Chapter XII

by Emile Zola

　　Toward one in the morning, in the great bed of the Venice pointdraperies, Nana and the count lay still awake. He had returned toher that evening after a three days sulking fit. The room, whichwas dimly illumined by a lamp, seemed to slumber amid a warm, dampodor of love, while the furniture, with its white lacquer and silverincrustations, loomed vague and wan through the gloom. A curtainhad been drawn to, so that the bed lay flooded with shadow. A sighbecame audible; then a kiss broke the silence, and Nana, slippingoff the coverlet, sat for a moment or two, barelegged, on the edgeof the bed. The count let his head fall back on the pillow andremained in darkness."Dearest, you believe in the good God, don't you?" she queried aftersome moments' reflection. Her face was serious; she had beenovercome by pious terrors on quitting her lover's arms.Since morning, indeed, she had been complaining of feelinguncomfortable, and all her stupid notions, as she phrased it,notions about death and hell, were secretly torturing her. Fromtime to time she had nights such as these, during which childishfears and atrocious fancies would thrill her with waking nightmares.She continued:"I say, d'you think I shall go to heaven?"And with that she shivered, while the count, in his surprise at herputting such singular questions at such a moment, felt his oldreligious remorse returning upon him. Then with her chemiseslipping from her shoulders and her hair unpinned, she again threwherself upon his breast, sobbing and clinging to him as she did so."I'm afraid of dying! I'm afraid of dying!" He had all the troublein the world to disengage himself. Indeed, he was himself afraid ofgiving in to the sudden madness of this woman clinging to his bodyin her dread of the Invisible. Such dread is contagious, and hereasoned with her. Her conduct was perfect--she had only to conductherself well in order one day to merit pardon. But she shook herhead. Doubtless she was doing no one any harm; nay, she was even inthe constant habit of wearing a medal of the Virgin, which sheshowed to him as it hung by a red thread between her breasts. Onlyit had been foreordained that all unmarried women who heldconversation with men would go to hell. Scraps of her catechismrecurred to her remembrance. Ah, if one only knew for certain, but,alas, one was sure of nothing; nobody ever brought back anyinformation, and then, truly, it would be stupid to bother oneselfabout things if the priests were talking foolishness all the time.Nevertheless, she religiously kissed her medal, which was still warmfrom contact with her skin, as though by way of charm against death,the idea of which filled her with icy horror. Muffat was obliged toaccompany her into the dressing room, for she shook at the idea ofbeing alone there for one moment, even though she had left the dooropen. When he had lain down again she still roamed about the room,visiting its several corners and starting and shivering at theslightest noise. A mirror stopped her, and as of old she lapsedinto obvious contemplation of her nakedness. But the sight of herbreast, her waist and her thighs only doubled her terror, and sheended by feeling with both hands very slowly over the bones of herface."You're ugly when you're dead," she said in deliberate tones.And she pressed her cheeks, enlarging her eyes and pushing down herjaw, in order to see how she would look. Thus disfigured, sheturned toward the count."Do look! My head'll be quite small, it will!"At this he grew vexed."You're mad; come to bed!"He fancied he saw her in a grave, emaciated by a century of sleep,and he joined his hands and stammered a prayer. It was some timeago that the religious sense had reconquered him, and now his dailyaccess of faith had again assumed the apoplectic intensity which waswont to leave him well-nigh stunned. The joints of his fingers usedto crack, and he would repeat without cease these words only: "MyGod, my God, my God!" It was the cry of his impotence, the cry ofthat sin against which, though his damnation was certain, he feltpowerless to strive. When Nana returned she found him hiddenbeneath the bedclothes; he was haggard; he had dug his nails intohis bosom, and his eyes stared upward as though in search of heaven.And with that she started to weep again. Then they both embraced,and their teeth chattered they knew not why, as the same imbecileobsession over-mastered them. They had already passed a similarnight, but on this occasion the thing was utterly idiotic, as Nanadeclared when she ceased to be frightened. She suspected something,and this caused her to question the count in a prudent sort of way.It might be that Rose Mignon had sent the famous letter! But thatwas not the case; it was sheer fright, nothing more, for he wasstill ignorant whether he was a cuckold or no.Two days later, after a fresh disappearance, Muffat presentedhimself in the morning, a time of day at which he never came. Hewas livid; his eyes were red and his whole man still shaken by agreat internal struggle. But Zoe, being scared herself, did notnotice his troubled state. She had run to meet him and now begancrying:"Oh, monsieur, do come in! Madame nearly died yesterday evening!"And when he asked for particulars:"Something it's impossible to believe has happened--a miscarriage,monsieur."Nana had been in the family way for the past three months. For longshe had simply thought herself out of sorts, and Dr Boutarel hadhimself been in doubt. But when afterward he made her a decisiveannouncement, she felt so bored thereby that she did all shepossibly could to disguise her condition. Her nervous terrors, herdark humors, sprang to some extent from this unfortunate state ofthings, the secret of which she kept very shamefacedly, as became acourtesan mother who is obliged to conceal her plight. The thingstruck her as a ridiculous accident, which made her appear small inher own eyes and would, had it been known, have led people to chaffher."A poor joke, eh?" she said. "Bad luck, too, certainly."She was necessarily very sharp set when she thought her last hourhad come. There was no end to her surprise, too; her sexual economyseemed to her to have got out of order; it produced children theneven when one did not want them and when one