Chapter VII

by Emile Zola

　　One December evening three months afterward Count Muffat wasstrolling in the Passage des Panoramas. The evening was very mild,and owing to a passing shower, the passage had just become crowdedwith people. There was a perfect mob of them, and they throngedslowly and laboriously along between the shops on either side.Under the windows, white with reflected light, the pavement wasviolently illuminated. A perfect stream of brilliancy emanated fromwhite globes, red lanterns, blue transparencies, lines of gas jets,gigantic watches and fans, outlined in flame and burning in theopen. And the motley displays in the shops, the gold ornaments ofthe jeweler's, the glass ornaments of the confectioner's, the light-colored silks of the modiste's, seemed to shine again in the crudelight of the reflectors behind the clear plate-glass windows, whileamong the bright-colored, disorderly array of shop signs a hugepurple glove loomed in the distance like a bleeding hand which hadbeen severed from an arm and fastened to a yellow cuff.Count Muffat had slowly returned as far as the boulevard. Heglanced out at the roadway and then came sauntering back along theshopwindows. The damp and heated atmosphere filled the narrowpassage with a slight luminous mist. Along the flagstones, whichhad been wet by the drip-drop of umbrellas, the footsteps of thecrowd rang continually, but there was no sound of voices. Passers-by elbowed him at every turn and cast inquiring looks at his silentface, which the gaslight rendered pale. And to escape these curiousmanifestations the count posted himself in front of a stationer's,where with profound attention contemplated an array of paperweightsin the form of glass bowls containing floating landscapes andflowers.He was conscious of nothing: he was thinking of Nana. Why had shelied to him again? That morning she had written and told him not totrouble about her in the evening, her excuse being that Louiset wasill and that she was going to pass the night at her aunt's in orderto nurse him. But he had felt suspicious and had called at herhouse, where he learned from the porter that Madame had just goneoff to her theater. He was astonished at this, for she was notplaying in the new piece. Why then should she have told him thisfalsehood, and what could she be doing at the Varietes that evening?Hustled by a passer-by, the count unconsciously left thepaperweights and found himself in front of a glass case full oftoys, where he grew absorbed over an array of pocketbooks and cigarcases, all of which had the same blue swallow stamped on one corner.Nana was most certainly not the same woman! In the early days afterhis return from the country she used to drive him wild with delight,as with pussycat caresses she kissed him all round his face andwhiskers and vowed that he was her own dear pet and the only littleman she adored. He was no longer afraid of Georges, whom his motherkept down at Les Fondettes. There was only fat Steiner to reckonwith, and he believed he was really ousting him, but he did not dareprovoke an explanation on his score. He knew he was once more in anextraordinary financial scrape and on the verge of being declaredbankrupt on 'change, so much so that he was clinging fiercely to theshareholders in the Landes Salt Pits and striving to sweat a finalsubscription out of them. Whenever he met him at Nana's she wouldexplain reasonably enough that she did not wish to turn him out ofdoors like a dog after all he had spent on her. Besides, for thelast three months he had been living in such a whirl of sensualexcitement that, beyond the need of possessing her, he had felt novery distinct impressions. His was a tardy awakening of the fleshlyinstinct, a childish greed of enjoyment, which left no room foreither vanity or jealousy. Only one definite feeling could affecthim now, and that was Nana's decreasing kindness. She no longerkissed him on the beard! It made him anxious, and as became a manquite ignorant of womankind, he began asking himself what possiblecause of offense he could have given her. Besides, he was under theimpression that he was satisfying all her desires. And so he harkedback again and again to the letter he had received that morning withits tissue of falsehoods, invented for the extremely simple purposeof passing an evening at her own theater. The crowd had pushed himforward again, and he had crossed the passage and was puzzling hisbrain in front of the entrance to a restaurant, his eyes fixed onsome plucked larks and on a huge salmon laid out inside the window.At length he seemed to tear himself away from this spectacle. Heshook himself, looked up and noticed that it was close on nineo'clock. Nana would soon be coming out, and he would make her tellthe truth. And with that he walked on and recalled to memory theevenings he once passed in that region in the days when he used tomeet her at the door of the theater.He knew all the shops, and in the gas-laden air he recognized theirdifferent scents, such, for instance, as the strong savor of Russialeather, the perfume of vanilla emanating from a chocolate dealer'sbasement, the savor of musk blown in whiffs from the open doors ofthe perfumers. But he did not dare linger under the gaze of thepale shopwomen, who looked placidly at him as though they knew himby sight. For one instant he seemed to be studying the line oflittle round windows above the shops, as though he had never noticedthem before among the medley of signs. Then once again he went upto the boulevard and stood still a minute or two. A fine rain wasnow falling, and the cold feel of it on his hands calmed him. Hethought of his wife who was staying in a country house near Macon,where her friend Mme de Chezelles had been ailing a good deal sincethe autumn. The carriages in the roadway were rolling through astream of mud. The country, he thought, must be detestable in suchvile weather. But suddenly he became anxious and re-entered thehot, close passage down which he strode among the strolling people.A thought struck him: if Nana were suspicious of his presence thereshe would be off along the Galerie Montmartre.After that the count kept a sharp lookout at the very door of thetheater, though he did not like this passage end, where he wasafraid of being recognized. It was at the corner between theGalerie des Varietes and the Galerie Saint-Marc, an equivocal cornerfull of obscure little shops. Of these last one was a shoemaker's,where customers never seemed to enter. Then there were two or threeupholsterers', deep in dust, and a smoky, sleepy reading room andlibrary, the shaded lamps in which cast a green and slumberous lightall the evening through. There was never anyone in this corner savewell-dressed, patient gentlemen, who prowled about the wreckagepeculiar to a stage door, where drunken sceneshifters and raggedchorus girls congregate. In front of the theater a single gas jetin a ground-glass globe lit up the doorway. For a moment or twoMuffat thought of questioning Mme Bron; then he grew afraid lestNana should get wind of his presence and escape by way of theboulevard. So he went on the march again and determined to waittill he was turned out at the closing of the gates, an event whichhad happened on two previous occasions. The thought of returninghome to his solitary bed simply wrung his heart with anguish. Everytime that golden-haired girls and men in dirty linen came out andstared at him he returned to his post in front of the reading room,where, looking in between two advertisements posted on a windowpane,he was always greeted by the same sight. It was a little old man,sitting stiff and solitary at the vast table and holding a greennewspaper in his green hands under the green light of one of thelamps. But shortly before ten o'clock another gentleman, a tall,good-looking, fair man with well-fitting gloves, was also walking upand down in front of the stage door. Thereupon at each successiveturn the pair treated each other to a suspicious sidelong glance.The count walked to the corner of the two galleries, which wasadorned with a high mirror, and when he saw himself therein, lookinggrave and elegant, he was both ashamed and nervous.Ten o'clock struck, and suddenly it occurred to Muffat that it wouldbe very easy to find out whether Nana were in her dressing room ornot. He went up the three steps, crossed the little yellow-paintedlobby and slipped into the court by a door which simply shut with alatch. At that hour of the night the narrow, damp well of a court,with its pestiferous water closets, its fountain, its back view otthe kitchen stove and the collection of plants with which theportress used to litter the