muffat had just picked out
of the dust on a neighboring shelf an object which he did not seem
to recognize. It was an eggcup, and its stem had been mended with
plaster. He kept hold of it unconsciously and came forward,
muttering:

"Yes, yes, it would be capital."

Fauchery turned toward him with a brisk, impatient gesture. The
count had nothing to do with his piece, and he said decisively:

"Never! Let Nana play the courtesan as much as she likes, but a
lady--No, by Jove!"

"You are mistaken, I assure you," rejoined the count, growing
bolder. "This very minute she has been playing the part of a pure
woman for my benefit."

"Where?" queried Fauchery with growing surprise.

"Upstairs in a dressing room. Yes, she has, indeed, and with such
distinction! She's got a way of glancing at you as she goes by you--
something like this, you know!"

And eggcup in hand, he endeavored to imitate Nana, quite forgetting
his dignity in his frantic desire to convince the others. Fauchery
gazed at him in a state of stupefaction. He understood it all now,
and his anger had ceased. The count felt that he was looking at him
mockingly and pityingly, and he paused with a slight blush on his
face.

"Egad, it's quite possible!" muttered the author complaisantly.
"Perhaps she would do very well, only the part's been assigned. We
can't take it away from Rose."

"Oh, if that's all the trouble," said Bordenave, "I'll undertake to
arrange matters."

But presently, seeing them both against him and guessing that
Bordenave had some secret interest at stake, the young man thought
to avoid aquiescence by redoubling the violence of his refusal. The
consultation was on the verge of being broken up.

"Oh, dear! No, no! Even if the part were unassigned I should never
give it her! There, is that plain? Do let me alone; I have no wish
to ruin my play!"

He lapsed into silent embarrassment. Bordenave, deeming himself DE
TROP, went away, but the count remained with bowed head. He raised
it with an effort and said in a breaking voice:

"Supposing, my dear fellow, I were to ask this of you as a favor?"

"I cannot, I cannot," Fauchery kept repeating as he writhed to get
free.

Muffat's voice became harder.

"I pray and beseech you for it! I want it!"

And with that he fixed his eyes on him. The young man read menaces
in that darkling gaze and suddenly gave way with a splutter of
confused phrases:

"Do what you like--I don't care a pin about it. Yes, yes, you're
abusing your power, but you'll see, you'll see!"

At this the embarrassment of both increased. Fauchery was leaning
up against a set of shelves and was tapping nervously on the ground
with his foot. Muffat seemed busy examining the eggcup, which he
was still turning round and about.

"It's an eggcup," Bordenave obligingly came and remarked.

"Yes, to be sure! It's an eggeup," the count repeated.

"Excuse me, you're covered with dust," continued the manager,
putting the thing back on a shelf. "If one had to dust every day
there'd be no end to it, you understand. But it's hardly clean
here--a filthy mess, eh? Yet you may believe me or not when I tell
you there's money in it. Now look, just look at all that!"

He walked Muffat round in front of the pigeonholes and shelves and
in the greenish light which filtered through the courtyard, told him
the names of different properties, for he was anxious to interest
him in his marine-stores inventory, as he jocosely termed it.

Presently, when they had returned into Fauchery's neighborhood, he
said carelessly enough:

"Listen, since we're all of one mind, we'll finish the matter at
once. Here's Mignon, just when he's wanted."

For some little time past Mignon had been prowling in the adjoining
passage, and the very moment Bordenave began talking of a
modification of their agreement he burst into wrathful protest. It
was infamous--they wanted to spoil his wife's career--he'd go to law
about it! Bordenave, meanwhile, was extremely calm and full of
reasons. He did not think the part worthy of Rose, and he preferred
to reserve her for an operetta, which was to be put on after the
Petite Duchesse. But when her husband still continued shouting he
suddenly offered to cancel their arrangement in view of the offers
which the Folies-Dramatiques had been making the singer. At this
Mignon was momenrarily put out, so without denying the truth of
these offers he loudly professed a vast disdain for money. His
wife, he said, had been engaged to play the Duchess Helene, and she
would play the part even if he, Mignon, were to be ruined over it.
His dignity, his honor, were at stake! Starting from this basis,
the discussion grew interminable. The manager, however, always
returned to the following argument: since the Folies had offered
Rose three hundred francs a night during a hundred performances, and
since she only made a hundred and fifty with him, she would be the
gainer by fifteen thousand francs the moment he let her depart. The
husband, on his part, did not desert the artist's position. What
would people say if they saw his wife deprived of her part? Why,
that she was not equal to it; that it had been deemed necessary to
find a substitute for her! And this would do great harm to Rose's
reputation as an artist; nay, it would diminish it. Oh no, no!
Glory before gain! Then without a word of warning he pointed out a
possible arrangement: Rose, according to the terms of her agreement,
was pledged to pay a forfeit of ten thousand francs in case she gave
up the part. Very well then, let them give her ten thousand francs,
and she would go to the Folies-Dramatiques. Bordenave was utterly
dumfounded while Mignon, who had never once taken his eyes off the
count, tranquilly awaited results.

"Then everything can be settled," murmured Muffat in tones of
relief; "we can come to an understanding."

"The deuce, no! That would be too stupid!" cried Bordenave,
mastered by his commercial instincts. "Ten thousand francs to let
Rose go! Why, people would make game of me!"

But the count, with a multiplicity of nods, bade him accept. He
hesitated, and at last with much grumbling and infinite regret over
the ten thousand francs which, by the by, were not destined to come
out of his own pocket he bluntly continued:

"After all, I consent. At any rate, I shall have you off my hands."

For a quarter of an hour past Fontan had been listening in the
courtyard. Such had been his curiosity that he had come down and
posted himself there, but the moment he understood the state of the
case he went upstairs again and enjoyed the treat of telling Rose.
Dear me! They were just haggling in her behalf! He dinned his
words into her ears; she ran off to the property room. They were
silent as she entered. She looked at the four men. Muffat hung his
head; Fauchery answered her questioning glance with a despairing
shrug of the shoulders; as to Mignon, he was busy discussing the
terms of the agreement with Bordenave.