employed it for quiteother purposes! Nature drove her to exasperation; this appearanceof serious motherhood in a career of pleasure, this gift of lifeamid all the deaths she was spreading around, exasperated her. Whycould one not dispose of oneself as fancy dictated, without all thisfuss? And whence had this brat come? She could not even suggest afather. Ah, dear heaven, the man who made him would have a splendidnotion had he kept him in his own hands, for nobody asked for him;he was in everybody's way, and he would certainly not have muchhappiness in life!Meanwhile Zoe described the catastrophe."Madame was seized with colic toward four o'clock. When she didn'tcome back out of the dressing room I went in and found her lyingstretched on the floor in a faint. Yes, monsieur, on the floor in apool of blood, as though she had been murdered. Then I understood,you see. I was furious; Madame might quite well have confided hertrouble to me. As it happened, Monsieur Georges was there, and hehelped me to lift her up, and directly a miscarriage was mentionedhe felt ill in his turn! Oh, it's true I've had the hump sinceyesterday!"In fact, the house seemed utterly upset. All the servants weregalloping upstairs, downstairs and through the rooms. Georges hadpassed the night on an armchair in the drawing room. It was he whohad announced the news to Madame's friends at that hour of theevening when Madame was in the habit of receiving. He had stillbeen very pale, and he had told his story very feelingly, and asthough stupefied. Steiner, La Faloise, Philippe and others,besides, had presented themselves, and at the end of the lad's firstphrase they burst into exclamations. The thing was impossible! Itmust be a farce! After which they grew serious and gazed with anembarrassed expression at her bedroom door. They shook their heads;it was no laughing matter.Till midnight a dozen gentlemen had stood talking in low voices infront of the fireplace. All were friends; all were deeply exercisedby the same idea of paternity. They seemed to be mutually excusingthemselves, and they looked as confused as if they had donesomething clumsy. Eventually, however, they put a bold face on thematter. It had nothing to do with them: the fault was hers! What astunner that Nana was, eh? One would never have believed hercapable of such a fake! And with that they departed one by one,walking on tiptoe, as though in a chamber of death where you cannotlaugh."Come up all the same, monsieur," said Zoe to Muffat. "Madame ismuch better and will see you. We are expecting the doctor, whopromised to come back this morning."The lady's maid had persuaded Georges to go back home to sleep, andupstairs in the drawing room only Satin remained. She lay stretchedon a divan, smoking a cigarette and scanning the ceiling. Amid thehousehold scare which had followed the accident she had been whitewith rage, had shrugged her shoulders violently and had madeferocious remarks. Accordingly, when Zoe was passing in front ofher and telling Monsieur that poor, dear Madame had suffered a greatdeal:"That's right; it'll teach him!" said Satin curtly.They turned round in surprise, but she had not moved a muscle; hereyes were still turned toward the ceiling, and her cigarette wasstill wedged tightly between her lips."Dear me, you're charming, you are!" said Zoe.But Satin sat up, looked savagely at the count and once more hurledher remark at him."That's right; it'll teach him!"And she lay down again and blew forth a thin jet of smoke, as thoughshe had no interest in present events and were resolved not tomeddle in any of them. No, it was all too silly!Zoe, however, introduced Muffat into the bedroom, where a scent ofether lingered amid warm, heavy silence, scarce broken by the dullroll of occasional carriages in the Avenue de Villiers. Nana,looking very white on her pillow, was lying awake with wide-open,meditative eyes. She smiled when she saw the count but did notmove."Ah, dear pet!" she slowly murmured. "I really thought I shouldnever see you again."Then as he leaned forward to kiss her on the hair, she grew tendertoward him and spoke frankly about the child, as though he were itsfather."I never dared tell you; I felt so happy about it! Oh, I used todream about it; I should have liked to be worthy of you! And nowthere's nothing left. Ah well, perhaps that's best. I don't wantto bring a stumbling block into your life."Astounded by this story of paternity, he began stammering vaguephrases. He had taken a chair and had sat down by the bed, leaningone arm on the coverlet. Then the young woman noticed his wildexpression, the blood reddening his eyes, the fever that set hislips aquiver."What's the matter then?" she asked. "You're ill too.""No," he answered with extreme difficulty.She gazed at him with a profound expression. Then she signed to Zoeto retire, for the latter was lingering round arranging the medicinebottles. And when they were alone she drew him down to her andagain asked:"What's the matter with you, darling? The tears are ready to burstfrom your eyes--I can see that quite well. Well now, speak out;you've come to tell me something.""No, no, I swear I haven't," he blurted out. But he was chokingwith suffering, and this sickroom, into which he had suddenlyentered unawares, so worked on his feelings that he burst outsobbing and buried his face in the bedclothes to smother theviolence of his grief. Nana understood. Rose Mignon had mostassuredly decided to send the letter. She let him weep for somemoments, and he was shaken by convulsions so fierce that the bedtrembled under her. At length in accents of motherly compassion shequeried:"You've had bothers at your home?"He nodded affirmatively. She paused anew, and then very low:"Then you know all?"He nodded assent. And a heavy silence fell over the chamber ofsuffering. The night before, on his return from a party given bythe empress, he had received the letter Sabine had written herlover. After an atrocious night passed in the meditation ofvengeance he had gone out in the morning in order to resist alonging which prompted him to kill his wife. Outside, under asudden, sweet influence of a fine June morning, he had lost thethread of his thoughts and had come to Nana's, as he always came atterrible moments in his life. There