place, was drenched in dark mist; butthe two walls, rising pierced with windows on either hand, wereflaming with light, since the property room and the firemen's officewere situated on the ground floor, with the managerial bureau on theleft, and on the right and upstairs the dressing rooms of thecompany. The mouths of furnaces seemed to be opening on the outerdarkness from top to bottom of this well. The count had at oncemarked the light in the windows of the dressing room on the firstfloor, and as a man who is comforted and happy, he forgot where hewas and stood gazing upward amid the foul mud and faint decayingsmell peculiar to the premises of this antiquated Parisian building.Big drops were dripping from a broken waterspout, and a ray ofgaslight slipped from Mme Bron's window and cast a yellow glare overa patch of moss-clad pavement, over the base of a wall which hadbeen rotted by water from a sink, over a whole cornerful of namelessfilth amid which old pails and broken crocks lay in fine confusionround a spindling tree growing mildewed in its pot. A windowfastening creaked, and the count fled.Nana was certainly going to come down. He returned to his post infront of the reading room; among its slumbering shadows, whichseemed only broken by the glimmer of a night light, the little oldman still sat motionless, his side face sharply outlined against hisnewspaper. Then Muffat walked again and this time took a moreprolonged turn and, crossing the large gallery, followed the Galeriedes Varietes as far as that of Feydeau. The last mentioned was coldand deserted and buried in melancholy shadow. He returned from it,passed by the theater, turned the corner of the Galerie Saint-Marcand ventured as far as the Galerie Montmartre, where a sugar-chopping machine in front of a grocer's interested him awhile. Butwhen he was taking his third turn he was seized with such dread lestNana should escape behind his back that he lost all self-respect.Thereupon he stationed himself beside the fair gentleman in front ofthe very theater. Both exchanged a glance of fraternal humilitywith which was mingled a touch of distrust, for it was possible theymight yet turn out to be rivals. Some sceneshifters who came outsmoking their pipes between the acts brushed rudely against them,but neither one nor the other ventured to complain. Three bigwenches with untidy hair and dirty gowns appeared on the doorstep.They were munching apples and spitting out the cores, but the twomen bowed their heads and patiently braved their impudent looks andrough speeches, though they were hustled and, as it were, soiled bythese trollops, who amused themselves by pushing each other downupon them.At that very moment Nana descended the three steps. She grew verypale when she noticed Muffat."Oh, it's you!" she stammered.The sniggering extra ladies were quite frightened when theyrecognized her, and they formed in line and stood up, looking asstiff and serious as servants whom their mistress has caughtbehaving badly. The tall fair gentleman had moved away; he was atonce reassured and sad at heart."Well, give me your arm," Nana continued impatiently.They walked quietly off. The count had been getting ready toquestion her and now found nothing to say.It was she who in rapid tones told a story to the effect that shehad been at her aunt's as late as eight o'clock, when, seeingLouiset very much better, she had conceived the idea of going downto the theater for a few minutes."On some important business?" he queried.'Yes, a new piece," she replied after some slight hesitation. "Theywanted my advice."He knew that she was not speaking the truth, but the warm touch ofher arm as it leaned firmly on his own, left him powerless. He feltneither anger nor rancor after his long, long wait; his one thoughtwas to keep her where she was now that he had got hold of her.Tomorrow, and not before, he would try and find out what she hadcome to her dressing room after. But Nana still appeared tohesitate; she was manifestly a prey to the sort of secret anguishthat besets people when they are trying to regain lost ground and toinitiate a plan of action. Accordingly, as they turned the cornerof the Galerie des Varietes, she stopped in front of the show in afan seller's window."I say, that's pretty," she whispered; "I mean that mother-of-pearlmount with the feathers."Then, indifferently:"So you're seeing me home?""Of course," he said, with some surprise, "since your child'sbetter."She was sorry she had told him that story. Perhaps Louiset waspassing through another crisis! She talked of returning to theBatignolles. But when he offered to accompany her she did notinsist on going. For a second or two she was possessed with thekind of white-hot fury which a woman experiences when she feelsherself entrapped and must, nevertheless, behave prettily. But inthe end she grew resigned and determined to gain time. If only shecould get rid of the count toward midnight everything would happenas she wished."Yes, it's true; you're a bachelor tonight," she murmured. "Yourwife doesn't return till tomorrow, eh?""Yes," replied Muffat. It embarrassed him somewhat to hear hertalking familiarly about the countess.But she pressed him further, asking at what time the train was dueand wanting to know whether he were going to the station to meether. She had begun to walk more slowly than ever, as though theshops interested her very much."Now do look!" she said, pausing anew before a jeweler's window,"what a funny bracelet!"She adored the Passage des Panoramas. The tinsel of the Article deParis, the false jewelry, the gilded zinc, the cardboard made tolook like leather, had been the passion of her early youth. Itremained, and when she passed the shop-windows she could not tearherself away from them. It was the same with her today as when shewas a ragged, slouching child who fell into reveries in front of thechocolate maker's sweet-stuff shows or stood listening to a musicalbox in a neighboring shop or fell into supreme ecstasies over cheap,vulgarly designed knickknacks, such as nutshell workboxes,ragpickers' baskets for holding toothpicks, Vendome columns andLuxor obelisks on which thermometers were mounted. But that eveningshe was too much agitated and looked at things without seeing them.When all was said and done, it bored her to think she was not free.An obscure revolt raged within her, and amid it all she felt a wilddesire to do something foolish. It was a great thing gained,forsooth, to be mistress of men of position! She had been devouringthe prince's substance and Steiner's, too, with her childishcaprices, and yet she had no notion where her money went. Even atthis time of day her flat in the Boulevard Haussmann was notentirely furnished. The drawing room alone was finished, and withits red satin upholsteries and excess of ornamentation and furnirureit struck a decidedly false note. Her creditors, moreover, wouldnow take to tormenting her more than ever before whenever she had nomoney on hand, a fact which caused her constant surprise, seeingthat she was wont to quote her self as a model of economy. For amonth past that thief Steiner had been scarcely able to pay up histhousand francs on the occasions when she threatened to kick him outof doors in case he failed to bring them. As to Muffat, he was anidiot: he had no notion as to what it was usual to give, and shecould not, therefore, grow angry with him on the score ofmiserliness. Oh, how gladly she would have turned all these folksoff had she not repeated to herself a score of times daily a wholestring of economical maxims!One ought to be sensible, Zoe kept saying every morning, and Nanaherself was constantly haunted by the queenly vision seen atChamont. It had now become an almost religious memory with her, andthrough dint of being ceaselessly recalled it grew even moregrandiose. And for these reasons, though trembling with repressedindignation, she now hung submissively on the count's arm as theywent from window to window among the fast-diminishing crowd. Thepavement was drying outside, and a cool wind blew along the gallery,swept the close hot air up beneath the glass that imprisoned it andshook the colored lanterns and the lines of gas jets and the giantfan which was flaring away like a set piece in an illumination. Atthe door of the restaurant a waiter was putting out the gas, whilethe motionless attendants in the empty, glaring shops looked asthough they had dropped off to sleep with their eyes open."Oh, what a duck!" continued Nana, retracing her steps as far as thelast of the shops in order to go into ecstasies over a porcelaingreyhound standing with raised forepaw in front of a nest hiddenamong roses.At length