"What's up?" she demanded curtly.

"Nothing," said her husband. "Bordenave here is giving ten thousand
francs in order to get you to give up your part."

She grew tremulous with anger and very pale, and she clenched her
little fists. For some moments she stared at him, her whole nature
in revolt. Ordinarily in matters of business she was wont to trust
everything obediently to her husband, leaving him to sign agreements
with managers and lovers. Now she could but cry:

"Oh, come, you're too base for anything!"

The words fell like a lash. Then she sped away, and Mignon, in
utter astonishment, ran after her. What next? Was she going mad?
He began explaining to her in low tones that ten thousand francs
from one party and fifteen thousand from the other came to twenty-
five thousand. A splendid deal! Muffat was getting rid of her in
every sense of the word; it was a pretty trick to have plucked him
of this last feather! But Rose in her anger vouchsafed no answer.
Whereupon Mignon in disdain left her to her feminine spite and,
turning to Bordenave, who was once more on the stage with Fauchery
and Muffat, said:

"We'll sign tomorrow morning. Have the money in readiness."

At this moment Nana, to whom Labordette had brought the news, came
down to the stage in triumph. She was quite the honest woman now
and wore a most distinguished expression in order to overwhelm her
friends and prove to the idiots that when she chose she could give
them all points in the matter of smartness. But she nearly got into
trouble, for at the sight of her Rose darted forward, choking with
rage and stuttering:

"Yes, you, I'll pay you out! Things can't go on like this; d'you
understand?"  Nana forgot herself in face of this brisk attack and
was going to put her arms akimbo and give her what for. But she
controlled herself and, looking like a marquise who is afraid of
treading on an orange peel, fluted in still more silvery tones.

"Eh, what?" said she. "You're mad, my dear!"

And with that she continued in her graceful affectation while Rose
took her departure, followed by Mignon, who now refused to recognize
her. Clarisse was enraptured, having just obtained the part of
Geraldine from Bordenave. Fauchery, on the other hand, was gloomy;
he shifted from one foot to the other; he could not decide whether
to leave the theater or no. His piece was bedeviled, and he was
seeking how best to save it. But Nana came up, took him by both
hands and, drawing him toward her, asked whether he thought her so
very atrocious after all. She wasn't going to eat his play--not
she! Then she made him laugh and gave him to understand that he
would be foolish to be angry with her, in view of his relationship
to the Muffats. If, she said, her memory failed her she would take
her lines from the prompter. The house, too, would be packed in
such a way as to ensure applause. Besides, he was mistaken about
her, and he would soon see how she would rattle through her part.
By and by it was arranged that the author should make a few changes
in the role of the duchess so as to extend that of Prulliere. The
last-named personage was enraptured. Indeed, amid all the joy which
Nana now quite naturally diffused, Fontan alone remained unmoved.
In the middle of the yellow lamplight, against which the sharp
outline offa, there were twenty thousand francs' worth of POINT
DE VENISE lace. The furniture was lacquered blue and white under
designs in silver filigree, and everywhere lay such numbers of white
bearskins that they hid the carpet. This was a luxurious caprice on
Nana's part, she having never been able to break herself of the
habit of sitting on the floor to take her stockings off. Next door
to the bedroom the little saloon was full of an amusing medley of
exquisitely artistic objects. Against the hangings of pale rose-
colored silk--a faded Turkish rose color, embroidered with gold
thread--a whole world of them stood sharply outlined. They were
from every land and in every possible style. There were Italian
cabinets, Spanish and Portuguese coffers, models of Chinese pagodas,
a Japanese screen of precious workmanship, besides china, bronzes,
embroidered silks,  his goatlike profile shone out with great distinctness,
he stood showing off his figure and affecting the pose of one who
has been cruelly abandoned. Nana went quietly up and shook hands
with him.

"How are you getting on?"

"Oh, pretty fairly. And how are you?"

"Very well, thank you."

That was all. They seemed to have only parted at the doors of the
theater the day before. Meanwhile the players were waiting about,
but Bordenave said that the third act would not be rehearsed. And
so it chanced that old Bosc went grumbling away at the proper time,
whereas usually the company were needlessly detained and lost whole
afternoons in consequence. Everyone went off. Down on the pavement
they were blinded by the broad daylight and stood blinking their
eyes in a dazed sort of way, as became people who had passed three
hours squabbling with tight-strung nerves in the depths of a cellar.
The count, with racked limbs and vacant brain, got into a conveyance
with Nana, while Labordette took Fauchery off and comforted him.

A month later the first night of the Petite Duchesse proved
supremely disastrous to Nana. She was atrociously bad and displayed
such pretentions toward high comedy that the public grew mirthful.
They did not hiss--they were too amused. From a stage box Rose
Mignon kept greeting her rival's successive entrances with a shrill
laugh, which set the whole house off. It was the beginning of her
revenge. Accordingly, when at night Nana, greatly chagrined, found
herself alone with Muffat, she said furiously:

"What a conspiracy, eh? It's all owing to jealousy. Oh, if they
only knew how I despise 'em! What do I want them for nowadays?
Look here! I'll bet a hundred louis that I'll bring all those who
made fun today and make 'em lick the ground at my feet! Yes, I'll
fine-lady your Paris for you, I will!"

CHAPTER X

Thereupon Nana became a smart woman, mistress of all that is foolish
and filthy in man, marquise in the ranks of her calling. It was a
sudden but decisive start, a plunge into the garish day of gallant
notoriety and mad expenditure and that daredevil wastefulness
peculiar to beauty. She at once became queen among the most
expensive of her kind. Her photographs were displayed in
shopwindows, and she was mentioned in the papers. When she drove in
her carriage along the boulevards the people would turn and tell one
another who that was with all the unction of a nation saluting its
sovereign, while the object of their adoration lolled easily back in
her diaphanous dresses and smiled gaily under the rain of little
golden curls which ran riot above the blue of her made-up eyes and
the red of her painted lips. And the wonder of wonders was that the
great creature, who was so awkward on the stage, so very absurd the
moment she sought to act the chaste woman, was able without effort
to assume the role of an enchantress in the outer world. Her
movements were lithe as a serpent's, and the studied and yet
seemingly involuntary carelessness with which she dressed was really
exquisite in its elegance. There was a nervous distinction in all
she did which suggested a wellborn Persian cat; she was an
aristocrat in vice and proudly and rebelliously trampled upon a
prostrate Paris like a sovereign whom none dare disobey. She set
the fashion, and great ladies imitated her.