only he gave way to his misery,for he felt a cowardly joy at the thought that she would consolehim."Now look here, be calm!" the young woman continued, becoming at thesame time extremely kind. "I've known it a long time, but it wascertainly not I that would have opened your eyes. You remember youhad your doubts last year, but then things arranged themselves,owing to my prudence. In fact, you wanted proofs. The deuce,you've got one today, and I know it's hard lines. Nevertheless, youmust look at the matter quietly: you're not dishonored because it'shappened."He had left off weeping. A sense of shame restrained him fromsaying what he wanted to, although he had long ago slipped into themost intimate confessions about his household. She had to encouragehim. Dear me, she was a woman; she could understand everything.When in a dull voice he exclaimed:"You're ill. What's the good of tiring you? It was stupid of me tohave come. I'm going--""No," she answered briskly enough. "Stay! Perhaps I shall be ableto give you some good advice. Only don't make me talk too much; themedical man's forbidden it."He had ended by rising, and he was now walking up and down the room.Then she questioned him:"Now what are you going to do?"I'm going to box the man's ears--by heavens, yes!"She pursed up her lips disapprovingly."That's not very wise. And about your wife?""I shall go to law; I've proofs.""Not at all wise, my dear boy. It's stupid even. You know I shallnever let you do that!"And in her feeble voice she showed him decisively how useless andscandalous a duel and a trial would be. He would be a nine days'newspaper sensation; his whole existence would be at stake, hispeace of mind, his high situation at court, the honor of his name,and all for what? That he might have the laughers against him."What will it matter?" he cried. "I shall have had my revenge.""My pet," she said, "in a business of that kind one never has one'srevenge if one doesn't take it directly."He paused and stammered. He was certainly no poltroon, but he feltthat she was right. An uneasy feeling was growing momentarilystronger within him, a poor, shameful feeling which softened hisanger now that it was at its hottest. Moreover, in her frank desireto tell him everything, she dealt him a fresh blow."And d'you want to know what's annoying you, dearest? Why, that youare deceiving your wife yourself. You don't sleep away from homefor nothing, eh? Your wife must have her suspicions. Well then,how can you blame her? She'll tell you that you've set her theexample, and that'll shut you up. There, now, that's why you'restamping about here instead of being at home murdering both of 'em."Muffat had again sunk down on the chair; he was overwhelmed by thesehome thrusts. She broke off and took breath, and then in a lowvoice:"Oh, I'm a wreck! Do help me sit up a bit. I keep slipping down,and my head's too low."When he had helped her she sighed and felt more comfortable. Andwith that she harked back to the subject. What a pretty sight adivorce suit would be! Couldn't he imagine the advocate of thecountess amusing Paris with his remarks about Nana? Everythingwould have come out--her fiasco at the Varietes, her house, hermanner of life. Oh dear, no! She had no wish for all that amountof advertising. Some dirty women might, perhaps, have driven him toit for the sake of getting a thundering big advertisement, but she--she desired his happiness before all else. She had drawn him downtoward her and, after passing her arm around his neck, was nursinghis head close to hers on the edge of the pillow. And with that shewhispered softly:"Listen, my pet, you shall make it up with your wife."But he rebelled at this. It could never be! His heart was nighbreaking at the thought; it was too shameful. Nevertheless, shekept tenderly insisting."You shall make it up with your wife. Come, come, you don't want tohear all the world saying that I've tempted you away from your home?I should have too vile a reputation! What would people think of me?Only swear that you'll always love me, because the moment you gowith another woman--"Tears choked her utterance, and he intervened with kisses and said:"You're beside yourself; it's impossible!""Yes, yes," she rejoined, "you must. But I'll be reasonable. Afterall, she's your wife, and it isn't as if you were to play me falsewith the firstcomer."And she continued in this strain, giving him the most excellentadvice. She even spoke of God, and the count thought he waslistening to M. Venot, when that old gentleman endeavored tosermonize him out of the grasp of sin. Nana, however, did not speakof breaking it off entirely: she preached indulgent good nature andsuggested that, as became a dear, nice old fellow, he should dividehis attentions between his wife and his mistress, so that they wouldall enjoy a quiet life, devoid of any kind of annoyance, something,in fact, in the nature of a happy slumber amid the inevitablemiseries of existence. Their life would be nowise changed: he wouldstill be the little man of her heart. Only he would come to her abit less often and would give the countess the nights not passedwith her. She had got to the end of her strength and left off,speaking under her breath:"After that I shall feel I've done a good action, and you'll love meall the more."Silence reigned. She had closed her eyes and lay wan upon herpillow. The count was patiently listening to her, not wishing herto tire herself. A whole minute went by before she reopened hereyes and murmured:"Besides, how about the money? Where would you get the money fromif you must grow angry and go to law? Labordette came for the billyesterday. As for me, I'm out of everything; I have nothing to puton now."Then she shut her eyes again and looked like one dead. A shadow ofdeep anguish had passed over Muffat's brow. Under the presentstroke he had since yesterday forgotten the money troubles fromwhich he knew not how to escape. Despite formal promises to thecontrary, the bill for a hundred thousand francs had been put incirculation after being once renewed, and Labordette, pretending tobe very miserable about it, threw all the blame on Francis,declaring that he would never again mix himself up in such a matterwith an uneducated man. It was necessary to pay, for the countwould never