Chapter III

by Emile Zola

　　The countess Sabine, as it had become customary to call Mme Muffatde Beuville in order to distinguish her from the count's mother, whohad died the year before, was wont to receive every Tuesday in herhouse in the Rue Miromesnil at the corner of the Rue de Pentievre.It was a great square building, and the Muffats had lived in it fora hundred years or more. On the side of the street its frontageseemed to slumber, so lofty was it and dark, so sad and conventlike,with its great outer shutters, which were nearly always closed. Andat the back in a little dark garden some trees had grown up and werestraining toward the sunlight with such long slender branches thattheir tips were visible above the roof.This particular Tuesday, toward ten o'clock in the evening, therewere scarcely a dozen people in the drawing room. When she was onlyexpecting intimate friends the countess opened neither the littledrawing room nor the dining room. One felt more at home on suchoccasions and chatted round the fire. The drawing room was verylarge and very lofty; its four windows looked out upon the garden,from which, on this rainy evening of the close of April, issued asensation of damp despite the great logs burning on the hearth. Thesun never shone down into the room; in the daytime it was dimly litup by a faint greenish light, but at night, when the lamps and thechandelier were burning, it looked merely a serious old chamber withits massive mahogany First Empire furniture, its hangings and chaircoverings of yellow velvet, stamped with a large design. Enteringit, one was in an atmosphere of cold dignity, of ancient manners, ofa vanished age, the air of which seemed devotional.Opposite the armchair, however, in which the count's mother haddied--a square armchair of formal design and inhospitable padding,which stood by the hearthside--the Countess Sabine was seated in adeep and cozy lounge, the red silk upholsteries of which were softas eider down. It was the only piece of modern furniture there, afanciful item introduced amid the prevailing severity and clashingwith it."So we shall have the shah of Persia," the young woman was saying.They were talking of the crowned heads who were coming to Paris forthe exhibition. Several ladies had formed a circle round thehearth, and Mme du Joncquoy, whose brother, a diplomat, had justfulfilled a mission in the East, was giving some details about thecourt of Nazr-ed-Din."Are you out of sorts, my dear?" asked Mme Chantereau, the wife ofan ironmaster, seeing the countess shivering slightly and growingpale as she did so."Oh no, not at all," replied the latter, smiling. "I felt a littlecold. This drawing room takes so long to warm."And with that she raised her melancholy eyes and scanned the wallsfrom floor to ceiling. Her daughter Estelle, a slight, insignificant-looking girl of sixteen, the thankless period of life, quittedthe large footstool on which she was sitting and silently cameand propped up one of the logs which had rolled from its place.But Mme de Chezelles, a convent friend of Sabine's and her junior byfive years, exclaimed:"Dear me, I would gladly be possessed of a drawing room such asyours! At any rate, you are able to receive visitors. They onlybuild boxes nowadays. Oh, if I were in your place!"She ran giddily on and with lively gestures explained how she wouldalter the hangings, the seats--everything, in fact. Then she wouldgive balls to which all Paris should run. Behind her seat herhusband, a magistrate, stood listening with serious air. It wasrumored that she deceived him quite openly, but people pardoned heroffense and received her just the same, because, they said, "she'snot answerable for her actions.""Oh that Leonide!" the Countess Sabine contented herself bymurmuring, smiling her faint smile the while.With a languid movement she eked out the thought that was in her.After having lived there seventeen years she certainly would notalter her drawing room now. It would henceforth remain just such asher mother-in-law had wished to preserve it during her lifetime.Then returning to the subject of conversation:"I have been assured," she said, "that we shall also have the kingof Prussia and the emperor of Russia."'Yes, some very fine fetes are promised," said Mme du Joncquoy.The banker Steiner, not long since introduced into this circle byLeonide de Chezelles, who was acquainted with the whole of Parisiansociety, was sitting chatting on a sofa between two of the windows.He was questioning a deputy, from whom he was endeavoring with muchadroitness to elicit news about a movement on the stock exchange ofwhich he had his suspicions, while the Count Muffat, standing infront of them, was silently listening to their talk, looking, as hedid so, even grayer than was his wont.Four or five young men formed another group near the door round theCount Xavier de Vandeuvres, who in a low tone was telling them ananecdote. It was doubtless a very risky one, for they were chokingwith laughter. Companionless in the center of the room, a stoutman, a chief clerk at the Ministry of the Interior, sat heavily inan armchair, dozing with his eyes open. But when one of the youngmen appeared to doubt the truth of the anecdote Vandeuvres raisedhis voice."You are too much of a skeptic, Foucarmont; you'll spoil all yourpleasures that way."And he returned to the ladies with a laugh. Last scion of a greatfamily, of feminine manners and witty tongue, he was at that timerunning through a fortune with a rage of life and appetite whichnothing could appease. His racing stable, which was one of the bestknown in Paris, cost him a fabulous amount of money; his bettinglosses at the Imperial Club amounted monthly to an alarming numberof pounds, while taking one year with another, his mistresses wouldbe always devouring now a farm, now some acres of arable land orforest, which amounted, in fact, to quite a respectable slice of hisvast estates in Picardy."I advise you to call other people skeptics! Why, you don't believea thing yourself," said Leonide, making shift to find him a littlespace in which to sit down at her side."It's you who spoil your own pleasures.""Exactly," he replied. "I wish to