Nana's fine house was situated at the hangingscorner of the Rue Cardinet, in
the Avenue de Villiers. The avenue was part of the luxurious
quarter at that time springing up in the vague district which had
once been the Plaine Monceau. The house had been built by a young
painter, who was intoxicated by a first success, and had been
perforce resold almost as soon as it was habitable. It was in the
palatial Renaissance manner and had fantastic interior arrangements
which consisted of modern conveniences framed in a setting of
somewhat artificial originality. Count Muffat had bought the house
ready furnished and full of hosts of beautiful objects--lovely
Eastern hangings, old credences, huge chairs of the Louis XIII
epoch. And thus Nana had come into artistic surroundings of the
choicest kind and of the most extravagantly various dates. But
since the studio, which occupied the central portion of the house,
could not be of any use to her, she had upset existing arrangements,
establishing a small drawing room on the first floor, next to her
bedroom and dressing room, and leaving a conservatory, a large
drawing room and a dining room to look after themselves underneath.
She astonished the architect with her ideas, for, as became a
Parisian workgirl who understands the elegancies of life by
instinct, she had suddenly developed a very pretty taste for every
species of luxurious refinement. Indeed, she did not spoil her
house overmuch; nay, she even added to the richness of the
furniture, save here and there, where certain traces of tender
foolishness and vulgar magnificence betrayed the ex-flower seller
who had been wont to dream in front of shopwindows in the arcades.

A carpet was spread on the steps beneath the great awning over the
front door in the court, and the moment you entered the hall you
were greeted by a perfume as of violets and a soft, warm atmosphere
which thick hangings helped to produce. A window, whose yellow- and
rose-colored panes suggested the warm pallor of human flesh, gave
light to the wide staircase, at the foot of which a Negro in carved
wood held out a silver tray full of visiting cards and four white
marble women, with bosoms displayed, raised lamps in their uplifted
hands. Bronzes and Chinese vases full of flowers, divans covered
with old Persian rugs, armchairs upholstered in old tapestry,
furnished the entrance hall, adorned the stairheads and gave the
first-floor landing the appearance of an anteroom. Here men's
overcoats and hats were always in evidence, and there were thick
hangings which deadened every sound. It seemed a place apart: on
entering it you might have fancied yourself in a chapel, whose very
air was thrilling with devotion, whose very silence and seclusion
were fraught with mystery.

Nana only opened the large and somewhat too-sumptuous Louis XVI
drawing room on those gala nights when she received society from the
Tuileries or strangers of distinction. Ordinarily she only came
downstairs at mealtimes, and she woul of the finest needlework. Armchairs
wide as beds and sofas deep as alcoves suggested voluptuous idleness
and the somnolent life of the seraglio. The prevailing tone of the
room was old gold blended with green and red, and nothing it
contained too forcibly indicated the presence of the courtesan save
the luxuriousness of the seats. Only two "biscuit" statuettes, a
woman in her shift, hunting for fleas, and another with nothing at
all on, walking on her hands and waving her feet in the air,
sufficed to sully the room with a note of stupid originality.

Through a door, which was nearly always ajar, the dressing room was
visible. It was all in marble and glass with a white bath, silver
jugs and basins and crystal and ivory appointments. A drawn curtain
filled the place with a clear twilight which seemed to slumber in
the warm scent of violets, that suggestive perfume peculiar to Nana
wherewith the whole house, from the roof to the very courtyard, was
penetrated.

The furnishing of the house was a most important undertaking. Nana
certainly had Zoe with her, that girl so devoted to her fortunes.
For months she had been tranquilly awaiting this abrupt, new
departure, as became a woman who was certain of her powers of
prescience, and now she was triumphant; she was mistress of the
house and was putting by a round sum while serving Madame as
honestly as possible. But a solitary lady's maid wasd feel rather lost on such days
as she lunched by herself in the lofty dining room with its Gobelin
tapestry and its monumental sideboard, adorned with old porcelain
and marvelous pieces of ancient plate. She used to go upstairs
again as quickly as possible, for her home was on the first floor,
in the three rooms, the bed, dressing and small drawing room above
described. Twice already she had done the bedchamber up anew: on
the first occasion in mauve satin, on the second in blue silk under
lace. But she had not been satisfied with this; it had struck her
as "nohowish," and she was still unsuccessfully seeking for new
colors and designs. On the elaborately upholstered bed, which was
as low as a so no longer
sufficient. A butler, a coachman, a porter and a cook were wanted.
Besides, it was necessary to fill the stables. It was then that
Labordette made himself most useful. He undertook to perform all
sorts of errands which bored the count; he made a comfortable job of
the purchase of horses; he visited the coachbuilders; he guided the
young woman in her choice of things. She was to be met with at the
shops, leaning on his arm. Labordette even got in the servants--
Charles, a great, tall coachman, who had been in service with the
Duc de Corbreuse; Julien, a little, smiling, much-becurled butler,
and a married couple, of whom the wife Victorine became cook while
the husband Francois was taken on as porter and footman. The last
mentioned in powder and breeches wore Nana's livery, which was a
sky-blue one adorned with silver lace, and he received visitors in
the hall. The whole thing was princely in the correctness of its
style.

At the end of two months the house was set going. The cost had been
more than three hundred thousand francs. There were eight horses in
the stables, and five carriages in the coach houses, and of these
five one was a landau with silver embellishments, which for the
moment occupied the attention of all Paris. And amid this great
wealth Nana began settling down and making her nest. After the
third representation of the Petite Duchesse she had quitted the
theater, leaving Bordenave to struggle on against a bankruptcy
which, despite the count's money, was imminent. Nevertheless, she
was still bitter about her failure. It added to that other
bitterness, the lesson Fontan had given her, a shameful lesson for
which she held all men responsible. Accordingly she now declared
herself very firm and quite proof against sudden infatuations, but
thoughts of vengeance took no hold of her volatile brain. What did
maintain a hold on it in the hours when she was not indignant was an
ever-wakeful lust of expenditure, added to a natural contempt for
the man who paid and to a perpetual passion for consumption and
waste, which took pride in the ruin of her lovers.