have allowed his signature to be protested. Then inaddition to Nana's novel demands, his home expenses wereextraordinarily confused. On their return from Les Fondettes thecountess had suddenly manifested a taste for luxury, a longing forworldly pleasures, which was devouring their fortune. Her ruinouscaprices began to be talked about. Their whole household managementwas altered, and five hundred thousand francs were squandered inutterly transforming the old house in the Rue Miromesnil. Thenthere were extravagantly magnificent gowns and large sumsdisappeared, squandered or perhaps given away, without her everdreaming of accounting for them. Twice Muffat ventured to mentionthis, for he was anxious to know how the money went, but on theseoccasions she had smiled and gazed at him with so singular anexpression that he dared not interrogate her further for fear of atoo-unmistakable answer. If he were taking Daguenet as son-in-lawas a gift from Nana it was chiefly with the hope of being able toreduce Estelle's dower to two hundred thousand francs and of thenbeing free to make any arrangements he chose about the remainderwith a young man who was still rejoicing in this unexpected match.Nevertheless, for the last week, under the immediate necessity offinding Labordette's hundred thousand francs, Muffat had been ableto hit on but one expedient, from which he recoiled. This was thathe should sell the Bordes, a magnificent property valued at half amillion, which an uncle had recently left the countess. However,her signature was necessary, and she herself, according to the termsof the deed, could not alienate the property without the count'sauthorization. The day before he had indeed resolved to talk to hiswife about this signature. And now everything was ruined; at such amoment he would never accept of such a compromise. This reflectionadded bitterness to the frightful disgrace of the adultery. Hefully understood what Nana was asking for, since in that ever-growing self-abandonment which prompted him to put her inpossession of all his secrets, he had complained to her of hisposition and had confided to her the tiresome difficulty he was inwith regard to the signature of the countess.Nana, however, did not seem to insist. She did not open her eyesagain, and, seeing her so pale, he grew frightened and made herinhale a little ether. She gave a sigh and without mentioningDaguenet asked him some questions."When is the marriage?""We sign the contract on Tuesday, in five days' time," he replied.Then still keeping her eyelids closed, as though she were speakingfrom the darkness and silence of her brain:"Well then, pet, see to what you've got to do. As far as I'mconcerned, I want everybody to be happy and comfortable."He took her hand and soothed her. Yes, he would see about it; theimportant thing now was for her to rest. And the revolt within himceased, for this warm and slumberous sickroom, with its all-pervading scent of ether, had ended by lulling him into a merelonging for happiness and peace. All his manhood, erewhile maddenedby wrong, had departed out of him in the neighborhood of that warmbed and that suffering woman, whom he was nursing under theinfluence of her feverish heat and of remembered delights. Heleaned over her and pressed her in a close embrace, while despiteher unmoved features her lips wore a delicate, victorious smile.But Dr Boutarel made his appearance."Well, and how's this dear child?" he said familiarly to Muffat,whom he treated as her husband. "The deuce, but we've made hertalk!"The doctor was a good-looking man and still young. He had a superbpractice among the gay world, and being very merry by nature andready to laugh and joke in the friendliest way with the demimondeladies with whom, however, he never went farther, he charged veryhigh fees and got them paid with the greatest punctuality.Moreover, he would put himself out to visit them on the most trivialoccasions, and Nana, who was always trembling at the fear of death,would send and fetch him two or three times a week and wouldanxiously confide to him little infantile ills which he would cureto an accompaniment of amusing gossip and harebrained anecdotes.The ladies all adored him. But this time the little ill wasserious.Muffat withdrew, deeply moved. Seeing his poor Nana so very weak,his sole feeling was now one of tenderness. As he was leaving theroom she motioned him back and gave him her forehead to kiss. In alow voice and with a playfully threatening look she said:"You know what I've allowed you to do. Go back to your wife, orit's all over and I shall grow angry!"The Countess Sabine had been anxious that her daughter's weddingcontract should be signed on a Tuesday in order that the renovatedhouse, where the paint was still scarcely dry, might be reopenedwith a grand entertainment. Five hundred invitations had beenissued to people in all kinds of sets. On the morning of the greatday the upholsterers were still nailing up hangings, and toward nineat night, just when the lusters were going to be lit, the architect,accompanied by the eager and interested countess, was given hisfinal orders.It was one of those spring festivities which have a delicate charmof their own. Owing to the warmth of the June nights, it had becomepossible to open the two doors of the great drawing room and toextend the dancing floor to the sanded paths of the garden. Whenthe first guests arrived and were welcomed at the door by the countand the countess they were positively dazzled. One had only torecall to mind the drawing room of the past, through which flittedthe icy, ghostly presence of the Countess Muffat, that antique roomfull of an atmosphere of religious austerity with its massive FirstEmpire mahogany furniture, its yellow velvet hangings, its moldyceiling through which the damp had soaked. Now from the verythreshold of the entrance hall mosaics set off with gold wereglittering under the lights of lofty candelabras, while the marblestaircase unfurled, as it were, a delicately chiseled balustrade.Then, too, the drawing room looked splendid; it was hung with Genoavelvet, and a huge decorative design by Boucher covered the ceiling,a design for which the architect had paid a hundred thousand francsat the sale of the Chateau de Dampierre. The lusters and