make others benefit by myexperience."But the company imposed silence on him: he was scandalizing M.Venot. And, the ladies having changed their positions, a little oldman of sixty, with bad teeth and a subtle smile, became visible inthe depths of an easy chair. There he sat as comfortably as in hisown house, listening to everybody's remarks and making none himself.With a slight gesture he announced himself by no means scandalized.Vandeuvres once more assumed his dignified bearing and addedgravely:"Monsieur Venot is fully aware that I believe what it is one's dutyto believe."It was an act of faith, and even Leonide appeared satisfied. Theyoung men at the end of the room no longer laughed; the company wereold fogies, and amusement was not to be found there. A cold breathof wind had passed over them, and amid the ensuing silence Steiner'snasal voice became audible. The deputy's discreet answers were atlast driving him to desperation. For a second or two the CountessSabine looked at the fire; then she resumed the conversation."I saw the king of Prussia at Baden-Baden last year. He's stillfull of vigor for his age.""Count Bismarck is to accompany him," said Mme du Joncquoy. "Do youknow the count? I lunched with him at my brother's ages ago, whenhe was representative of Prussia in Paris. There's a man now whoselatest successes I cannot in the least understand.""But why?" asked Mme Chantereau."Good gracious, how am I to explain? He doesn't please me. Hisappearance is boorish and underbred. Besides, so far as I amconcerned, I find him stupid."With that the whole room spoke of Count Bismarck, and opinionsdiffered considerably. Vandeuvres knew him and assured the companythat he was great in his cups and at play. But when the discussionwas at its height the door was opened, and Hector de la Falois madehis appearance. Fauchery, who followed in his wake, approached thecountess and, bowing:"Madame," he said, "I have not forgotten your extremely kindinvitation."She smiled and made a pretty little speech. The journalist, afterbowing to the count, stood for some moments in the middle of thedrawing room. He only recognized Steiner and accordingly lookedrather out of his element. But Vandeuvres turned and came and shookhands with him. And forthwith, in his delight at the meeting andwith a sudden desire to be confidential, Fauchery buttonholed himand said in a low voice:"It's tomorrow. Are you going?""Egad, yes.""At midnight, at her house."I know, I know. I'm going with Blanche."He wanted to escape and return to the ladies in order to urge yetanother reason in M. de Bismarck's favor. But Fauchery detainedhim."You never will guess whom she has charged me to invite."And with a slight nod he indicated Count Muffat, who was just thendiscussing a knotty point in the budget with Steiner and the deputy."It's impossible," said Vandeuvres, stupefaction and merriment inhis tones. "My word on it! I had to swear that I would bring himto her. Indeed, that's one of my reasons for coming here."Both laughed silently, and Vandeuvres, hurriedly rejoining thecircle of ladies, cried out:"I declare that on the contrary Monsieur de Bismarck is exceedinglywitty. For instance, one evening he said a charmingly epigrammaticthing in my presence."La Faloise meanwhile had heard the few rapid sentences thuswhisperingly interchanged, and he gazed at Fauchery in hopes of anexplanation which was not vouchsafed him. Of whom were theytalking, and what were they going to do at midnight tomorrow? Hedid not leave his cousin's side again. The latter had gone andseated himself. He was especially interested by the CountessSabine. Her name had often been mentioned in his presence, and heknew that, having been married at the age of seventeen, she must nowbe thirty-four and that since her marriage she had passed acloistered existence with her husband and her mother-in-law. Insociety some spoke of her as a woman of religious chastity, whileothers pitied her and recalled to memory her charming bursts oflaughter and the burning glances of her great eyes in the days priorto her imprisonment in this old town house. Fauchery scrutinizedher and yet hesitated. One of his friends, a captain who hadrecently died in Mexico, had, on the very eve of his departure, madehim one of those gross postprandial confessions, of which even themost prudent among men are occasionally guilty. But of this he onlyretained a vague recollection; they had dined not wisely but toowell that evening, and when he saw the countess, in her black dressand with her quiet smile, seated in that Old World drawing room, hecertainly had his doubts. A lamp which had been placed behind herthrew into clear relief her dark, delicate, plump side face, whereina certain heaviness in the contours of the mouth alone indicated aspecies of imperious sensuality."What do they want with their Bismarck?" muttered La Faloise, whoseconstant pretense it was to be bored in good society. "One's readyto kick the bucket here. A pretty idea of yours it was to want tocome!"Fauchery questioned him abruptly."Now tell me, does the countess admit someone to her embraces?""Oh dear, no, no! My dear fellow!" he stammered, manifestly takenaback and quite forgetting his pose. "Where d'you think we are?"After which he was conscious of a want of up-to-dateness in thisoutburst of indignation and, throwing himself back on a great sofa,he added:"Gad! I say no! But I don't know much about it. There's a littlechap out there, Foucarmont they call him, who's to be met witheverywhere and at every turn. One's seen faster men than that,though, you bet. However, it doesn't concern me, and indeed, all Iknow is that if the countess indulges in high jinks she's stillpretty sly about it, for the thing never gets about--nobody talks."Then although Fauchery did not take the trouble to question him, hetold him all he knew about the Muffats. Amid the conversation ofthe ladies, which still continued in front of the hearth, they bothspoke in subdued tones, and, seeing them there with their whitecravats and gloves, one might have supposed them to be discussing inchosen phraseology some really serious topic. Old Mme Muffat then,whom La Faloise had been well