they quitted the passage, but she refused the offer of acab. It was very pleasant out she said; besides, they were in nohurry, and it would be charming to return home on foot. When theywere in front of the Cafe Anglais she had a sudden longing to eatoysters. Indeed, she said that owing to Louiset's illness she hadtasted nothing since morning. Muffat dared not oppose her. Yet ashe did not in those days wish to be seen about with her he asked fora private supper room and hurried to it along the corridors. Shefollowed him with the air of a woman familiar with the house, andthey were on the point of entering a private room, the door of whicha waiter held open, when from a neighboring saloon, whence issued aperfect tempest of shouts and laughter, a man rapidiy emerged. Itwas Daguenet."By Jove, it's Nana!" he cried.The count had briskly disappeared into the private room, leaving thedoor ajar behind him. But Daguenet winked behind his roundshoulders and added in chaffing tones:"The deuce, but you're doing nicely! You catch 'em in the Tuileriesnowadays!"Nana smiled and laid a finger on her lips to beg him to be silent.She could see he was very much exalted, and yet she was glad to havemet him, for she still felt tenderly toward him, and that despitethe nasty way he had cut her when in the company of fashionableladies."What are you doing now?" she asked amicably."Becoming respectable. Yes indeed, I'm thinking of gettingmarried."She shrugged her shoulders with a pitying air. But he jokinglycontinued to the effect that to be only just gaining enough on'change to buy ladies bouquets could scarcely be called an income,provided you wanted to look respectable too! His three hundredthousand francs had only lasted him eighteen months! He wanted tobe practical, and he was going to marry a girl with a huge dowry andend off as a prefet, like his father before him! Nana still smiledincredulously. She nodded in the direction of the saloon: "Who areyou with in there?""Oh, a whole gang," he said, forgetting all about his projects underthe influence of returning intoxication. "Just think! Lea istelling us about her trip in Egypt. Oh, it's screaming! There's abathing story--"And he told the story while Nana lingered complaisantly. They hadended by leaning up against the wall in the corridor, facing oneanother. Gas jets were flaring under the low ceiling, and a vaguesmell of cookery hung about the folds of the hangings. Now andagain, in order to hear each other's voices when the din in thesaloon became louder than ever, they had to lean well forward.Every few seconds, however, a waiter with an armful of dishes foundhis passage barred and disturbed them. But they did not cease theirtalk for that; on the contrary, they stood close up to the wallsand, amid the uproar of the supper party and the jostlings of thewaiters, chatted as quietly as if they were by their own firesides."Just look at that," whispered the young man, pointing to the doorof the private room through which Muffat had vanished.Both looked. The door was quivering slightly; a breath of airseemed to be disturbing it, and at last, very, very slowly andwithout the least sound, it was shut to. They exchanged a silentchuckle. The count must be looking charmingly happy all alone inthere!"By the by," she asked, "have you read Fauchery's article about me?""Yes, 'The Golden Fly,'" replied Daguenet; "I didn't mention it toyou as I was afraid of paining you.""Paining me--why? His article's a very long one."She was flattered to think that the Figaro should concern itselfabout her person. But failing the explanations of her hairdresserFrancis, who had brought her the paper, she would not haveunderstood that it was she who was in question. Daguenetscrutinized her slyly, sneering in his chaffing way. Well, well,since she was pleased, everybody else ought to be."By your leave!" shouted a waiter, holding a dish of iced cheese inboth hands as he separated them.Nana had stepped toward the little saloon where Muffat was waiting."Well, good-by!" continued Daguenet. "Go and find your cuckoldagain."But she halted afresh."Why d'you call him cuckold?""Because he is a cuckold, by Jove!"She came and leaned against the wall again; she was profoundlyinterested."Ah!" she said simply."What, d'you mean to say you didn't know that? Why, my dear girl,his wife's Fauchery's mistress. It probably began in the country.Some time ago, when I was coming here, Fauchery left me, and Isuspect he's got an assignation with her at his place tonight.They've made up a story about a journey, I fancy."Overcome with surprise, Nana remained voiceless."I suspected it," she said at last, slapping her leg. "I guessed itby merely looking at her on the highroad that day. To think of itsbeing possible for an honest woman to deceive her husband, and withthat blackguard Fauchery too! He'll teach her some pretty things!""Oh, it isn't her trial trip," muttered Daguenet wickedly. "Perhapsshe knows as much about it as he does."At this Nana gave vent to an indignant exclamation."Indeed she does! What a nice world! It's too foul!""By your leave!" shouted a waiter, laden with bottles, as heseparated them.Daguenet drew her forward again and held her hand for a second ortwo. He adopted his crystalline tone of voice, the voice with notesas sweet as those of a harmonica, which had gained him his successamong the ladies of Nana's type."Good-by, darling! You know I love you always."She disengaged her hand from his, and while a thunder of shouts andbravos, which made the door in the saloon tremble again, almostdrowned her words she smilingly remarked:"It's over between us, stupid! But that doesn't matter. Do come upone of these days, and we'll have a chat."Then she became serious again and in the outraged tones of arespectable woman:"So he's a cuckold, is he?" she cried. "Well, that is a nuisance,dear boy. They've always sickened me, cuckolds have."When at length she went into the private room she noticed thatMuffat was sitting resignedly on a narrow divan with pale face andtwitching hands. He did not reproach her at all, and she, greatlymoved, was divided between feelings of pity and of contempt. Thepoor man! To think of his being so unworthily cheated by a vilewife! She had a good mind to throw her arms round his neck andcomfort him. But it was only fair all the same! He was a fool withwomen, and this would teach him a lesson! Nevertheless, pityovercame her. She did not get rid of him as she had determined todo after the oysters had been discussed. They scarcely stayed aquarter of an hour in the Cafe Anglais, and together they went intothe house in the Boulevard Haussmann. It was then eleven. Beforemidnight she would have easily have discovered some means of gettingrid of him kindly.In the anteroom, however, she took the precaution of giving Zoe anorder. "You'll look out for him, and you'll tell him not to make anoise if the other man's still with me.""But where shall I put him, madame?""Keep him in the kitchen. It's more safe."In the room inside Muffat was already taking off his overcoat. Abig fire was burning on the hearth. It was the same room as of old,with its rosewood furniture and its hangings and chair coverings offigured damask with the large blue flowers on a gray background. Ontwo occasions Nana had thought of having it redone, the first inblack velvet, the second in white satin with bows, but directlySteiner consented she demanded the money that these changes wouldcost simply with a view to pillaging him. She had, indeed, onlyindulged in a tiger skin rug for the hearth and a cut-glass hanginglamp."I'm not sleepy; I'm not going to bed," she said the moment theywere shut in together.The count obeyed her submissively, as became a man no longer afraidof being seen. His one care now was to avoid vexing her."As you will," he murmured.Nevertheless, he took his boots off, too, before seating himself infront of the fire. One of Nana's pleasures consisted in undressingherself in front of the mirror on her wardrobe door, which reflectedher whole height. She would let everything slip off her in turn andthen would stand perfectly naked and gaze and gaze in completeoblivion of all around her. Passion for her own body, ecstasy overher satin skin and the supple contours of her shape, would keep herserious, attentive and absorbed in the love of herself. Thehairdresser frequently found her standing thus and would enterwithout her once turning to look at him. Muffat used to grow angrythen, but he only succeeded in astonishing her. What was comingover the man? She was doing it to please herself, not other people.That particular evening she wanted to have a better view of herself,and she lit the six candles