thecrystal ornaments lit up a luxurious display of mirrors and preciousfurniture. It seemed as though Sabine's long chair, that solitaryred silk chair, whose soft contours were so marked in the old days,had grown and spread till it filled the whole great house withvoluptuous idleness and a sense of tense enjoyment not less fierceand hot than a fire which has been long in burning up.People were already dancing. The band, which had been located inthe garden, in front of one of the open windows, was playing awaltz, the supple rhythm of which came softly into the house throughthe intervening night air. And the garden seemed to spread away andaway, bathed in transparent shadow and lit by Venetian lamps, whilein a purple tent pitched on the edge of a lawn a table forrefreshments had been established. The waltz, which was none otherthan the quaint, vulgar one in the Blonde Venus, with its laughing,blackguard lilt, penetrated the old hotel with sonorous waves ofsound and sent a feverish thrill along its walls. It was as thoughsome fleshly wind had come up out of the common street and weresweeping the relics of a vanished epoch out of the proud olddwelling, bearing away the Muffats' past, the age of honor andreligious faith which had long slumbered beneath the lofty ceilings.Meanwhile near the hearth, in their accustomed places, the oldfriends of the count's mother were taking refuge. They felt out oftheir element--they were dazzled and they formed a little group amidthe slowly invading mob. Mme du Joncquoy, unable to recognize thevarious rooms, had come in through the dining saloon. MmeChantereau was gazing with a stupefied expression at the garden,which struck her as immense. Presently there was a sound of lowvoices, and the corner gave vent to all sorts of bitter reflections."I declare," murmured Mme Chantereau, "just fancy if the countesswere to return to life. Why, can you not imagine her coming inamong all these crowds of people! And then there's all this gildingand this uproar! It's scandalous!""Sabine's out of her senses," replied Mme du Joncquoy. "Did you seeher at the door? Look, you can catch sight of her here; she'swearing all her diamonds."For a moment or two they stood up in order to take a distant view ofthe count and countess. Sabine was in a white dress trimmed withmarvelous English point lace. She was triumphant in beauty; shelooked young and gay, and there was a touch of intoxication in hercontinual smile. Beside her stood Muffat, looking aged and a littlepale, but he, too, was smiling in his calm and worthy fashion."And just to think that he was once master," continued MmeChantereau, "and that not a single rout seat would have come inwithout his permission! Ah well, she's changed all that; it's herhouse now. D'you remember when she did not want to do her drawingroom up again? She's done up the entire house."But the ladies grew silent, for Mme de Chezelles was entering theroom, followed by a band of young men. She was going into ecstasiesand marking her approval with a succession of little exclamations."Oh, it's delicious, exquisite! What taste!" And she shouted backto her followers:"Didn't I say so? There's nothing equal to these old places whenone takes them in hand. They become dazzling! It's quite in thegrand seventeenth-century style. Well, now she can receive."The two old ladies had again sat down and with lowered tones begantalking about the marriage, which was causing astonishment to a goodmany people. Estelle had just passed by them. She was in a pinksilk gown and was as pale, flat, silent and virginal as ever. Shehad accepted Daguenet very quietly and now evinced neither joy norsadness, for she was still as cold and white as on those winterevenings when she used to put logs on the fire. This whole fetegiven in her honor, these lights and flowers and tunes, left herquite unmoved."An adventurer," Mme du Joncquoy was saying. "For my part, I'venever seen him.""Take care, here he is," whispered Mme Chantereau.Daguenet, who had caught sight of Mme Hugon and her sons, hadeagerly offered her his arm. He laughed and was effusivelyaffectionate toward her, as though she had had a hand in his suddengood fortune."Thank you," she said, sitting down near the fireplace. "You see,it's my old corner.""You know him?" queried Mme du Joncquoy, when Daguenet had gone."Certainly I do--a charming young man. Georges is very fond of him.Oh, they're a most respected family."And the good lady defended him against the mute hostility which wasapparent to her. His father, held in high esteem by Louis Philippe,had been a prefet up to the time of his death. The son had been alittle dissipated, perhaps; they said he was ruined, but in anycase, one of his uncles, who was a great landowner, was bound toleave him his fortune. The ladies, however, shook their heads,while Mme Hugon, herself somewhat embarrassed, kept harking back tothe extreme respectability of his family. She was very muchfatigued and complained of her feet. For some months she had beenoccupying her house in the Rue Richelieu, having, as she said, awhole lot of things on hand. A look of sorrow overshadowed hersmiling, motherly face."Never mind," Mme Chantereau concluded. "Estelle could have aimedat something much better."There was a flourish. A quadrille was about to begin, and the crowdflowed back to the sides of the drawing room in order to leave thefloor clear. Bright dresses flitted by and mingled together amidthe dark evening coats, while the intense light set jewels flashingand white plumes quivering and lilacs and roses gleaming andflowering amid the sea of many heads. It was already very warm, anda penetrating perfume was exhaled from light tulles and crumpledsilks and satins, from which bare shoulders glimmered white, whilethe orchestra played its lively airs. Through open doors ranges ofseated ladies were visible in the background of adjoining rooms;they flashed a discreet smile; their eyes glowed, and they madepretty mouths as the breath of their fans caressed their faces. Andguests still kept arriving, and a footman announced their nameswhile gentlemen advanced slowly amid the surrounding groups,striving to find places for ladies, who hung with difficulty ontheir arms, and stretching forward in quest of some far-off vacantarmchair. The