acquainted with, was an insufferableold lady, always hand in glove with the priests. She had the grandmanner, besides, and an authoritative way of comporting herself,which bent everybody to her will. As to Muffat, he was an old man'schild; his father, a general, had been created count by Napoleon I,and naturally he had found himself in favor after the second ofDecember. He hadn't much gaiety of manner either, but he passed fora very honest man of straightforward intentions and understanding.Add to these a code of old aristocratic ideas and such a loftyconception of his duties at court, of his dignities and of hisvirtues, that he behaved like a god on wheels. It was the MammaMuffat who had given him this precious education with its dailyvisits to the confessional, its complete absence of escapades and ofall that is meant by youth. He was a practicing Christian and hadattacks of faith of such fiery violence that they might be likenedto accesses of burning fever. Finally, in order to add a last touchto the picture, La Faloise whispered something in his cousin's ear."You don't say so!" said the latter."On my word of honor, they swore it was true! He was still likethat when he married."Fauchery chuckled as he looked at the count, whose face, with itsfringe of whiskers and absence of mustaches, seemed to have grownsquarer and harder now that he was busy quoting figures to thewrithing, struggling Steiner."My word, he's got a phiz for it!" murmured Fauchery. "A prettypresent he made his wife! Poor little thing, how he must have boredher! She knows nothing about anything, I'll wager!"Just then the Countess Sabine was saying something to him. But hedid not hear her, so amusing and extraordinary did he esteem theMuffats' case. She repeated the question."Monsieur Fauchery, have you not published a sketch of Monsieur deBismarck? You spoke with him once?"He got up briskly and approached the circle of ladies, endeavoringto collect himself and soon with perfect ease of manner finding ananswer:"Dear me, madame, I assure you I wrote that 'portrait' with the helpof biographies which had been published in Germany. I have neverseen Monsieur de Bismarck."He remained beside the countess and, while talking with her,continued his meditations. She did not look her age; one would haveset her down as being twenty-eight at most, for her eyes, above all,which were filled with the dark blue shadow of her long eyelashes,retained the glowing light of youth. Bred in a divided family, sothat she used to spend one month with the Marquis de Chouard,another with the marquise, she had been married very young, urgedon, doubtless, by her father, whom she embarrassed after hermother's death. A terrible man was the marquis, a man about whomstrange tales were beginning to be told, and that despite his loftypiety! Fauchery asked if he should have the honor of meeting him.Certainly her father was coming, but only very late; he had so muchwork on hand! The journalist thought he knew where the oldgentleman passed his evenings and looked grave. But a mole, whichhe noticed close to her mouth on the countess's left cheek,surprised him. Nana had precisely the same mole. It was curious.Tiny hairs curled up on it, only they were golden in Nana's case,black as jet in this. Ah well, never mind! This woman enjoyednobody's embraces."I have always felt a wish to know Queen Augusta," she said. "Theysay she is so good, so devout. Do you think she will accompany theking?""It is not thought that she will, madame," he replied.She had no lovers: the thing was only too apparent. One had only tolook at her there by the side of that daughter of hers, sitting soinsignificant and constrained on her footstool. That sepulchraldrawing room of hers, which exhaled odors suggestive of being in achurch, spoke as plainly as words could of the iron hand, theaustere mode of existence, that weighed her down. There was nothingsuggestive of her own personality in that ancient abode, black withthe damps of years. It was Muffat who made himself felt there, whodominated his surroundings with his devotional training, hispenances and his fasts. But the sight of the little old gentlemanwith the black teeth and subtle smile whom he suddenly discovered inhis armchair behind the group of ladies afforded him a yet moredecisive argument. He knew the personage. It was Theophile Venot,a retired lawyer who had made a specialty of church cases. He hadleft off practice with a handsome fortune and was now leading asufficiently mysterious existence, for he was received everywhere,treated with great deference and even somewhat feared, as though hehad been the representative of a mighty force, an occult power,which was felt to be at his back. Nevertheless, his behavior wasvery humble. He was churchwarden at the Madeleine Church and hadsimply accepted the post of deputy mayor at the town house of theNinth Arrondissement in order, as he said, to have something to doin his leisure time. Deuce take it, the countess was well guarded;there was nothing to be done in that quarter."You're right, it's enough to make one kick the bucket here," saidFauchery to his cousin when he had made good his escape from thecircle of ladies. "We'll hook it!"But Steiner, deserted at last by the Count Muffat and the deputy,came up in a fury. Drops of perspiration stood on his forehead, andhe grumbled huskily:"Gad! Let 'em tell me nothing, if nothing they want to tell me. Ishall find people who will talk."Then he pushed the journalist into a corner and, altering his tone,said in accents of victory:"It's tomorrow, eh? I'm of the party, my bully!""Indeed!" muttered Fauchery with some astonishment."You didn't know about it. Oh, I had lots of bother to find her athome. Besides, Mignon never would leave me alone.""But they're to be there, are the Mignons.""Yes, she told me so. In fact, she did receive my visit, and sheinvited me. Midnight punctually, after the play."The banker was beaming. He winked and added with a peculiaremphasis on the words:"You've worked it, eh?""Eh, what?" said Fauchery, pretending not to understand him. "Shewanted to thank me for my article, so she came and called on me.""Yes, yes. You fellows are fortunate. You