At starting Nana put the count on a proper footing and clearly
mapped out the conditions of their relationship. The count gave
twelve thousand francs monthly, presents excepted, and demanded
nothing in return save absolute fidelity. She swore fidelity but
insisted also on being treated with the utmost consideration, on
enjoying complete liberty as mistress of the house and on having her
every wish respected. For instance, she was to receive her friends
every day, and he was to come only at stated times. In a word, he
was to repose a blind confidence in her in everything. And when he
was seized with jealous anxiety and hesitated to grant what she
wanted, she stood on her dignity and threatened to give him back all
he had given or even swore by little Louiset to perform what she
promised. This was to suffice him. There was no love where mutual
esteem was wanting. At the end of the first month Muffat respected
her.

But she desired and obtained still more. Soon she began to
influence him, as became a good-natured courtesan. When he came to
her in a moody condition she cheered him up, confessed him and then
gave him good advice. Little by little she interested herself in
the annoyanceut of
the troubled waters.

One morning when Muffat had not yet left the bedroom Zoe ushered a
gentleman into the dressing room, where Nana was changing her
underwear. He was trembling violently.

"Good gracious! It's Zizi!" said the young woman in great
astonishment.

It was, indeed, Georges. But when he saw her in her shift, with her
golden hair over her bare shoulders, he threw his arms round her
neck and round her waist and kissed her in all directions. She
began struggling to get free, for she was frightened, and in
smothered tones she stammered:

"Do leave off! He's there! Oh, it's silly of you! And you, Zoe,
are you out of your senses? Take him away and keep him downstairs;
I'll try and come down."

Zoe had to push him in front of her. When Nana was able to rejoin
them in the drawing room downstairs she scolded them both, and Zoe
pursed up her lips and took her departure with a vexed expression,
remarking that she had only been anxious to give Madame a pleasure.
Georges was so glad to see Nana again and gazed at her with such
delight that his fine eyes began filling with tears. The miserable
days were over now; his mother believed him to have grown reasonable
and had allowed him to leave Les Fondettes. Accordingly, the moment
he had reached the terminus, he had got a conveyance in order the
more quickly to come and kiss his sweet darling. He spoke of living
at her sids of his home life, in his wife, in his daughter, in
his love affairs and financial difficulties; she was very sensible,
very fair and right-minded. On one occasion only did she let anger
get the better of her, and that was when he confided to her that
doubtless Daguenet was going to ask for his daughter Estelle in
marriage. When the count began making himself notorious Daguenet
had thought it a wise move to break off with Nana. He had treated
her like a base hussy and had sworn to snatch his future father-in-
law out of the creature's clutches. In return Nana abused her old
Mimi in a charming fashion. He was a renegade who had devoured his
fortune in the company of vile women; he had no moral sense. True,
he did not let them pay him money, but he profited by that of others
and only repaid them at rare intervals with a bouquet or a dinner.
And when the count seemed inclined to find excuses for these
failings she bluntly informed him that Daguenet had enjoyed her
favors, and she added disgusting particulars. Muffat had grown
ashen-pale. There was no question of the young man now. This would
teach him to be lacking in gratitude!

Meanwhile the house had not been entirely furnished, when one
evening after she had lavished the most energetic promises of
fidelity on Muffat Nana kept the Count Xavier de Vandeuvres for the
night. For the last fortnight he had been paying her assiduous
court, visiting her and sending presents of flowers, and now she
gave way not so much out of sudden infatuation as to prove that she
was a free woman. The idea of gain followed later when, the day
after, Vandeuvres helped her to pay a bill which she did not wish to
mention to the other man. From Vandeuvres she would certainly
derive from eight to ten thousand francs a month, and this would
prove very useful as pocket money. In those days he was finishing
the last of his fortune in an access of burning, feverish folly.
His horses and Lucy had devoured three of his farms, and at one gulp
Nana was going to swallow his last chateau, near Amiens. He seemed
in a hurry to sweep everything away, down to the ruins of the old
tower built by a Vandeuvres under Philip Augustus. He was mad for
ruin and thought it a great thing to leave the last golden bezants
of his coat of arms in the grasp of this courtesan, whom the world
of Paris desired. He, too, accepted Nana's conditions, leaving her
entire freedom of action and claiming her caresses only on certain
days. He was not even naively impassioned enough to require her to
make vows. Muffat suspected nothing. As to Vandeuvres, he knew
things would take place for a certainty, but he never made the least
allusion to them and pretended total ignorance, while his lips wore
the subtle smile of the skeptical man of pleasure who does not seek
the impossible, provided he can have his day and that Paris is aware
of it.

From that time forth Nana's house was really properly appointed.
The staff of servants was complete in the stable, in the kitchen and
in my lady's chamber. Zoe organized everything and passed
successfully through the most unforeseen difficulties. The
household moved as easily as the scenery in a theater and was
regulated like a grand administrative concern. Indeed, it worked
with such precision that during the early months there were no jars
and no derangements. Madame, however, pained Zoe extremely with her
imprudent acts, her sudden fits of unwisdom, her mad bravado. Still
the lady's maid grew gradually lenient, for she had noticed that she
made increased profits in seasons of wanton waste when Madame had
committed a folly which must be made up for. It was then that the
presents began raining on her, and she fished up many a louis oe in future, as he used to do down in
the country when he
waited for her, barefooted, in the bedroom at La Mignotte. And as
he told her about himself, he let his fingers creep forward, for he
longed to touch her after that cruel year of separation. Then he
got possession of her hands, felt about the wide sleeves of her
dressing jacket, traveled up as far as her shoulders.

"You still love your baby?" he asked in his child voice.