attached to the frame of the mirror.But while letting her shift slip down she paused. She had beenpreoccupied for some moments past, and a question was on her lips."You haven't read the Figaro article, have you? The paper's on thetable." Daguenet's laugh had recurred to her recollections, and shewas harassed by a doubt. If that Fauchery had slandered her shewould be revenged."They say that it's about me," she continued, affectingindifference. "What's your notion, eh, darling?"And letting go her shift and waiting till Muffat should have donereading, she stood naked. Muffat was reading slowly Fauchery'sarticle entitled "The Golden Fly," describing the life of a harlotdescended from four or five generations of drunkards and tainted inher blood by a cumulative inheritance of misery and drink, which inher case has taken the form of a nervous exaggeration of the sexualinstinct. She has shot up to womanhood in the slums and on thepavements of Paris, and tall, handsome and as superbly grown as adunghill plant, she avenges the beggars and outcasts of whom she isthe ultimate product. With her the rottenness that is allowed toferment among the populace is carried upward and rots thearistocracy. She becomes a blind power of nature, a leaven ofdestruction, and unwittingly she corrupts and disorganizes allParis, churning it between her snow-white thighs as milk is monthlychurned by housewives. And it was at the end of this article thatthe comparison with a fly occurred, a fly of sunny hue which hasflown up out of the dung, a fly which sucks in death on the carriontolerated by the roadside and then buzzing, dancing and glitteringlike a precious stone enters the windows of palaces and poisons themen within by merely settling on them in her flight.Muffat lifted his head; his eyes stared fixedly; he gazed at thefire."Well?" asked Nana.But he did not answer. It seemed as though he wanted to read thearticle again. A cold, shivering feeling was creeping from hisscalp to his shoulders. This article had been written anyhow. Thephrases were wildly extravagant; the unexpected epigrams and quaintcollocations of words went beyond all bounds. Yet notwithstandingthis, he was struck by what he had read, for it had rudely awakenedwithin him much that for months past he had not cared to thinkabout.He looked up. Nana had grown absorbed in her ecstatic self-contemplation. She was bending her neck and was looking attentivelyin the mirror at a little brown mark above her right haunch. Shewas touching it with the tip of her finger and by dint of bendingbackward was making it stand out more clearly than ever. Situatedwhere it was, it doubtless struck her as both quaint and pretty.After that she studied other parts of her body with an amusedexpression and much of the vicious curiosity of a child. The sightof herself always astonished her, and she would look as surprisedand ecstatic as a young girl who has discovered her puberty.Slowly, slowly, she spread out her arms in order to give full valueto her figure, which suggested the torso of a plump Venus. She bentherself this way and that and examined herself before and behind,stooping to look at the side view of her bosom and at the sweepingcontours of her thighs. And she ended with a strange amusementwhich consisted of swinging to right and left, her knees apart andher body swaying from the waist with the perpetual jogging,twitching movements peculiar to an oriental dancer in the danse duventre.Muffat sat looking at her. She frightened him. The newspaper haddropped from his hand. For a moment he saw her as she was, and hedespised himself. Yes, it was just that; she had corrupted hislife; he already felt himself tainted to his very marrow byimpurities hitherto undreamed of. Everything was now destined torot within him, and in the twinkling of an eye he understood whatthis evil entailed. He saw the ruin brought about by this kind of"leaven"--himself poisoned, his family destroyed, a bit of thesocial fabric cracking and crumbling. And unable to take his eyesfrom the sight, he sat looking fixedly at her, striving to inspirehimself with loathing for her nakedness.Nana no longer moved. With an arm behind her neck, one hand claspedin the other, and her elbows far apart, she was throwing back herhead so that he could see a foreshortened reflection of her half-closed eyes, her parted lips, her face clothed with amorouslaughter. Her masses of yellow hair were unknotted behind, and theycovered her back with the fell of a lioness.Bending back thus, she displayed her solid Amazonian waist and firmbosom, where strong muscles moved under the satin texture of theskin. A delicate line, to which the shoulder and the thigh addedtheir slight undulations, ran from one of her elbows to her foot,and Muffat's eyes followed this tender profile and marked how theoutlines of the fair flesh vanished in golden gleams and how itsrounded contours shone like silk in the candlelight. He thought ofhis old dread of Woman, of the Beast of the Scriptures, at once lewdand wild. Nana was all covered with fine hair; a russet made herbody velvety, while the Beast was apparent in the almost equinedevelopment of her flanks, in the fleshy exuberances and deephollows of her body, which lent her sex the mystery andsuggestiveness lurking in their shadows. She was, indeed, thatGolden Creature, blind as brute force, whose very odor ruined theworld. Muffat gazed and gazed as a man possessed, till at last,when he had shut his eyes in order to escape it, the Brutereappeared in the darkness of the brain, larger, more terrible, moresuggestive in its attitude. Now, he understood, it would remainbefore his eyes, in his very flesh, forever.But Nana was gathering herself together. A little thrill oftenderness seemed to have traversed her members. Her eyes weremoist; she tried, as it were, to make herself small, as though shecould feel herself better thus. Then she threw her head and bosomback and, melting, as it were, in one great bodily caress, sherubbed her cheeks coaxingly, first against one shoulder, thenagainst the other. Her lustful mouth breathed desire over herlimbs. She put out her lips, kissed herself long in theneighborhood of her armpit and laughed at the other Nana who alsowas kissing herself in the mirror.Then Muffat gave a long sigh. This solitary pleasure exasperatedhim. Suddenly all his resolutions were swept away as though by amighty wind. In a fit of brutal passion he caught Nana to hisbreast and threw her down on the carpet."Leave me alone!" she cried. "You're hurting me!"He was conscious of his undoing; he recognized in her stupidity,vileness and falsehood, and he longed to possess her, poisonedthough she was."Oh, you're a fool!" she said savagely when he let her get up.Nevertheless, she grew calm. He would go now. She slipped on anightgown trimmed with lace and came and sat down on the floor infront of the fire. It was her favorite position. When she againquestioned him about Fauchery's article Muffat replied vaguely, forhe wanted to avoid a scene. Besides, she declared that she hadfound a weak spot in Fauchery. And with that she relapsed into along silence and reflected on how to dismiss the count. She wouldhave liked to do it in an agreeable way, for she was still a good-natured wench, and it bored her to cause others pain, especially inthe present instance where the man was a cuckold. The mere thoughtof his being that had ended by rousing her sympathies!"So you expect your wife tomorrow morning?" she said at last.Muffat had stretched himself in an armchair. He looked drowsy, andhis limbs were tired. He gave a sign of assent. Nana sat gazingseriously at him with a dull tumult in her brain. Propped on oneleg, among her slightly rumpled laces she was holding one of herbare feet between her hands and was turning it mechanically aboutand about."Have you been married long?" she asked."Nineteen years," replied the count"Ah! And is your wife amiable? Do you get on comfortablytogether?"He was silent. Then with some embarrassment:"You know I've begged you never to talk of those matters.""Dear me, why's that?" she cried, beginning to grow vexed directly."I'm sure I won't eat your wife if I do talk about her. Dear boy,why, every woman's worth--"But she stopped for fear of saying too much. She contented herselfby assuming a superior expression, since she considered herselfextremely kind. The poor fellow, he needed delicate handling!Besides, she had been struck by a laughable notion, and she smiledas she looked him carefully over."I say," she continued, "I haven't told you the story about you thatFauchery's circulating. There's a viper, if you like! I don't bearhim any ill will, because his article may