get rewarded. By theby, who pays the piper tomorrow?"The journalist made a slight outward movement with his arms, asthough he would intimate that no one had ever been able to find out.But Vandeuvres called to Steiner, who knew M. de Bismarck. Mme duJoncquoy had almost convinced herself of the truth of hersuppositions; she concluded with these words:"He gave me an unpleasant impression. I think his face is evil.But I am quite willing to believe that he has a deal of wit. Itwould account for his successes.""Without doubt," said the banker with a faint smile. He was a Jewfrom Frankfort.Meanwhile La Faloise at last made bold to question his cousin. Hefollowed him up and got inside his guard:"There's supper at a woman's tomorrow evening? With which of them,eh? With which of them?"Fauchery motioned to him that they were overheard and must respectthe conventions here. The door had just been opened anew, and anold lady had come in, followed by a young man in whom the journalistrecognized the truant schoolboy, perpetrator of the famous and asyet unforgotten "tres chic" of the Blonde Venus first night. Thislady's arrival caused a stir among the company. The Countess Sabinehad risen briskly from her seat in order to go and greet her, andshe had taken both her hands in hers and addressed her as her "dearMadame Hugon." Seeing that his cousin viewed this little episodewith some curiosity, La Faloise sought to arouse his interest and ina few brief phrases explained the position. Mme Hugon, widow of anotary, lived in retirement at Les Fondettes, an old estate of herfamily's in the neighborhood of Orleans, but she also kept up asmall establishment in Paris in a house belonging to her in the Ruede Richelieu and was now passing some weeks there in order to settleher youngest son, who was reading the law and in his "first year."In old times she had been a dear friend of the Marquise de Chouardand had assisted at the birth of the countess, who, prior to hermarriage, used to stay at her house for months at a time and evennow was quite familiarly treated by her."I have brought Georges to see you," said Mme Hugon to Sabine."He's grown, I trust."The young man with his clear eyes and the fair curls which suggesteda girl dressed up as a boy bowed easily to the countess and remindedher of a bout of battledore and shuttlecock they had had togethertwo years ago at Les Fondettes."Philippe is not in Paris?" asked Count Muffat."Dear me, no!" replied the old lady. "He is always in garrison atBourges." She had seated herself and began talking withconsiderable pride of her eldest son, a great big fellow who, afterenlisting in a fit of waywardness, had of late very rapidly attainedthe rank of lieutenant. All the ladies behaved to her withrespectful sympathy, and conversation was resumed in a tone at oncemore amiable and more refined. Fauchery, at sight of thatrespectable Mme Hugon, that motherly face lit up with such a kindlysmile beneath its broad tresses of white hair, thought how foolishhe had been to suspect the Countess Sabine even for an instant.Nevertheless, the big chair with the red silk upholsteries in whichthe countess sat had attracted his attention. Its style struck himas crude, not to say fantastically suggestive, in that dim olddrawing room. Certainly it was not the count who had inveigledthither that nest of voluptuous idleness. One might have describedit as an experiment, marking the birth of an appetite and of anenjoyment. Then he forgot where he was, fell into brown study andin thought even harked back to that vague confidential announcementimparted to him one evening in the dining room of a restaurant.Impelled by a sort of sensuous curiosity, he had always wanted anintroduction into the Muffats' circle, and now that his friend wasin Mexico through all eternity, who could tell what might happen?"We shall see," he thought. It was a folly, doubtless, but the ideakept tormenting him; he felt himself drawn on and his animal naturearoused. The big chair had a rumpled look--its nether cushions hadbeen tumbled, a fact which now amused him."Well, shall we be off?" asked La Faloise, mentally vowing that onceoutside he would find out the name of the woman with whom peoplewere going to sup."All in good time," replied Fauchery.But he was no longer in any hurry and excused himself on the scoreof the invitation he had been commissioned to give and had as yetnot found a convenient opportunity to mention. The ladies werechatting about an assumption of the veil, a very touching ceremonyby which the whole of Parisian society had for the last three daysbeen greatly moved. It was the eldest daughter of the Baronne deFougeray, who, under stress of an irresistible vocation, had justentered the Carmelite Convent. Mme Chantereau, a distant cousin ofthe Fougerays, told how the baroness had been obliged to take to herbed the day after the ceremony, so overdone was she with weeping."I had a very good place," declared Leonide. "I found itinteresting."Nevertheless, Mme Hugon pitied the poor mother. How sad to lose adaughter in such a way!"I am accused of being overreligious," she said in her quiet, frankmanner, "but that does not prevent me thinking the children verycruel who obstinately commit such suicide.""Yes, it's a terrible thing," murmured the countess, shivering alittle, as became a chilly person, and huddling herself anew in thedepths of her big chair in front of the fire.Then the ladies fell into a discussion. But their voices werediscreetly attuned, while light trills of laughter now and againinterrupted the gravity of their talk. The two lamps on the chimneypiece, which had shades of rose-colored lace, cast a feeble lightover them while on scattered pieces of furniture there burned butthree other lamps, so that the great drawing room remained in softshadow.Steiner was getting bored. He was describing to Fauchery anescapade of that little Mme de Chezelles, whom he simply referred toas Leonide. "A blackguard woman," he said, lowering his voicebehind the ladies' armchairs. Fauchery looked at her as she satquaintly perched, in her voluminous ball dress of pale blue satin,on the corner of her armchair. She looked as slight and impudent asa