"Oh, I certainly love him!" answered Nana, briskly getting out of
his clutches. "But you come popping in without warning. You know,
my little man, I'm not my own mistress; you must be good!"

Georges, when he got out of his cab, had been so dizzy with the
feeling that his long desire was at last about to be satisfied that
he had not even noticed what sort of house he was entering. But now
he became conscious of a change in the things around him. He
examined the sumptuous dining room with its lofty decorated ceiling,
its Gobelin hangings, its buffet blazing with plate.

"Yes, yes!" he remarked sadly.

And with that she made him understand that he was never to come in
the mornings but between four and six in the afternoon, if he cared
to. That was her reception time. Then as he looked at her with
suppliant, questioning eyes and craved no boon at all, she, in her
turn, kissed him on the forehead in the most amiable way.

"Be very good," she whispered. "I'll do all I can."

But the truth was that this remark now meant nothing. She thought
Georges very nice and would have liked him as a companion, but as
nothing else. Nevertheless, when he arrived daily at four o'clock
he seemed so wretched that she was often fain to be as compliant as
of old and would hide him in cupboards and constantly allow him to
pick up the crumbs from Beauty's table. He hardly ever left the
house now and became as much one of its inmates as the little dog
Bijou. Together they nestled among Mistress's skirts and enjoyed a
little of her at a time, even when she was with another man, while
doles of sugar and stray caresses not seldom fell to their share in
her hours of loneliness and boredom.

Doubtless Mme Hugon found out that the lad had again returned to
that wicked woman's arms, for she hurried up to Paris and came and
sought aid from her other son, the Lieutenant Philippe, who was then
in garrison at Vincennes. Georges, who was hiding from his elder
brother, was seized with despairing apprehension, for he feared the
latter might adopt violent tactics, and as his tenderness for Nana
was so nervously expansive that he could not keep anything from her,
he soon began talking of nothing but his big brother, a great,
strong fellow, who was capable of all kinds of things.

"You know," he explained, "Mamma won't come to you while she can
send my brother. Oh, she'll certainly send Philippe to fetch me."

The first time he said this Nana was deeply wounded. She said
frigidly:

"Gracious me, I should like to see him come! For all that he's a
lieutenant in the army, Francois will chuck him out in double-quick
time!"

Soon, as the lad kept returning to the subject of his brother, she
ended by taking a certain interest in Philippe, and in a week's time
she knew him from head to foot--knew him as very tall and very
strong and merry and somewhat rough. She learned intimate details,
too, and found out that he had hair on his arms and a birthmark on
his shoulder. So thoroughly did she learn her lesson that one day,
when she was full of the image of the man who was to be turned out
of doors by her orders, she cried out:

"I say, Zizi, your brother's not coming. He's a base deserter!"

The next day, when Georges and Nana were alone together, Francois
came upstairs to ask whether Madame would receive Lieutenant
Philippe Hugon. Georges grew extremely white and murmured:

"I suspected it; Mamma was talking about it this morning."

And he besought the young woman to send down word that she could not
see visitors. But she was already on her feet and seemed all aflame
as she said:

"Why should I not see him? He would think me afraid. Dear me,
we'll have a good laugh! Just leave the gentleman in the drawing
room for a quarter of an hour, Francois; afterward bring him up to
me."

She did not sit down again but began pacing feverishly to and fro
between the fireplace and a Venetian mirror hanging above an Italian
chest. And each time she reached the latter she glanced at the
glass and tried the effect of a smile, while Georges sat nervously
on a sofa, trembling at the thought of the coming scene. As she
walked up and down she kept jerking out such little phrases as:

"It will calm the fellow down if he has to wait a quarter of an
hour. Besides, if he thinks he's calling on a tottie the drawing
room will stun him! Yes, yes, have a good look at everything, my
fine fellow! It isn't imitation, and it'll teach you to respect the
lady who owns it. Respect's what men need to feel! The quarter of
an hour's gone by, eh? No? Only ten minutes? Oh, we've got plenty
of time."

She did not stay where she was, however. At the end of the quarter
of an hour she sent Georges away after making him solemnly promise
not to listen at the door, as such conduct would scarcely look
proper in case the servants saw him. As he went into her bedroom
Zizi ventured in a choking sort of way to remark:

"It's my brother, you know--"

"Don't you fear," she said with much dignity; "if he's polite I'll
be polite."

Francois ushered in Philippe Hugon, who wore morning dress. Georges
began crossing on tiptoe on the other side of the room, for he was
anxious to obey the young woman. But the sound of voices retained
him, and he hesitated in such anguish of mind that his knees gave
way under him. He began imagining that a dread catastrophe would
befall, that blows would be struck, that something abominable would
happen, which would make Nana everlastingly odious to him. And so
he could not withstand the temptation to come back and put his ear
against the door. He heard very ill, for the thick portieres
deadened every sound, but he managed to catch certain words spoken
by Philippe, stern phrases in which such terms as "mere child,"
"family," "honor," were distinctly audible. He was so anxious about
his darling's possible answers that his heart beat violently and
filled his head with a confused, buzzing noise. She was sure to
give vent to a "Dirty blackguard!" or to a "Leave me bloody well
alone! I'm in my own house!"  But nothing happened--not a breath
came from her direction. Nana seemed dead in there! Soon even his
brother's voice grew gentler, and he could not make it out at all,
when a strange murmuring sound finally stupefied him. Nana was
sobbing! For a moment or two he was the prey of contending feelings
and knew not whether to run away or to fall upon Philippe. But just
then Zoe came into the room, and he withdrew from the door, ashamed
at being thus surprised.

She began quietly to put some linen away in a cupboard while he
stood mute and motionless, pressing his forehead against a
windowpane. He was tortured by uncertainty. After a short silence
the woman asked:

"It's your brother that's with Madame?"

"Yes," replied the lad in a choking voice.

There was a fresh silence.

"And it makes you anxious, doesn't it, Monsieur Georges?"

"Yes," he rejoined in the same painful, suffering tone.

Zoe was in no hurry. She folded up some lace and said slowly:

"You're wrong; Madame will manage it all."