house kept filling, and crinolined skirts got jammedtogether with a little rustling sound. There were corners where anamalgam of laces, bunches and puffs would completely bar the way,while all the other ladies stood waiting, politely resigned andimperturbably graceful, as became people who were made to take partin these dazzling crushes. Meanwhile across the garden couples, whohad been glad to escape from the close air of the great drawingroom, were wandering away under the roseate gleam of the Venetianlamps, and shadowy dresses kept flitting along the edge of the lawn,as though in rhythmic time to the music of the quadrille, whichsounded sweet and distant behind the trees.Steiner had just met with Foucarmont and La Faloise, who weredrinking a glass of champagne in front of the buffet."It's beastly smart," said La Faloise as he took a survey of thepurple tent, which was supported by gilded lances. "You might fancyyourself at the Gingerbread Fair. That's it--the Gingerbread Fair!"In these days he continually affected a bantering tone, posing asthe young man who has abused every mortal thing and now findsnothing worth taking seriously."How surprised poor Vandeuvres would be if he were to come back,"murmured Foucarmont. "You remember how he simply nearly died ofboredom in front of the fire in there. Egad, it was no laughingmatter.""Vandeuvres--oh, let him be. He's a gone coon!" La Faloisedisdainfully rejoined. "He jolly well choused himself, he did, ifhe thought he could make us sit up with his roast-meat story! Not asoul mentions it now. Blotted out, done for, buried--that's what'sthe matter with Vandeuvres! Here's to the next man!"Then as Steiner shook hands with him:"You know Nana's just arrived. Oh, my boys, it was a state entry.It was too brilliant for anything! First of all she kissed thecountess. Then when the children came up she gave them her blessingand said to Daguenet, 'Listen, Paul, if you go running after thegirls you'll have to answer for it to me.' What, d'you mean to sayyou didn't see that? Oh, it was smart. A success, if you like!"The other two listened to him, openmouthed, and at last burst outlaughing. He was enchanted and thought himself in his best vein."You thought it had really happened, eh? Confound it, since Nana'smade the match! Anyway, she's one of the family."The young Hugons were passing, and Philippe silenced him. And withthat they chatted about the marriage from the male point of view.Georges was vexed with La Faloise for telling an anecdote.Certainly Nana had fubbed off on Muffat one of her old flames asson-in-law; only it was not true that she had been to bed withDaguenet as lately as yesterday. Foucarmont made bold to shrug hisshoulders. Could anyone ever tell when Nana was in bed with anyone?But Georges grew excited and answered with an "I can tell, sir!"which set them all laughing. In a word, as Steiner put it, it wasall a very funny kettle of fish!The buffet was gradually invaded by the crowd, and, still keepingtogether, they vacated their positions there. La Faloise staredbrazenly at the women as though he believed himself to be Mabille.At the end of a garden walk the little band was surprised to find M.Venot busily conferring with Daguenet, and with that they indulgedin some facile pleasantries which made them very merry. He wasconfessing him, giving him advice about the bridal night! Presentlythey returned in front of one of the drawing-room doors, withinwhich a polka was sending the couples whirling to and fro till theyseemed to leave a wake behind them among the crowd of men whoremained standing about. In the slight puffs of air which came fromoutside the tapers flared up brilliantly, and when a dress floatedby in time to the rat-tat of the measure, a little gust of windcooled the sparkling heat which streamed down from the lusters."Egad, they're not cold in there!" muttered La Faloise.They blinked after emerging from the mysterious shadows of thegarden. Then they pointed out to one another the Marquis de Chouardwhere he stood apart, his tall figure towering over the bareshoulders which surrounded him. His face was pale and very stern,and beneath its crown of scant white hair it wore an expression oflofty dignity. Scandalized by Count Muffat's conduct, he hadpublicly broken off all intercourse with him and was by way of neveragain setting foot in the house. If he had consented to put in anappearance that evening it was because his granddaughter had beggedhim to. But he disapproved of her marriage and had inveighedindignantly against the way in which the government classes werebeing disorganized by the shameful compromises engendered by moderndebauchery."Ah, it's the end of all things," Mme du Joncquoy whispered in MmeChantereau's ear as she sat near the fireplace. "That bad woman hasbewitched the unfortunate man. And to think we once knew him such atrue believer, such a noblehearted gentleman!""It appears he is ruining himself," continued Mme Chantereau. "Myhusband has had a bill of his in his hands. At present he's livingin that house in the Avenue de Villiers; all Paris is talking aboutit. Good heavens! I don't make excuses for Sabine, but you mustadmit that he gives her infinite cause of complaint, and, dear me,if she throws money out of the window, too--""She does not only throw money," interrupted the other. "In fact,between them, there's no knowing where they'll stop; they'll end inthe mire, my dear."But just then a soft voice interrupted them. It was M. Venot, andhe had come and seated himself behind them, as though anxious todisappear from view. Bending forward, he murmured:"Why despair? God manifests Himself when all seems lost."He was assisting peacefully at the downfall of the house which heerewhile governed. Since his stay at Les Fondettes he had beenallowing the madness to increase, for he was very clearly aware ofhis own powerlessness. He had, indeed, accepted the whole position--the count's wild passion for Nana, Fauchery's presence, evenEstelle's marriage with Daguenet. What did these things matter? Heeven became more supple and mysterious, for he nursed a hope ofbeing able to gain the same mastery over the young as over thedisunited couple, and he knew that great disorders lead to greatconversions. Providence would have its opportunity."Our