boy, and he ended by feeling astonished at seeing her there.People comported themselves better at Caroline Hequet's, whosemother had arranged her house on serious principles. Here was aperfect subject for an article. Whuat a strange world was this worldof Paris! The most rigid circles found themselves invaded.Evidently that silent Theophile Venot, who contented himself bysmiling and showing his ugly teeth, must have been a legacy from thelate countess. So, too, must have been such ladies of mature age asMme Chantereau and Mme du Joncquoy, besides four or five oldgentlemen who sat motionless in corners. The Count Muffat attractedto the house a series of functionaries, distinguished by theimmaculate personal appearance which was at that time required ofthe men at the Tuileries. Among others there was the chief clerk,who still sat solitary in the middle of the room with his closelyshorn cheeks, his vacant glance and his coat so tight of fit that hecould scarce venture to move. Almost all the young men and certainindividuals with distinguished, aristocratic manners were theMarquis de Chouard's contribution to the circle, he having kepttouch with the Legitimist party after making his peace with theempire on his entrance into the Council of State. There remainedLeonide de Chezelles and Steiner, an ugly little knot against whichMme Hugon's elderly and amiable serenity stood out in strangecontrast. And Fauchery, having sketched out his article, named thislast group "Countess Sabine's little clique.""On another occasion," continued Steiner in still lower tones,"Leonide got her tenor down to Montauban. She was living in theChateau de Beaurecueil, two leagues farther off, and she used tocome in daily in a carriage and pair in order to visit him at theLion d'Or, where he had put up. The carriage used to wait at thedoor, and Leonide would stay for hours in the house, while a crowdgathered round and looked at the horses."There was a pause in the talk, and some solemn moments passedsilently by in the lofty room. Two young men were whispering, butthey ceased in their turn, and the hushed step of Count Muffat wasalone audible as he crossed the floor. The lamps seemed to havepaled; the fire was going out; a stern shadow fell athwart the oldfriends of the house where they sat in the chairs they had occupiedthere for forty years back. It was as though in a momentary pauseof conversation the invited guests had become suddenly aware thatthe count's mother, in all her glacial stateliness, had returnedamong them.But the Countess Sabine had once more resumed:"Well, at last the news of it got about. The young man was likelyto die, and that would explain the poor child's adoption of thereligious life. Besides, they say that Monsieur de Fougeray woldnever have given his consent to the marriage.""They say heaps of other things too," cried Leonide giddily.She fell a-laughing; she refused to talk. Sabine was won over bythis gaiety and put her handkerchief up to her lips. And in thevast and solemn room their laughter sounded a note which struckFauchery strangely, the note of delicate glass breaking. Assuredlyhere was the first beginning of the "little rift." Everyone begantalking again. Mme du Joncquoy demurred; Mme Chantereau knew forcertain that a marriage had been projected but that matters had goneno further; the men even ventured to give their opinions. For someminutes the conversation was a babel of opinions, in which thedivers elements of the circle, whether Bonapartist or Legitimist ormerely worldly and skeptical, appeared to jostle one anothersimultaneously. Estelle had rung to order wood to be put on thefire; the footman turned up the lamps; the room seemed to wake fromsleep. Fauchery began smiling, as though once more at his ease."Egad, they become the brides of God when they couldn't be theircousin's," said Vandeuvres between his teeth.The subject bored him, and he had rejoined Fauchery."My dear fellow, have you ever seen a woman who was really lovedbecome a nun?"He did not wait for an answer, for he had had enough of the topic,and in a hushed voice:"Tell me," he said, "how many of us will there be tomorrow?There'll be the Mignons, Steiner, yourself, Blanche and I; whoelse?""Caroline, I believe, and Simonne and Gaga without doubt. One neverknows exactly, does one? On such occasions one expects the partywill number twenty, and you're really thirty."Vandeuvres, who was looking at the ladies, passed abruptly toanother subject:"She must have been very nice-looking, that Du Joncquoy woman, somefifteen years ago. Poor Estelle has grown lankier than ever. Whata nice lath to put into a bed!"But interrupting himself, he returned to the subject of tomorrow'ssupper."What's so tiresome of those shows is that it's always the same setof women. One wants a novelty. Do try and invent a new girl. ByJove, happy thought! I'll go and beseech that stout man to bringthe woman he was trotting about the other evening at the Varietes."He referred to the chief clerk, sound asleep in the middle of thedrawing room. Fauchery, afar off, amused himself by following thisdelicate negotiation. Vandeuvres had sat himself down by the stoutman, who still looked very sedate. For some moments they bothappeared to be discussing with much propriety the question beforethe house, which was, "How can one discover the exact state offeeling that urges a young girl to enter into the religious life?"Then the count returned with the remark:"It's impossible. He swears she's straight. She'd refuse, and yetI would have wagered that I once saw her at Laure's.""Eh, what? You go to Laure's?" murmured Fauchery with a chuckle."You venture your reputation in places like that? I was under theimpression that it was only we poor devils of outsiders who--""Ah, dear boy, one ought to see every side of life."Then they sneered and with sparkling eyes they compared notes aboutthe table d'hote in the Rue des Martyrs, where big Laure Piedeferran a dinner at three francs a head for little women indifficulties. A nice hole, where all the little women used to kissLaure on the lips! And as the Countess Sabine, who had overheard astray word or two, turned toward them, they started