And then the conversation ended; they said not another word. Still
she did not leave the room. A long quarter of an hour passed, and
she turned round again without seeming to notice the look of
exasperation overspreading the lad's face, which was already white
with the effects of uncertainty and constraint. He was casting
sidelong glances in the direction of the drawing room.

Maybe Nana was still crying. The other must have grown savage and
have dealt her blows. Thus when Zoe finally took her departure he
ran to the door and once more pressed his ear against it. He was
thunderstruck; his head swam, for he heard a brisk outburst of
gaiety, tender, whispering voices and the smothered giggles of a
woman who is being tickled. Besides, almost directly afterward,
Nana conducted Philippe to the head of the stairs, and there was an
exchange of cordial and familiar phrases.

When Georges again ventured into the drawing room the young woman
was standing before the mirror, looking at herself.

"Well?" he asked in utter bewilderment.

"Well, what?" she said without turning round. Then negligently:

"What did you mean? He's very nice, is your brother!"

"So it's all right, is it?"

"Oh, certainly it's all right! Goodness me, what's come over you?
One would have thought we were going to fight!"

Georges still failed to understand.

"I thought I heard--that is, you didn't cry?" he stammered out.

"Me cry!" she exclaimed, looking fixedly at him. "Why, you're
dreaming! What makes you think I cried?"

Thereupon the lad was treated to a distressing scene for having
disobeyed and played Paul Pry behind the door. She sulked, and he
returned with coaxing submissiveness to the old subject, for he
wished to know all about it.

"And my brother then?"

"Your brother saw where he was at once. You know, I might have been
a tottie, in which case his interference would have been accounted
for by your age and the family honor! Oh yes, I understand those
kinds of feelings! But a single glance was enough for him, and he
behaved like a well-bred man at once. So don't be anxious any
longer. It's all over--he's gone to quiet your mamma!"

And she went on laughingly:

"For that matter, you'll see your brother here. I've invited him,
and he's going to return."

"Oh, he's going to return," said the lad, growing white. He added
nothing, and they ceased talking of Philippe. She began dressing to
go out, and he watched her with his great, sad eyes. Doubtless he
was very glad that matters had got settled, for he would have
preferred death to a rupture of their connection, but deep down in
his heart there was a silent anguish, a profound sense of pain,
which he had no experience of and dared not talk about. How
Philippe quieted their mother's fears he never knew, but three days
later she returned to Les Fondettes, apparently satisfied. On the
evening of her return, at Nana's house, he trembled when Francois
announced the lieutenant, but the latter jested gaily and treated
him like a young rascal, whose escapade he had favored as something
not likely to have any consequences. The lad's heart was sore
within him; he scarcely dared move and blushed girlishly at the
least word that was spoken to him. He had not lived much in
Philippe's society; he was ten years his junior, and he feared him
as he would a father, from whom stories about women are concealed.
Accordingly he experienced an uneasy sense of shame when he saw him
so free in Nana's company and heard him laugh uproariously, as
became a man who was plunging into a life of pleasure with the gusto
born of magnificent health. Nevertheless, when his brother shortly
began to present himself every day, Georges ended by getting
somewhat used to it all. Nana was radiant.

This, her latest installation, had been involving all the riotous
waste attendant on the life of gallantry, and now her housewarming
was being defiantly celebrated in a grand mansion positively
overflowing with males and with furniture.

One afternoon when the Hugons were there Count Muffat arrived out of
hours. But when Zoe told him that Madame was with friends he
refused to come in and took his departure discreetly, as became a
gallant gentleman. When he made his appearance again in the evening
Nana received him with the frigid indignation of a grossly affronted
woman.

"Sir," she said, "I have given you no cause why you should insult
me. You must understand this: when I am at home to visitors, I beg
you to make your appearance just like other people."

The count simply gaped in astonishment. "But, my dear--" he
endeavored to explain.

"Perhaps it was because I had visitors! Yes, there were men here,
but what d'you suppose I was doing with those men? You only
advertise a woman's affairs when you act the discreet lover, and I
don't want to be advertised; I don't!"

He obtained his pardon with difficulty, but at bottom he was
enchanted. It was with scenes such as these that she kept him in
unquestioning and docile submission. She had long since succeeded
in imposing Georges on him as a young vagabond who, she declared,
amused her. She made him dine with Philippe, and the count behaved
with great amiability. When they rose from table he took the young
man on one side and asked news of his mother. From that time forth
the young Hugons, Vandeuvres and Muffat were openly about the house
and shook hands as guests and intimates might have done. It was a
more convenient arrangement than the previous one. Muffat alone
still abstained discreetly from too-frequent visits, thus adhering
to the ceremonious policy of an ordinary strange caller. At night
when Nana was sitting on her bearskins drawing off her stockings, he
would talk amicably about the other three gentlemen and lay especial
stress on Philippe, who was loyalty itself.

"It's very true; they're nice," Nana would say as she lingered on
the floor to change her shift. "Only, you know, they see what I am.
One word about it and I should chuck 'em all out of doors for you!"

Nevertheless, despite her luxurious life and her group of courtiers,
Nana was nearly bored to death. She had men for every minute of the
night, and money overflowed even among the brushes and combs in the
drawers of her dressing table. But all this had ceased to satisfy
her; she felt that there was a void somewhere or other, an empty
place provocative of yawns. Her life dragged on, devoid of
occupation, and successive days only brought back the same
monotonous hours. Tomorrow had ceased to be; she lived like a bird:
sure of her food and ready to perch and roost on any branch which
she came to. This certainty of food and drink left her lolling
effortless for whole days, lulled her to sleep in conventual
idleness and submission as though she were the prisoner of her
trade. Never going out except to drive, she was losing her walking
powers. She reverted to low childish tastes, would kiss Bijou from
morning to night and kill time with stupid pleasures while waiting
for the man whose caresses she tolerated with an appearance of
complaisant lassitude. Amid this species of self-abandonment she
now took no thought about anything save her personal beauty; her
sole care was to look after herself, to wash and to perfume her
limbs, as became one who was proud of being able to undress at any
moment and in face of anybody without having to blush for her
imperfections.