be all right, but he's aregular viper all the same."And laughing more gaily than ever, she let go her foot and, crawlingalong the floor, came and propped herself against the count's knees."Now just fancy, he swears you were still like a babe when youmarried your wife. You were still like that, eh? Is it true, eh?"Her eyes pressed for an answer, and she raised her hands to hisshoulders and began shaking him in order to extract the desiredconfession."Without doubt," he at last made answer gravely.Thereupon she again sank down at his feet. She was shaking withuproarious laughter, and she stuttered and dealt him little slaps."No, it's too funny! There's no one like you; you're a marvel.But, my poor pet, you must just have been stupid! When a mandoesn't know--oh, it is so comical! Good heavens, I should haveliked to have seen you! And it came off well, did it? Now tell mesomething about it! Oh, do, do tell me!"She overwhelmed him with questions, forgetting nothing and requiringthe veriest details. And she laughed such sudden merry peals whichdoubled her up with mirth, and her chemise slipped and got turneddown to such an extent, and her skin looked so golden in the lightof the big fire, that little by little the count described to herhis bridal night. He no longer felt at all awkward. He himselfbegan to be amused at last as he spoke. Only he kept choosing hisphrases, for he still had a certain sense of modesty. The youngwoman, now thoroughly interested, asked him about the countess.According to his account, she had a marvelous figure but was aregular iceberg for all that."Oh, get along with you!" he muttered indolently. "You have nocause to be jealous."Nana had ceased laughing, and she now resumed her former positionand, with her back to the fire, brought her knees up under her chinwith her clasped hands. Then in a serious tone she declared:"It doesn't pay, dear boy, to look like a ninny with one's wife thefirst night.""Why?" queried the astonished count."Because," she replied slowly, assuming a doctorial expression.And with that she looked as if she were delivering a lecture andshook her head at him. In the end, however, she condescended toexplain herself more lucidly."Well, look here! I know how it all happens. Yes, dearie, womendon't like a man to be foolish. They don't say anything becausethere's such a thing as modesty, you know, but you may be sure theythink about it for a jolly long time to come. And sooner or later,when a man's been an ignoramus, they go and make other arrangements.That's it, my pet."He did not seem to understand. Whereupon she grew more definitestill. She became maternal and taught him his lesson out of sheergoodness of heart, as a friend might do. Since she had discoveredhim to be a cuckold the information had weighed on her spirits; shewas madly anxious to discuss his position with him."Good heavens! I'm talking of things that don't concern me. I'vesaid what I have because everybody ought to be happy. We're havinga chat, eh? Well then, you're to answer me as straight as you can."But she stopped to change her position, for she was burning herself."It's jolly hot, eh? My back's roasted. Wait a second. I'll cookmy tummy a bit. That's what's good for the aches!"And when she had turned round with her breast to the fire and herfeet tucked under her:"Let me see," she said; "you don't sleep with your wife any longer?""No, I swear to you I don't," said Muffat, dreading a scene."And you believe she's really a stick?"He bowed his head in the affirmative."And that's why you love me? Answer me! I shan't be angry."He repeated the same movement."Very well then," she concluded. "I suspected as much! Oh, thepoor pet. Do you know my aunt Lerat? When she comes get her totell you the story about the fruiterer who lives opposite her. Justfancy that man--Damn it, how hot this fire is! I must turn round.I'm going to roast my left side now." And as she presented her sideto the blaze a droll idea struck her, and like a good-temperedthing, she made fun of herself for she was dellghted to see that shewas looking so plump and pink in the light of the coal fire."I look like a goose, eh? Yes, that's it! I'm a goose on the spit,and I'm turning, turning and cooking in my own juice, eh?"And she was once more indulging in a merry fit of laughter when asound of voices and slamming doors became audible. Muffat wassurprised, and he questioned her with a look. She grew serious, andan anxious expression came over her face. It must be Zoe's cat, acursed beast that broke everything. It was half-past twelveo'clock. How long was she going to bother herself in her cuckold'sbehalf? Now that the other man had come she ought to get him out ofthe way, and that quickly."What were you saying?" asked the count complaisantly, for he wascharmed to see her so kind to him.But in her desire to be rid of him she suddenly changed her mood,became brutal and did not take care what she was saying."Oh yes! The fruiterer and his wife. Well, my dear fellow, theynever once touched one another! Not the least bit! She was verykeen on it, you understand, but he, the ninny, didn't know it. Hewas so green that he thought her a stick, and so he went elsewhereand took up with streetwalkers, who treated him to all sorts ofnastiness, while she, on her part, made up for it beautifully withfellows who were a lot slyer than her greenhorn of a husband. Andthings always turn out that way through people not understanding oneanother. I know it, I do!"Muffat was growing pale. At last he was beginning to understand herallusions, and he wanted to make her keep silence. But she was infull swing."No, hold your tongue, will you? If you weren't brutes you would beas nice with your wives as you are with us, and if your wivesweren't geese they would take as much pains to keep you as we do toget you. That's the way to behave. Yes, my duck, you can put thatin your pipe and smoke it.""Do not talk of honest women," he said in a hard voice. "You do notknow them."At that Nana rose to her knees."I don't know them! Why, they aren't even clean, your honest womenaren't! They aren't even clean! I defy you to find me one whowould dare show herself as I am doing. Oh, you make me laugh withyour honest women. Don't drive me to it; don't oblige me to tellyou things I may regret afterward."The count, by way of answer, mumbled something insulting. Nanabecame quite pale in her turn. For some seconds she looked at himwithout speaking. Then in her decisive way:"What would you do if your wife were deceiving you?"He made a threatening gesture."Well, and if I were to?""Oh, you," he muttered with a shrug of his shoulders.Nana was certainly not spiteful. Since the beginning of theconversation she had been strongly tempted to throw his cuckold'sreputation in his teeth, but she had resisted. She would have likedto confess him quietly on the subject, but he had begun toexasperate her at last. The matter ought to stop now."Well, then, my dearie," she continued, "I don't know what you'regetting at with me. For two hours past you've been worrying my lifeout. Now do just go and find your wife, for she's at it withFauchery. Yes, it's quite correct; they're in the Rue Taitbout, atthe corner of the Rue de Provence. You see, I'm giving you theaddress."Then triumphantly, as she saw Muffat stagger to his feet like an oxunder the hammer:"If honest women must meddle in our affairs and take our sweetheartsfrom us--Oh, you bet they're a nice lot, those honest women!"But she was unable to proceed. With a terrible push he had cast herfull length on the floor and, lifting his heel, he seemed on thepoint of crushing in her head in order to silence her. For thetwinkling of an eye she felt sickening dread. Blinded with rage, hehad begun beating about the room like a maniac. Then his chokingsilence and the struggle with which he was shaken melted her totears. She felt a mortal regret and, rolling herself up in front ofthe fire so as to roast her right side, she undertook the task ofcomforting him."I take my oath, darling, I thought you knew it all. Otherwise Ishouldn't have spoken; you may be sure. But perhaps it isn't true.I don't say anything for certain. I've been told it, and people aretalking about it, but what does that prove? Oh, get along! You'revery silly to grow riled about it. If I were a man I shouldn't carea rush for the women! All the women are alike, you see, high orlow; they're all rowdy and the rest of it."In a fit of self-abnegation she was severe on womankind, for shewished thus to lessen the cruelty of her blow. But he did notlisten to her or hear what she said. With fumbling movements he hadput on his boots and his overcoat. For a moment longer he ravedround, and