friend," he continued in a low voice, "is always animated bythe best religious sentiments. He has given me the sweetest proofsof this.""Well," said Mme du Joncquoy, "he ought first to have made it upwith his wife.""Doubtless. At this moment I have hopes that the reconciliationwill be shortly effected."Whereupon the two old ladies questioned him.But he grew very humble again. "Heaven," he said, "must be left toact." His whole desire in bringing the count and the countesstogether again was to avoid a public scandal, for religion toleratedmany faults when the proprieties were respected."In fact," resumed Mme du Joncquoy, "you ought to have preventedthis union with an adventurer."The little old gentleman assumed an expression of profoundastonishment. "You deceive yourself. Monsieur Daguenet is a youngman of the greatest merit. I am acquainted with his thoughts; he isanxious to live down the errors of his youth. Estelle will bringhim back to the path of virtue, be sure of that.""Oh, Estelle!" Mme Chantereau murmured disdainfully. "I believe thedear young thing to be incapable of willing anything; she is soinsignificant!"This opinion caused M. Venot to smile. However, he went into noexplanations about the young bride and, shutting his eyes, as thoughto avoid seeming to take any further interest in the matter, he oncemore lost himself in his corner behind the petticoats. Mme Hugon,though weary and absent-minded, had caught some phrases of theconversation, and she now intervened and summed up in her tolerantway by remarking to the Marquis de Chouard, who just then bowed toher:"These ladies are too severe. Existence is so bitter for every oneof us! Ought we not to forgive others much, my friend, if we wishto merit forgiveness ourselves?"For some seconds the marquis appeared embarrassed, for he was afraidof allusions. But the good lady wore so sad a smile that herecovered almost at once and remarked:"No, there is no forgiveness for certain faults. It is by reason ofthis kind of accommodating spirit that a society sinks into theabyss of ruin."The ball had grown still more animated. A fresh quadrille wasimparting a slight swaying motion to the drawing-room floor, asthough the old dwelling had been shaken by the impulse of the dance.Now and again amid the wan confusion of heads a woman's face withshining eyes and parted lips stood sharply out as it was whirledaway by the dance, the light of the lusters gleaming on the whiteskin. Mme du Joncquoy declared that the present proceedings weresenseless. It was madness to crowd five hundred people into a roomwhich would scarcely contain two hundred. In fact, why not sign thewedding contract on the Place du Carrousel? This was the outcome ofthe new code of manners, said Mme Chantereau. In old times thesesolemnities took place in the bosom of the family, but today onemust have a mob of people; the whole street must be allowed to enterquite freely, and there must be a great crush, or else the eveningseems a chilly affair. People now advertised their luxury andintroduced the mere foam on the wave of Parisian society into theirhouses, and accordingly it was only too natural if illicitproceedings such as they had been discussing afterward polluted thehearth. The ladies complained that they could not recognize morethan fifty people. Where did all this crowd spring from? Younggirls with low necks were making a great display of their shoulders.A woman had a golden dagger stuck in her chignon, while a bodicethickly embroidered with jet beads clothed her in what looked like acoat of mail. People's eyes kept following another lady smilingly,so singularly marked were her clinging skirts. All the luxuriantsplendor of the departing winter was there--the overtolerant worldof pleasure, the scratch gathering a hostess can get together aftera first introduction, the sort of society, in fact, in which greatnames and great shames jostle together in the same fierce quest ofenjoyment. The heat was increasing, and amid the overcrowded roomsthe quadrille unrolled the cadenced symmetry of its figures."Very smart--the countess!" La Faloise continued at the garden door."She's ten years younger than her daughter. By the by, Foucarmont,you must decide on a point. Vandeuvres once bet that she had nothighs."This affectation of cynicism bored the other gentlemen, andFoucarmont contented himself by saying:"Ask your cousin, dear boy. Here he is.""Jove, it's a happy thought!" cried La Faloise. "I bet ten louisshe has thighs."Fauchery did indeed come up. As became a constant inmate of thehouse, he had gone round by the dining room in order to avoid thecrowded doors. Rose had taken him up again at the beginning of thewinter, and he was now dividing himself between the singer and thecountess, but he was extremely fatigued and did not know how to getrid of one of them. Sabine flattered his vanity, but Rose amusedhim more than she. Besides, the passion Rose felt was a real one:her tenderness for him was marked by a conjugal fidelity which droveMignon to despair."Listen, we want some information," said La Faloise as he squeezedhis cousin's arm. "You see that lady in white silk?"Ever since his inheritance had given him a kind of insolent dash ofmanner he had affected to chaff Fauchery, for he had an old grudgeto satisfy and wanted to be revenged for much bygone raillery,dating from the days when he was just fresh from his nativeprovince."Yes, that lady with the lace."The journalist stood on tiptoe, for as yet he did not understand."The countess?" he said at last."Exactly, my good friend. I've bet ten louis--now, has she thighs?"And he fell a-laughing, for he was delighted to have succeeded insnubbing a fellow who had once come heavily down on him for askingwhether the countess slept with anyone. But Fauchery, withoutshowing the very slightest astonishment, looked fixedly at him."Get along, you idiot!" he said finally as he shrugged hisshoulders.Then he shook hands with the other gentlemen, while La Faloise, inhis discomfiture, felt rather uncertain whether he had saidsomething funny. The men chatted. Since the races the banker andFoucarmont had formed part of the set in the Avenue de Villiers.Nana was going on much better, and every evening the count came andasked how she did. Meanwhile Fauchery, though he