At ten in the morning Nana would get up. Bijou, the Scotch griffon
dog, used to lick her face and wake her, and then would ensue a game
of play lasting some five minutes, during which the dog would race
about over her arms and legs and cause Count Muffat much distress.
Bijou was the first little male he had ever been jealous of. It was
not at all proper, he thought, that an animal should go poking its
nose under the bedclothes like that! After this Nana would proceed
to her dressing room, where she took a bath. Toward eleven o'clock
Francois would come and do up her hair before beginning the
elaborate manipulations of the afternoon.

At breakfast, as she hated feeding alone, she nearly always had Mme
Maloir at table with her. This lady would arrive from unknown
regions in the morning, wearing her extravagantly quaint hats, and
would return at night to that mysterious existence of hers, about
which no one ever troubled. But the hardest to bear were the two or
three hours between lunch and the toilet. On ordinary occasions she
proposed a game of bezique to her old friend; on others she would
read the Figaro, in which the theatrical echoes and the fashionable
news interested her. Sometimes she even opened a book, for she
fancied herself in literary matters. Her toilet kept her till close
on five o'clock, and then only she would wake from her daylong
drowse and drive out or receive a whole mob of men at her own house.
She would often dine abroad and always go to bed very late, only to
rise again on the morrow with the same languor as before and to
begin another day, differing in nothing from its predecessor.

The great distraction was to go to the Batignolles and see her
little Louis at her aunt's. For a fortnight at a time she forgot
all about him, and then would follow an access of maternal love, and
she would hurry off on foot with all the modesty and tenderness
becoming a good mother. On such occasions she would be the bearer
of snuff for her aunt and of oranges and biscuits for the child, the
kind of presents one takes to a hospital. Or again she would drive
up in her landau on her return from the Bois, decked in costumes,
the resplendence of which greatly excited the dwellers in the
solitary street. Since her niece's magnificent elevation Mme Lerat
had been puffed up with vanity. She rarely presented herself in the
Avenue de Villiers, for she was pleased to remark that it wasn't her
place to do so, but she enjoyed triumphs in her own street. She was
delighted when the young woman arrived in dresses that had cost four
or five thousand francs and would be occupied during the whole of
the next day in showing off her presents and in citing prices which
quite stupefied the neighbors. As often as not, Nana kept Sunday
free for the sake of "her family," and on such occasions, if Muffat
invited her, she would refuse with the smile of a good little
shopwoman. It was impossible, she would answer; she was dining at
her aunt's; she was going to see Baby. Moreover, that poor little
man Louiset was always ill. He was almost three years old, growing
quite a great boy! But he had had an eczema on the back of his
neck, and now concretions were forming in his ears, which pointed,
it was feared, to decay of the bones of the skull. When she saw how
pale he looked, with his spoiled blood and his flabby flesh all out
in yellow patches, she would become serious, but her principal
feeling would be one of astonishment. What could be the matter with
the little love that he should grow so weakly? She, his mother, was
so strong and well!

On the days when her child did not engross attention Nana would
again sink back into the noisy monotony of her existence, with its
drives in the Bois, first nights at the theater, dinners and suppers
at the Maison-d'Or or the Cafe Anglais, not to mention all the
places of public resort, all the spectacles to which crowds rushed--
Mabille, the reviews, the races. But whatever happened she still
felt that stupid, idle void, which caused her, as it were, to suffer
internal cramps. Despite the incessant infatuations that possessed
her heart, she would stretch out her arms with a gesture of immense
weariness the moment she was left alone. Solitude rendered her low
spirited at once, for it brought her face to face with the emptiness
and boredom within her. Extremely gay by nature and profession, she
became dismal in solitude and would sum up her life in the following
ejaculation, which recurred incessantly between her yawns:

"Oh, how the men bother me!"

One afternoon as she was returning home from a concert, Nana, on the
sidewalk in the Rue Montmartre, noticed a woman trotting along in
down-at-the-heel boots, dirty petticoats and a hat utterly ruined by
the rain. She recognized her suddenly.

"Stop, Charles!" she shouted to the coachman and began calling:
"Satin, Satin!"

Passers-by turned their heads; the whole street stared. Satin had
drawn near and was still further soiling herself against the
carriage wheels.

"Do get in, my dear girl," said Nana tranquilly, disdaining the
onlookers.

And with that she picked her up and carried her off, though she was
in disgusting contrast to her light blue landau and her dress of
pearl-gray silk trimmed with Chantilly, while the street smiled at
the coachman's loftily dignified demeanor.

From that day forth Nana had a passion to occupy her thoughts.
Satin became her vicious foible. Washed and dressed and duly
installed in the house in the Avenue de Villiers, during three days
the girl talked of Saint-Lazare and the annoyances the sisters had
caused her and how those dirty police people had put her down on the
official list. Nana grew indignant and comforted her and vowed she
would get her name taken off, even though she herself should have to
go and find out the minister of the interior. Meanwhile there was
no sort of hurry: nobody would come and search for her at Nana's--
that was certain. And thereupon the two women began to pass tender
afternoons together, making numberless endearing little speeches and
mingling their kisses with laughter. The same little sport, which
the arrival of the plainclothes men had interrupted in the Rue de
Laval, was beginning again in a jocular sort of spirit. One fine
evening, however, it became serious, and Nana, who had been so
disgusted at Laure's, now understood what it meant. She was upset
and enraged by it, the more so because Satin disappeared on the
morning of the fourth day. No one had seen her go our. She had,
indeed, slipped away in her new dress, seized by a longing for air,
full of sentimental regret for her old street existence.

That day there was such a terrible storm in the house that all the
servants hung their heads in sheepish silence. Nana had come near
beating Francois for not throwing himself across the door through
which Satin escaped. She did her best, however, to control herself,
and talked of Satin as a dirty swine. Oh, it would teach her to
pick filthy things like that out of the gutter!