back, rubbingshoulders in excited merriment. They had not noticed that GeorgesHugon was close by and that he was listening to them, blushing sohotly the while that a rosy flush had spread from his ears to hisgirlish throat. The infant was full of shame and of ecstasy. Fromthe moment his mother had turned him loose in the room he had beenhovering in the wake of Mme de Chezelles, the only woman present whostruck him as being the thing. But after all is said and done, Nanalicked her to fits!"Yesterday evening," Mme Hugon was saying, "Georges took me to theplay. Yes, we went to the Varietes, where I certainly had not setfoot for the last ten years. That child adores music. As to me, Iwasn't in the least amused, but he was so happy! They putextraordinary pieces on the stage nowadays. Besides, music delightsme very little, I confess.""What! You don't love music, madame?" cried Mme du Joncquoy,lifting her eyes to heaven. "Is it possible there should be peoplewho don't love music?"The exclamation of surprise was general. No one had dropped asingle word concerning the performance at the Varietes, at which thegood Mme Hugon had not understood any of the allusions. The ladiesknew the piece but said nothing about it, and with that they plungedinto the realm of sentiment and began discussing the masters in atone of refined and ecstatical admiration. Mme du Joncquoy was notfond of any of them save Weber, while Mme Chantereau stood up forthe Italians. The ladies' voices had turned soft and languishing,and in front of the hearth one might have fancied one's selflistening in meditative, religious retirement to the faint, discreetmusic of a little chapel."Now let's see," murmured Vandeuvres, bringing Fauchery back intothe middle of the drawing room, "notwithstanding it all, we mustinvent a woman for tomorrow. Shall we ask Steiner about it?""Oh, when Steiner's got hold of a woman," said the journalist, "it'sbecause Paris has done with her."Vandeuvres, however, was searching about on every side."Wait a bit," he continued, "the other day I met Foucarmont with acharming blonde. I'll go and tell him to bring her."And he called to Foucarmont. They exchanged a few words rapidly.There must have been some sort of complication, for both of them,moving carefully forward and stepping over the dresses of theladies, went off in quest of another young man with whom theycontinued the discussion in the embrasure of a window. Fauchery wasleft to himself and had just decided to proceed to the hearth, whereMme du Joncquoy was announcing that she never heard Weber playedwithout at the same time seeing lakes, forests and sunrises overlandscapes steeped in dew, when a hand touched his shoulder and avoice behind him remarked:"It's not civil of you.""What d'you mean?" he asked, turning round and recognizing LaFaloise."Why, about that supper tomorrow. You might easily have got meinvited."Fauchery was at length about to state his reasons when Vandeuvrescame back to tell him:"It appears it isn't a girl of Foucarmont's. It's that man's flameout there. She won't be able to come. What a piece of bad luck!But all the same I've pressed Foucarmont into the service, and he'sgoing to try to get Louise from the Palais-Royal.""Is it not true, Monsieur de Vandeuvres," asked Mme Chantereau,raising her voice, "that Wagner's music was hissed last Sunday?""Oh, frightfully, madame," he made answer, coming forward with hisusual exquisite politeness.Then, as they did not detain him, he moved off and continuedwhispering in the journalist's ear:"I'm going to press some more of them. These young fellows mustknow some little ladies."With that he was observed to accost men and to engage them inconversation in his usual amiable and smiling way in every corner ofthe drawing room. He mixed with the various groups, said somethingconfidently to everyone and walked away again with a sly wink and asecret signal or two. It looked as though he were giving out awatchword in that easy way of his. The news went round; the placeof meeting was announced, while the ladies' sentimentaldissertations on music served to conceal the small, feverish rumorof these recruiting operations."No, do not speak of your Germans," Mme Chantereau was saying."Song is gaiety; song is light. Have you heard Patti in the Barberof Seville?""She was delicious!" murmured Leonide, who strummed none butoperatic airs on her piano.Meanwhile the Countess Sabine had rung. When on Tuesdays the numberof visitors was small, tea was handed round the drawing room itself.While directing a footman to clear a round table the countessfollowed the Count de Vandeuvres with her eyes. She still smiledthat vague smile which slightly disclosed her white teeth, and asthe count passed she questioned him."What are you plotting, Monsieur de Vandeuvres?""What am I plotting, madame?" he answered quietly. "Nothing atall.""Really! I saw you so busy. Pray, wait, you shall make yourselfuseful!"She placed an album in his hands and asked him to put it on thepiano. But he found means to inform Fauchery in a low whisper thatthey would have Tatan Nene, the most finely developed girl thatwinter, and Maria Blond, the same who had just made her firstappearance at the Folies-Dramatiques. Meanwhile La Faloise stoppedhim at every step in hopes of receiving an invitation. He ended byoffering himself, and Vandeuvres engaged him in the plot at once;only he made him promise to bring Clarisse with him, and when LaFaloise pretended to scruple about certain points he quieted him bythe remark:"Since I invite you that's enough!"Nevertheless, La Faloise would have much liked to know the name ofthe hostess. But the countess had recalled Vandeuvres and wasquestioning him as to the manner in which the English made tea. Heoften betook himself to England, where his horses ran. Then asthough he had been inwardly following up quite a laborious train ofthought during his remarks, he broke in with the question:"And the marquis, by the by? Are we not to see him?""Oh, certainly you will! My father made me a formal promise that hewould come," replied the countess. "But I'm beginning to beanxious. His duties will have kept him."Vandeuvres smiled a discreet smile. He, too, seemed