then in a final outburst, finding himself near the door,he rushed from the room. Nana was very much annoyed."Well, well! A prosperous trip to you!" she continued aloud, thoughshe was now alone. "He's polite, too, that fellow is, when he'sspoken to! And I had to defend myself at that! Well, I was thefirst to get back my temper and I made plenty of excuses, I'mthinking! Besides, he had been getting on my nerves!"Nevertheless, she was not happy and sat scratching her legs withboth hands. Then she took high ground:"Tut, tut, it isn't my fault if he is a cuckold!"And toasted on every side and as hot as a roast bird, she went andburied herself under the bedclothes after ringing for Zoe to usherin the other man, who was waiting in the kitchen.Once outside, Muffat began walking at a furious pace. A freshshower had just fallen, and he kept slipping on the greasy pavement.When he looked mechanically up into the sky he saw ragged, soot-colored clouds scudding in front of the moon. At this hour of thenight passers-by were becoming few and far between in the BoulevardHaussmann. He skirted the enclosures round the opera house in hissearch for darkness, and as he went along he kept mumblinginconsequent phrases. That girl had been lying. She had inventedher story out of sheer stupidity and cruelty. He ought to havecrushed her head when he had it under his heel. After all was saidand done, the business was too shameful. Never would he see her;never would he touch her again, or if he did he would be miserablyweak. And with that he breathed hard, as though he were free oncemore. Oh, that naked, cruel monster, roasting away like any gooseand slavering over everything that he had respected for forty yearsback. The moon had come out, and the empty street was bathed inwhite light. He felt afraid, and he burst into a great fit ofsobbing, for he had grown suddenly hopeless and maddened as thoughhe had sunk into a fathomless void."My God!" he stuttered out. "It's finished! There's nothing leftnow!"Along the boulevards belated people were hurrying. He tried hard tobe calm, and as the story told him by that courtesan kept recurringto his burning consciousness, he wanted to reason the matter out.The countess was coming up from Mme de Chezelles's country housetomorrow morning. Yet nothing, in fact, could have prevented herfrom returning to Paris the night before and passing it with thatman. He now began recalling to mind certain details of their stayat Les Fondettes. One evening, for instance, he had surprisedSabine in the shade of some trees, when she was so much agitated asto be unable to answer his questions. The man had been present; whyshould she not be with him now? The more he thought about it themore possible the whole story became, and he ended by thinking itnatural and even inevitable. While he was in his shirt sleeves inthe house of a harlot his wife was undressing in her lover's room.Nothing could be simpler or more logical! Reasoning in this way, heforced himself to keep cool. He felt as if there were a greatdownward movement in the direction of fleshly madness, a movementwhich, as it grew, was overcoming the whole world round about him.Warm images pursued him in imagination. A naked Nana suddenlyevoked a naked Sabine. At this vision, which seemed to bring themtogether in shameless relationship and under the influence of thesame lusts, he literally stumbled, and in the road a cab nearly ranover him. Some women who had come out of a cafe jostled him amidloud laughter. Then a fit of weeping once more overcame him,despite all his efforts to the contrary, and, not wishing to shedtears in the presence of others, he plunged into a dark and emptystreet. It was the Rue Rossini, and along its silent length he weptlike a child."It's over with us," he said in hollow tones. "There's nothing leftus now, nothing left us now!"He wept so violently that he had to lean up against a door as heburied his face in his wet hands. A noise of footsteps drove himaway. He felt a shame and a fear which made him fly before people'sfaces with the restless step of a bird of darkness. When passers-bymet him on the pavement he did his best to look and walk in aleisurely way, for he fancied they were reading his secret in thevery swing of his shoulders. He had followed the Rue de la GrangeBateliere as far as the Rue du Faubourg Montmartre, where thebrilliant lamplight surprised him, and he retraced his steps. Fornearly an hour he traversed the district thus, choosing always thedarkest corners. Doubtless there was some goal whither his stepswere patiently, instinctively, leading him through a labyrinth ofendless turnings. At length he lifted his eyes up it a streetcorner. He had reached his destination, the point where the RueTaitbout and the Rue de la Provence met. He had taken an hour amidhis painful mental sufferings to arrive at a place he could havereached in five minutes. One morning a month ago he rememberedgoing up to Fauchery's rooms to thank him for a notice of a ball atthe Tuileries, in which the journalist had mentioned him. The flatwas between the ground floor and the first story and had a row ofsmall square windows which were half hidden by the colossalsignboard belonging to a shop. The last window on the left wasbisected by a brilliant band of lamplight coming from between thehalf-closed curtains. And he remained absorbed and expectant, withhis gaze fixed on this shining streak.The moon had disappeared in an inky sky, whence an icy drizzle wasfalling. Two o'clock struck at the Trinite. The Rue de Provenceand the Rue Taitbout lay in shadow, bestarred at intervals by brightsplashes of light from the gas lamps, which in the distance weremerged in yellow mist. Muffat did not move from where he wasstanding. That was the room. He remembered it now: it had hangingsof red "andrinople," and a Louis XIII bed stood at one end of it.The lamp must be standing on the chimney piece to the right.Without doubt they had gone to bed, for no shadows passed across thewindow, and the bright streak gleamed as motionless as the light ofa night lamp. With his eyes still uplifted he began forming a plan;he would ring the bell, go upstairs despite the porter'sremonstrances, break the doors in with a push of his shoulder andfall upon them in the very bed without giving them time to unlacetheir arms. For one moment the thought that he had no weapon uponhim gave him pause, but directly afterward he decided to throttlethem. He returned to the consideration of his project, and heperfected it while waiting for some sign, some indication, whichshould bring certainty with it.Had a woman's shadow only shown itself at that moment he would haverung. But the thought that perhaps he was deceiving himself frozehim. How could he be certain? Doubts began to return. His wifecould not be with that man. It was monstrous and impossible.Nevertheless, he stayed where he was and was gradually overcome by aspecies of torpor which merged into sheer feebleness while he waitedlong, and the fixity of his gaze induced hallucinations.A shower was falling. Two policemen were approaching, and he wasforced to leave the doorway where he had taken shelter. When thesewere lost to view in the Rue de Provence he returned to his post,wet and shivering. The luminous streak still traversed the window,and this time he was going away for good when a shadow crossed it.It moved so quickly that he thought he had deceived himself. Butfirst one and then another black thing followed quickly after it,and there was a regular commotion in the room. Riveted anew to thepavement, he experienced an intolerable burning sensation in hisinside as he waited to find out the meaning of it all. Outlines ofarms and legs flitted after one another, and an enormous handtraveled about with the silhouette of a water jug. He distinguishednothing clearly, but he thought he recognized a woman's headdress.And he disputed the point with himself; it might well have beenSabine's hair, only the neck did not seem sufficiently slim. Atthat hour of the night he had lost the power of recognition and ofaction. In this terrible agony of uncertainty his inside caused himsuch acute suffering that he pressed against the door in order tocalm himself, shivering like a man in rags, as he did so. Thenseeing that despite everything he could not turn his eyes away fromthe window, his anger changed into a fit of moralizing. He fanciedhimself a deputy; he was haranguing an assembly, loudly denouncingdebauchery, prophesying national ruin. And he reconstructedFauchery's article on the poisoned fly, and he came before the houseand declared that morals such as these, which could only beparalleled in the days of the