When Madame shut herself up in her room in the afternoon Zoe heard
her sobbing. In the evening she suddenly asked for her carriage and
had herself driven to Laure's. It had occurred to her that she
would find Satin at the table d'hote in the Rue des Martyrs. She
was not going there for the sake of seeing her again but in order to
catch her one in the face! As a matter of fact Satin was dining at
a little table with Mme Robert. Seeing Nana, she began to laugh,
but the former, though wounded to the quick, did not make a scene.
On the contrary, she was very sweet and very compliant. She paid
for champagne made five or six tablefuls tipsy and then carried off
Satin when Mme Robert was in the closets. Not till they were in the
carriage did she make a mordant attack on her, threatening to kill
her if she did it again.

After that day the same little business began again continually. On
twenty different occasions Nana, tragically furious, as only a
jilted woman can be ran off in pursuit of this sluttish creature,
whose flights were prompted by the boredom she suffered amid the
comforts of her new home. Nana began to talk of boxing Mme Robert's
ears; one day she even meditated a duel; there was one woman too
many, she said.

In these latter times, whenever she dined at Laure's, she donned her
diamonds and occasionally brought with her Louise Violaine, Maria
Blond and Tatan Nene, all of them ablaze with finery; and while the
sordid feast was progressing in the three saloons and the yellow
gaslight flared overhead, these four resplendent ladies would demean
themselves with a vengeance, for it was their delight to dazzle the
little local courtesans and to carry them off when dinner was over.
On days such as these Laure, sleek and tight-laced as ever would
kiss everyone with an air of expanded maternity. Yet
notwithstanding all these circumstances Satin's blue eyes and pure
virginal face remained as calm as heretofore; torn, beaten and
pestered by the two women, she would simply remark that it was a
funny business, and they would have done far better to make it up at
once. It did no good to slap her; she couldn't cut herself in two,
however much she wanted to be nice to everybody. It was Nana who
finally carried her off in triumph, so assiduously had she loaded
Satin with kindnesses and presents. In order to be revenged,
however, Mme Robert wrote abominable, anonymous letters to her
rival's lovers.

For some time past Count Muffat had appeared suspicious, and one
morning, with considerable show of feeling, he laid before Nana an
anonymous letter, where in the very first sentences she read that
she was accused of deceiving the count with Vandeuvres and the young
Hugons.

"It's false! It's false!" she loudly exclaimed in accents of
extraordinary candor.

"You swear?" asked Muffat, already willing to be comforted.

"I'll swear by whatever you like--yes, by the head of my child!"

But the letter was long. Soon her connection with Satin was
described in the broadest and most ignoble terms. When she had done
reading she smiled.

"Now I know who it comes from," she remarked simply.

And as Muffat wanted her denial to the charges therein contained,
she resumed quietly enough:

"That's a matter which doesn't concern you, dear old pet. How can
it hurt you?"

She did not deny anything. He used some horrified expressions.
Thereupon she shrugged her shoulders. Where had he been all this
time? Why, it was done everywhere! And she mentioned her friends
and swore that fashionable ladies went in for it. In fact, to hear
her speak, nothing could be commoner or more natural. But a lie was
a lie, and so a moment ago he had seen how angry she grew in the
matter of Vandeuvres and the young Hugons! Oh, if that had been
true he would have been justified in throttling her! But what was
the good of lying to him about a matter of no consequence? And with
that she repeated her previous expression:

"Come now, how can it hurt you?"

Then as the scene still continued, she closed it with a rough
speech:

"Besides, dear boy, if the thing doesn't suit you it's very simple:
the house door's open! There now, you must take me as you find me!"

He hung his head, for the young woman's vows of fidelity made him
happy at bottom. She, however, now knew her power over him and
ceased to consider his feelings. And from that time forth Satin was
openly installed in the house on the same footing as the gentlemen.
Vandeuvres had not needed anonymous letters in order to understand
how matters stood, and accordingly he joked and tried to pick
jealous quarrels with Satin. Philippe and Georges, on their parts,
treated her like a jolly good fellow, shaking hands with her and
cracking the riskiest jokes imaginable.

Nana had an adventure one evening when this slut of a girl had given
her the go-by and she had gone to dine in the Rue des Martyrs
without being able to catch her. While she was dining by herself
Daguenet had appeared on the scene, for although he had reformed, he
still occasionally dropped in under the influence of his old vicious
inclinations. He hoped of course that no one would meet him in
these black recesses, dedicated to the town's lowest depravity.
Accordingly even Nana's presence seemed to embarrass him at the
outset. But he was not the man to run away and, coming forward with
a smile, he asked if Madame would be so kind as to allow him to dine
at her table. Noticing his jocular tone, Nana assumed her
magnificently frigid demeanor and icily replied:

"Sit down where you please, sir. We are in a public place."

Thus begun, the conversation proved amusing. But at dessert Nana,
bored and burning for a triumph, put her elbows on the table and
began in the old familiar way:

"Well, what about your marriage, my lad? Is it getting on all
right?"

"Not much," Daguenet averred.

As a matter of fact, just when he was about to venture on his
request at the Muffats', he had met with such a cold reception from
the count that he had prudently refrained. The business struck him
as a failure. Nana fixed her clear eyes on him; she was sitting,
leaning her chin on her hand, and there was an ironical curve about
her lips.

"Oh yes! I'm a baggage," she resumed slowly. "Oh yes, the future
father-in-law will have to be dragged from between my claws! Dear
me, dear me, for a fellow with NOUS, you're jolly stupid! What!
D'you mean to say you're going to tell your tales to a man who
adores me and tells me everything? Now just listen: you shall marry
if I wish it, my little man!"

For a minute or two he had felt the truth of this, and now he began
scheming out a method of submission. Nevertheless, he still talked
jokingly, not wishing the matter to grow serious, and after he had
put on his gloves he demanded the hand of Mlle Estelle de Beuville
in the strict regulation manner. Nana ended by laughing, as though
she had been tickled. Oh, that Mimi! It was impossible to bear him
a grudge! Daguenet's great successes with ladies of her class were
due to the sweetness of his voice, a voice of such musical purity
and pliancy as to have won him among courtesans the sobriquet of
"Velvet-Mouth."  Every woman would give way to him when he lulled
her with his sonorous caresses. He knew this power and rocked Nana
to sleep with endless words, telling her all kinds of idiotic
anecdotes. When they left t