to have hisdoubts as to the exact nature of the Marquis de Chouard's duties.Indeed, he had been thinking of a pretty woman whom the marquisoccasionally took into the country with him. Perhaps they could gether too.In the meantime Fauchery decided that the moment had come in whichto risk giving Count Muff his invitation. The evening, in fact,was drawing to a close."Are you serious?" asked Vandeuvres, who thought a joke wasintended."Extremely serious. If I don't execute my commission she'll tear myeyes out. It's a case of landing her fish, you know.""Well then, I'll help you, dear boy."Eleven o'clock struck. Assisted by her daughter, the countess waspouring out the tea, and as hardly any guests save intimate friendshad come, the cups and the platefuls of little cakes were beingcirculated without ceremony. Even the ladies did not leave theirarmchairs in front of the fire and sat sipping their tea andnibbling cakes which they held between their finger tips. Frommusic the talk had declined to purveyors. Boissier was the onlyperson for sweetmeats and Catherine for ices. Mme Chantereau,however, was all for Latinville. Speech grew more and moreindolent, and a sense of lassitude was lulling the room to sleep.Steiner had once more set himself secretly to undermine the deputy,whom he held in a state of blockade in the corner of a settee. M.Venot, whose teeth must have been ruined by sweet things, was eatinglittle dry cakes, one after the other, with a small nibbling soundsuggestive of a mouse, while the chief clerk, his nose in a teacup,seemed never to be going to finish its contents. As to thecountess, she went in a leisurely way from one guest to another,never pressing them, indeed, only pausing a second or two before thegentlemen whom she viewed with an air of dumb interrogation beforeshe smiled and passed on. The great fire had flushed all her face,and she looked as if she were the sister of her daughter, whoappeared so withered and ungainly at her side. When she drew nearFauchery, who was chatting with her husband and Vandeuvres, shenoticed that they grew suddenly silent; accordingly she did not stopbut handed the cup of tea she was offering to Georges Hugon beyondthem."It's a lady who desires your company at supper," the journalistgaily continued, addressing Count Muffat.The last-named, whose face had worn its gray look all the evening,seemed very much surprised. What lady was it?"Oh, Nana!" said Vandeuvres, by way of forcing the invitation.The count became more grave than before. His eyelids trembled justperceptibly, while a look of discomfort, such as headache produces,hovered for a moment athwart his forehead."But I'm not acquainted with that lady," he murmured."Come, come, you went to her house," remarked Vandeuvres."What d'you say? I went to her house? Oh yes, the other day, inbehalf of the Benevolent Organization. I had forgotten about it.But, no matter, I am not acquainted with her, and I cannot accept."He had adopted an icy expression in order to make them understandthat this jest did not appear to him to be in good taste. A man ofhis position did not sit down at tables of such women as that.Vandeuvres protested: it was to be a supper party of dramatic andartistic people, and talent excused everything. But withoutlistening further to the arguments urged by Fauchery, who spoke of adinner where the Prince of Scots, the son of a queen, had sat downbeside an ex-music-hall singer, the count only emphasized hisrefusal. In so doing, he allowed himself, despite his greatpoliteness, to be guilty of an irritated gesture.Georges and La Faloise, standing in front of each other drinkingtheir tea, had overheard the two or three phrases exchanged in theirimmediate neighborhood."Jove, it's at Nana's then," murmured La Faloise. "I might haveexpected as much!"Georges said nothing, but he was all aflame. His fair hair was indisorder; his blue eyes shone like tapers, so fiercely had the vice,which for some days past had surrounded him, inflamed and stirredhis blood. At last he was going to plunge into all that he haddreamed of!"I don't know the address," La Faloise resumed."She lives on a third floor in the Boulevard Haussmann, between theRue de l'Arcade and the Rue Pesquier," said Georges all in a breath.And when the other looked at him in much astonishment, he added,turning very red and fit to sink into the ground with embarrassmentand conceit:"I'm of the party. She invited me this morning."But there was a great stir in the drawing room, and Vandeuvres andFauchery could not continue pressing the count. The Marquis deChouard had just come in, and everyone was anxious to greet him. Hehad moved painfully forward, his legs failing under him, and he nowstood in the middle of the room with pallid face and eyes blinking,as though he had just come out of some dark alley and were blindedby the brightness of the lamps."I scarcely hoped to see you tonight, Father," said the countess."I should have been anxious till the morning."He looked at her without answering, as a man might who fails tounderstand. His nose, which loomed immense on his shorn face,looked like a swollen pimple, while his lower lip hung down. Seeinghim such a wreck, Mme Hugon, full of kind compassion, said pityingthings to him."You work too hard. You ought to rest yourself. At our age weought to leave work to the young people.""Work! Ah yes, to be sure, work!" he stammered at last. "Alwaysplenty of work."He began to pull himself together, straightening up his bent figureand passing his hand, as was his wont, over his scant gray hair, ofwhich a few locks strayed behind his ears."At what are you working as late as this?" asked Mme du Joncquoy."I thought you were at the financial minister's reception?"But the countess intervened with:"My father had to study the question of a projected law.""Yes, a projected law," he said; "exactly so, a projected law. Ishut myself up for that reason. It refers to work in factories, andI was anxious for a proper observance of the Lord's day of rest. Itis really shameful that the government is unwilling to act withvigor in the matter. Churches are growing empty; we are runningheadlong to ruin."Vandeuvres had exchanged glances