later Roman Empire, rendered societyan impossibility; that did him good. But the shadows had meanwhiledisappeared. Doubtless they had gone to bed again, and, stillwatching, he continued waiting where he was.Three o'clock struck, then four, but he could not take hisdeparture. When showers fell he buried himself in a corner of thedoorway, his legs splashed with wet. Nobody passed by now, andoccasionally his eyes would close, as though scorched by the streakof light, which he kept watching obstinately, fixedly, with idioticpersistence. On two subsequent occasions the shadows flitted about,repeating the same gestures and agitating the silhouette of the samegigantic jug, and twice quiet was re-established, and the night lampagain glowed discreetly out. These shadows only increased hisuncertainty. Then, too, a sudden idea soothed his brain while itpostponed the decisive moment. After all, he had only to wait forthe woman when she left the house. He could quite easily recognizeSabine. Nothing could be simpler, and there would be no scandal,and he would be sure of things one way or the other. It was onlynecessary to stay where he was. Among all the confused feelingswhich had been agitating him he now merely felt a dull need ofcertain knowledge. But sheer weariness and vacancy began lullinghim to sleep under his doorway, and by way of distraction he triedto reckon up how long he would have to wait. Sabine was to be atthe station toward nine o'clock; that meant about four hours and ahalf more. He was very patient; he would even have been content notto move again, and he found a certain charm in fancying that hisnight vigil would last through eternity.Suddenly the streak of light was gone. This extremely simple eventwas to him an unforeseen catastrophe, at once troublesome anddisagreeable. Evidently they had just put the lamp out and weregoing to sleep. lt was reasonable enough at that hour, but he wasirritated thereat, for now the darkened window ceased to interesthim. He watched it for a quarter of an hour longer and then grewtired and, leaving the doorway, took a turn upon the pavement.Until five o'clock he walked to and fro, looking upward from time totime. The window seemed a dead thing, and now and then he askedhimself if he had not dreamed that shadows had been dancing up therebehind the panes. An intolerable sense of fatigue weighed him down,a dull, heavy feeling, under the influence of which he forgot whathe was waiting for at that particular street corner. He keptstumbling on the pavement and starting into wakefulness with the icyshudder of a man who does not know where he is. Nothing seemed tojustify the painful anxiety he was inflicting on himself. Sincethose people were asleep--well then, let them sleep! What goodcould it do mixing in their affairs? It was very dark; no one wouldever know anything about this night's doings. And with that everysentiment within him, down to curiosity itself, took flight beforethe longing to have done with it all and to find relief somewhere.The cold was increasing, and the street was becoming insufferable.Twice he walked away and slowly returned, dragging one foot behindthe other, only to walk farther away next time. It was all over;nothing was left him now, and so he went down the whole length ofthe boulevard and did not return.His was a melancholy progress through the streets. He walkedslowly, never changing his pace and simply keeping along the wallsof the houses.His boot heels re-echoed, and he saw nothing but his shadow movingat his side. As he neared each successive gaslight it grew tallerand immediately afterward diminished. But this lulled him andoccupied him mechanically. He never knew afterward where he hadbeen; it seemed as if he had dragged himself round and round in acircle for hours. One reminiscence only was very distinctlyretained by him. Without his being able to explain how it cameabout he found himself with his face pressed close against the gateat the end of the Passage des Panoramas and his two hands graspingthe bars. He did not shake them but, his whole heart swelling withemotion, he simply tried to look into the passage. But he couldmake nothing out clearly, for shadows flooded the whole length ofthe deserted gallery, and the wind, blowing hard down the Rue Saint-Marc, puffed in his face with the damp breath of a cellar. For atime he tried doggedly to see into the place, and then, awakeningfrom his dream, he was filled with astonishment and asked himselfwhat he could possibly be seeking for at that hour and in thatposition, for he had pressed against the railings so fiercely thatthey had left their mark on his face. Then he went on tramp oncemore. He was hopeless, and his heart was full of infinite sorrow,for he felt, amid all those shadows, that he was evermore betrayedand alone.Day broke at last. It was the murky dawn that follows winter nightsand looks so melancholy from muddy Paris pavements. Muffat hadreturned into the wide streets, which were then in course ofconstruction on either side of the new opera house. Soaked by therain and cut up by cart wheels, the chalky soil had become a lake ofliquid mire. But he never looked to see where he was stepping andwalked on and on, slipping and regaining his footing as he went.The awakening of Paris, with its gangs of sweepers and early workmentrooping to their destinations, added to his troubles as daybrightened. People stared at him in surprise as he went by withscared look and soaked hat and muddy clothes. For a long while hesought refuge against palings and among scaffoldings, his desolatebrain haunted by the single remaining thought that he was verymiserable.Then he thought of God. The sudden idea of divine help, ofsuperhuman consolation, surprised him, as though it were somethingunforeseen and extraordinary. The image of M. Venot was evokedthereby, and he saw his little plump face and ruined teeth.Assuredly M. Venot, whom for months he had been avoiding and therebyrendering miserable, would be delighted were he to go and knock athis door and fall weeping into his arms. In the old days God hadbeen always so merciful toward him. At the least sorrow, theslightest obstacle on the path of life, he had been wont to enter achurch, where, kneeling down, he would humble his littleness in thepresence of Omnipotence. And he had been used to go forth thence,fortified by prayer, fully prepared to give up the good things ofthis world, possessed by the single yearning for eternal salvation.But at present he only practiced by fits and starts, when the terrorof hell came upon him. All kinds of weak inclinations had overcomehim, and the thought of Nana disturbed his devotions. And now thethought of God astonished him. Why had he not thought of Godbefore, in the hour of that terrible agony when his feeble humanitywas breaking up in ruin?Meanwhile with slow and painful steps he sought for a church. Buthe had lost his bearings; the early hour had changed the face of thestreets. Soon, however, as he turned the corner of the Rue de laChaussee-d'Antin, he noticed a tower looming vaguely in the fog atthe end of the Trinite Church. The white statues overlooking thebare garden seemed like so many chilly Venuses among the yellowfoliage of a park. Under the porch he stood and panted a little,for the ascent of the wide steps had tired him. Then he went in.The church was very cold, for its heating apparatus had beenfireless since the previous evening, and its lofty, vaulted aisleswere full of a fine damp vapor which had come filtering through thewindows. The aisles were deep in shadow; not a soul was in thechurch, and the only sound audible amid the unlovely darkness wasthat made by the old shoes of some verger or other who was dragginghimself about in sulky semiwakefulness. Muffat, however, afterknocking forlornly against an untidy collection of chairs, sank onhis knees with bursting heart and propped himself against the railsin front of a little chapel close by a font. He clasped his handsand began searching within himself for suitable prayers, while hiswhole being yearned toward a transport. But only his lips keptstammering empty words; his heart and brain were far away, and withthem he returned to the outer world and began his long, unrestingmarch through the streets, as though lashed forward by implacablenecessity. And he kept repeating, "O my God, come to my assistance!O my God, abandon not Thy creature, who delivers himself up to Thyjustice! O my God, I adore Thee: Thou wilt not leave me to perishunder the buffetings of mine enemies!" Nothing answered: theshadows and the cold weighed upon him, and the noise of the oldshoes continued in the distance and prevented him praying. Nothing,indeed, save that tiresome noise was audible in the deserted church,where the matutinal sweeping was unknown before the early masses hadsomewhat warmed the air of the place. After that he rose to hisfeet with the help of a chair, his knees cracking under him as hedid so. God was not yet there. And why should he weep in M.Venot's arms? The man could do nothing.And then mechanically he returned to Nana's house. Outside heslipped, and he felt the tears welling to his eyes again, but he wasnot angry with his lot--he was only feeble and ill. Yes, he was tootired; the rain had wet him too much; he was nipped with cold, butthe idea of going back to his great dark house in the Rue Miromesnilfroze his heart. The house door at Nana's was not open as yet, andhe had to wait till the porter made his appearance. He smiled as hewent upstairs, for he already felt penetrated by the soft warmth ofthat cozy retreat, where he would be able to stretch his limbs andgo to sleep.When Zoe opened the door to him she gave a start of most uneasyastonishment. Madame had been taken ill with an atrocious sickheadache, and she hadn't closed her eyes all night. Still, shecould quite go and see whether Madame had gone to sleep for good.And with that she slipped into the bedroom while he sank back intoone of the armchairs in the drawing room. But almost at that verymoment Nana appeared. She had jumped out of bed and had scarce hadtime to slip on a petticoat. Her feet were bare, her hair in wilddisorder, her nightgown all crumpled."What! You here again?" she cried with a red flush on her cheeks.Up she rushed, stung by sudden indignation, in order herself tothrust him out of doors. But when she saw him in such sorry plight--nay, so utterly done for--she felt infinite pity."Well, you are a pretty sight, my dear fellow!" she continued moregently. "But what's the matter? You've spotted them, eh? And it'sgiven you the hump?"He did not answer; he looked like a broken-down animal.Nevertheless, she came to the conclusion that he still lackedproofs, and to hearten him up the said:"You see now? I was on the wrong tack. Your wife's an honestwoman, on my word of honor! And now, my little friend, you must gohome to bed. You want it badly."He did not stir."Now then, be off! I can't keep you here. But perhaps you won'tpresume to stay at such a time as this?""Yes, let's go to bed," he stammered.She repressed a violent gesture, for her patience was deserting her.Was the man going crazy?"Come, be off!" she repeated."No."But she flared up in exasperation, in utter rebellion."It's sickening! Don't you understand I'm jolly tired of yourcompany? Go and find your wife, who's making a cuckold of you.Yes, she's making a cuckold of you. I say so--yes, I do now.There, you've got the sack! Will you leave me or will you not?"Muffat's eyes filled with tears. He clasped his hands together."Oh, let's go to bed!"At this Nana suddenly lost all control over herself and was chokedby nervous sobs. She was being taken advaatage of when all was saidand done! What had these stories to do with her? She certainly hadused all manner of delicate methods in order to teach him his lessongently. And now he was for making her pay the damages! No, thankyou! She was kindhearted, but not to that extent."The devil, but I've had enough of this!" she swore, bringing herfist down on the furniture. "Yes, yes, I wanted to be faithful--itwas all I could do to be that! Yet if I spoke the word I could berich tomorrow, my dear fellow!"He looked up in surprise. Never once had he thought of the monetaryquestion. If she only expressed a desire he would realize it atonce; his whole fortune was at her service."No, it's too late now," she replied furiously. "I like men whogive without being asked. No, if you were to offer me a million fora single interview I should say no! It's over between us; I've gotother fish to fry there! So be off or I shan't answer for theconsequences. I shall do something dreadful!"She advanced threateningly toward him, and while she was raving, asbecame a good courtesan who, though driven to desperation, was yetfirmly convinced of her rights and her superiority over tiresome,honest folks, the door opened suddenly and Steiner presentedhimself. That proved the finishing touch. She shrieked aloud:"Well, I never. Here's the other one!"Bewildered by her piercing outcry, Steiner stopped short. Muffat'sunexpected presence annoyed him, for he feared an explanation andhad been doing his best to avoid it these three months past. Withblinking eyes he stood first on one leg, then on the other, lookingembarrassed the while and avoiding the count's gaze. He was out ofbreath, and as became a man who had rushed across Paris with goodnews, only to find himself involved in unforeseen trouble, his facewas flushed and distorted."Que veux-tu, toi?" asked Nana roughly, using the second personsingular in open mockery of the count."What--what do I--" he stammered. "I've got it for you--you knowwhat.""Eh?"He hesitated. The day before yesterday she had given him tounderstand that if he could not find her a thousand francs to pay abill with she would not receive him any more. For two days he hadbeen loafing about the town in quest of the money and had at lastmade the sum up that very morning."The thousand francs!" he ended by declaring as he drew an envelopefrom his pocket.Nana had not remembered."The thousand francs!" she cried. "D'you think I'm begging alms?Now look here, that's what I value your thousand francs at!"And snatching the envelope, she threw it full in his face. Asbecame a prudent Hebrew, he picked it up slowly and painfully andthen looked at the young woman with a dull expression of face.Muffat and he exchanged a despairing glance, while she put her armsakimbo in order to shout more loudly than before."Come now, will you soon have done insulting me? I'm glad you'vecome, too, dear boy, because now you see the clearance'll be quitecomplete. Now then, gee up! Out you go!"Then as they did not hurry in the least, for they were paralyzed:"D'you mean to say I'm acting like a fool, eh? It's likely enough!But you've bored me too much! And, hang it all, I've had enough ofswelldom! If I die of what I'm doing--well, it's my fancy!"They sought to calm her; they begged her to listen to reason."Now then, once, twice, thrice! Won't you go? Very well! Lookthere! I've got company."And with a brisk movement she flung wide the bedroom door.Whereupon in the middle of the tumbled bed the two men caught sightof Fontan. He had not expected to be shown off in this situation;nevertheless, he took things very easily, for he was used to suddensurprises on the stage. Indeed, after the first shock he even hitupon a grimace calculated to tide him honorably over his difficulty;he "turned rabbit," as he phrased it, and stuck out his lips andwrinkled up his nose, so as completely to transform the lower halfof his face. His base, satyrlike head seemed to exude incontinence.It was this man Fontan then whom Nana had been to fetch at theVarieties every day for a week past, for she was smitten with thatfierce sort of passion which the grimacing ugliness of a lowcomedian is wont to inspire in the genus courtesan."There!" she said, pointing him out with tragic gesture.Muffat, who hitherto had pocketed everything, rebelled at thisaffront."Bitch!" he stammered.But Nana, who was once more in the bedroom, came back in order tohave the last word."How am I a bitch? What about your wife?"And she was off and, slamming the door with a bang, she noisilypushed to the bolt. Left alone, the two men gazed at one another insilence. Zoe had just come into the room, but she did not drivethem out. Nay, she spoke to them in the most sensible manner. Asbecame a woman with a head on her shoulders, she decided thatMadame's conduct was rather too much of a good thing. But shedefended her, nonetheless: this union with the play actor couldn'tlast; the madness must be allowed to pass off! The two men retiredwithout uttering a sound. On the pavement outside they shook handssilently, as though swayed by a mutual sense of fraternity. Thenthey turned their backs on one another and went crawling off inopposite directions.When at last Muffat entered his town house in the Rue Miromesnil hiswife was just arriving. The two met on the great staircase, whosewalls exhaled an icy chill. They lifted up their eyes and beheldone another. The count still wore his muddy clothes, and his pale,bewildered face betrayed the prodigal returning from his debauch.The countess looked as though she were utterly fagged out by a nightin the train. She was dropping with sleep, but her hair had beenbrushed anyhow, and her eyes were deeply sunken.