with Fauchery. They both happenedto be behind the marquis, and they were scanning him suspiciously.When Vandeuvres found an opportunity to take him aside and to speakto him about the good-looking creature he was in the habit of takingdown into the country, the old man affected extreme surprise.Perhaps someone had seen him with the Baroness Decker, at whosehouse at Viroflay he sometimes spent a day or so. Vandeuvres's solevengeance was an abrupt question:"Tell me, where have you been straying to? Your elbow is coveredwith cobwebs and plaster.""My elbow," he muttered, slightly disturbed. "Yes indeed, it'strue. A speck or two, I must have come in for them on my way downfrom my office."Several people were taking their departure. It was close onmidnight. Two footmen were noiselessly removing the empty cups andthe plates with cakes. In front of the hearth the ladies had re-formed and, at the same time, narrowed their circle and werechatting more carelessly than before in the languid atmospherepeculiar to the close of a party. The very room was going to sleep,and slowly creeping shadows were cast by its walls. It was thenFauchery spoke of departure. Yet he once more forgot his intentionat sight of the Countess Sabine. She was resting from her cares ashostess, and as she sat in her wonted seat, silent, her eyes fixedon a log which was turning into embers, her face appeared so whiteand so impassable that doubt again possessed him. In the glow ofthe fire the small black hairs on the mole at the corner of her lipbecame white. It was Nana's very mole, down to the color of thehair. He could not refrain from whispering something about it inVandeuvres's ear. Gad, it was true; the other had never noticed itbefore. And both men continued this comparison of Nana and thecountess. They discovered a vague resemblance about the chin andthe mouth, but the eyes were not at all alike. Then, too, Nana hada good-natured expression, while with the countess it was hard todecide--she might have been a cat, sleeping with claws withdrawn andpaws stirred by a scarce-perceptible nervous quiver."All the same, one could have her," declared Fauchery.Vandeuvres stripped her at a glance."Yes, one could, all the same," he said. "But I think nothing ofthe thighs, you know. Will you bet she has no thighs?"He stopped, for Fauchery touched him briskly on the arm and showedhim Estelle, sitting close to them on her footstool. They hadraised their voices without noticing her, and she must haveoverheard them. Nevertheless, she continued sitting there stiff andmotionless, not a hair having lifted on her thin neck, which wasthat of a girl who has shot up all too quickly. Thereupon theyretired three or four paces, and Vandeuvres vowed that the countesswas a very honest woman. Just then voices were raised in front ofthe hearth. Mme du Joncquoy was saying:"I was willing to grant you that Monsieur de Bismarck was perhaps awitty man. Only, if you go as far as to talk of genius--"The ladies had come round again to their earliest topic ofconversation."What the deuce! Still Monsieur de Bismarck!" muttered Fauchery."This time I make my escape for good and all.""Wait a bit," said Vandeuvres, "we must have a definite no from thecount."The Count Muffat was talking to his father-in-law and a certainserious-looking gentleman. Vandeuvres drew him away and renewed theinvitation, backing it up with the information that he was to be atthe supper himself. A man might go anywhere; no one could think ofsuspecting evil where at most there could only be curiosity. Thecount listened to these arguments with downcast eyes andexpressionless face. Vandeuvres felt him to be hesitating when theMarquis de Chouard approached with a look of interrogation. Andwhen the latter was informed of the question in hand and Faucheryhad invited him in his turn, he looked at his son-in-law furtively.There ensued an embarrassed silence, but both men encouraged oneanother and would doubtless have ended by accepting had not CountMuffat perceived M. Venot's gaze fixed upon him. The little old manwas no longer smiling; his face was cadaverous, his eyes bright andkeen as steel.'No," replied the count directly, in so decisive a tone that furtherinsistence became impossible.Then the marquis refused with even greater severity of expression.He talked morality. The aristocratic classes ought to set a goodexample. Fauchery smiled and shook hands with Vandeuvres. He didnot wait for him and took his departure immediately, for he was dueat his newspaper office."At Nana's at midnight, eh?"La Faloise retired too. Steiner had made his bow to the countess.Other men followed them, and the same phrase went round--"Atmidnight, at Nana's"--as they went to get their overcoats in theanteroom. Georges, who could not leave without his mother, hadstationed himself at the door, where he gave the exact address."Third floor, door on your left." Yet before going out Faucherygave a final glance. Vandeuvres had again resumed his positionamong the ladies and was laughing with Leonide de Chezelles. CountMuffat and the Marquis de Chouard were joining in the conversation,while the good Mme Hugon was falling asleep open-eyed. Lost amongthe petticoats, M. Venot was his own small self again and smiled asof old. Twelve struck slowly in the great solemn room."What--what do you mean?" Mme du Joncquoy resumed. "You imaginethat Monsieur de Bismarck will make war on us and beat us! Oh,that's unbearable!"Indeed, they were laughing round Mme Chantereau, who had justrepeated an assertion she had heard made in Alsace, where herhusband owned a foundry."We have the emperor, fortunately," said Count Muffat in his grave,official way.It was the last phrase Fauchery was able to catch. He closed thedoor after casting one more glance in the direction of the CountessSabine. She was talking sedately with the chief clerk and seemed tobe interested in that stout individual's conversation. Assuredly hemust have been deceiving himself. There was no "little rift" thereat all. It was a pity."You're not coming down then?" La Faloise shouted up to him from theentrance hall.And out on the pavement, as they separated, they once more repeated:"Tomorrow, at Nana's."