listened, seemedpreoccupied, for during a quarrel that morning Rose had roundlyconfessed to the sending of the letter. Oh yes, he might presenthimself at his great lady's house; he would be well received! Afterlong hesitation he had come despite everything--out of sheercourage. But La Faloise's imbecile pleasantry had upset him inspite of his apparent tranquillity."What's the matter?" asked Philippe. "You seem in trouble.""I do? Not at all. I've been working: that's why I came so late."Then coldly, in one of those heroic moods which, although unnoticed,are wont to solve the vulgar tragedies of existence:"All the same, I haven't made my bow to our hosts. One must becivil."He even ventured on a joke, for he turned to La Faloise and said:"Eh, you idiot?"And with that he pushed his way through the crowd. The valet's fullvoice was no longer shouting out names, but close to the door thecount and countess were still talking, for they were detained byladies coming in. At length he joined them, while the gentlemen whowere still on the garden steps stood on tiptoe so as to watch thescene. Nana, they thought, must have been chattering."The count hasn't noticed him," muttered Georges. "Look out! He'sturning round; there, it's done!"The band had again taken up the waltz in the Blonde Venus. Faucheryhad begun by bowing to the countess, who was still smiling inecstatic serenity. After which he had stood motionless a moment,waiting very calmly behind the count's back. That evening thecount's deportment was one of lofty gravity: he held his head high,as became the official and the great dignitary. And when at last helowered his gaze in the direction of the journalist he seemed stillfurther to emphasize the majesty of his attitude. For some secondsthe two men looked at one another. It was Fauchery who firststretched out his hand. Muffat gave him his. Their hands remainedclasped, and the Countess Sabine with downcast eyes stood smilingbefore them, while the waltz continually beat out its mocking,vagabond rhythm."But the thing's going on wheels!" said Steiner."Are their hands glued together?" asked Foucarmont, surprised atthis prolonged clasp. A memory he could not forget brought a faintglow to Fanchery's pale cheeks, and in his mind's eye he saw theproperty room bathed in greenish twilight and filled with dustybric-a-brac. And Muffat was there, eggcup in hand, making a cleveruse of his suspicions. At this moment Muffat was no longersuspicious, and the last vestige of his dignity was crumbling inruin. Fauchery's fears were assuaged, and when he saw the frankgaiety of the countess he was seized with a desire to laugh. Thething struck him as comic."Aha, here she is at last!" cried La Faloise, who did not abandon ajest when he thought it a good one. "D'you see Nana coming in overthere?""Hold your tongue, do, you idiot!" muttered Philippe."But I tell you, it is Nana! They're playing her waltz for her, byJove! She's making her entry. And she takes part in thereconciliation, the devil she does! What? You don't see her?She's squeezing all three of 'em to her heart--my cousin Fauchery,my lady cousin and her husband, and she's calling 'em her dearkitties. Oh, those family scenes give me a turn!"Estelle had come up, and Fauchery complimented her while she stoodstiffly up in her rose-colored dress, gazing at him with theastonished look of a silent child and constantly glancing aside ather father and mother. Daguenet, too, exchanged a hearty shake ofthe hand with the journalist. Together they made up a smilinggroup, while M. Venot came gliding in behind them. He gloated overthem with a beatified expression and seemed to envelop them in hispious sweetness, for he rejoiced in these last instances of self-abandonment which were preparing the means of grace.But the waltz still beat out its swinging, laughing, voluptuousmeasure; it was like a shrill continuation of the life of pleasurewhich was beating against the old house like a rising tide. Theband blew louder trills from their little flutes; their violins sentforth more swooning notes. Beneath the Genoa velvet hangings, thegilding and the paintings, the lusters exhaled a living heat and agreat glow of sunlight, while the crowd of guests, multiplied in thesurrounding mirrors, seemed to grow and increase as the murmur ofmany voices rose ever louder. The couples who whirled round thedrawing room, arm about waist, amid the smiles of the seated ladies,still further accentuated the quaking of the floors. In the gardena dull, fiery glow fell from the Venetian lanterns and threw adistant reflection of flame over the dark shadows moving in searchof a breath of air about the walks at its farther end. And thistrembling of walls and this red glow of light seemed to betoken agreat ultimate conflagration in which the fabric of an ancient honorwas cracking and burning on every side. The shy early beginnings ofgaiety, of which Fauchery one April evening had heard the vocalexpression in the sound of breaking glass, had little by littlegrown bolder, wilder, till they had burst forth in this festival.Now the rift was growing; it was crannying the house and announcingapproaching downfall. Among drunkards in the slums it is blackmisery, an empty cupboard, which put an end to ruined families; itis the madness of drink which empties the wretched beds. Here thewaltz tune was sounding the knell of an old race amid the suddenlyignited ruins of accumulated wealth, while Nana, although unseen,stretched her lithe limbs above the dancers' heads and sentcorruption through their caste, drenching the hot air with theferment of her exhalations and the vagabond lilt of the music.On the evening after the celebration of the church marriage CountMuffat made his appearance in his wife's bedroom, where he had notentered for the last two years. At first, in her great surprise,the countess drew back from him. But she was still smiling theintoxicated smile which she now always wore. He began stammering inextreme embarrassment; whereupon she gave him a short moral lecture.However, neither of them risked a decisive explanation. It wasreligion, they pretended, which required this process of mutualforgiveness, and they agreed by a tacit understanding to retaintheir freedom. Before going to bed, seeing that the countess stillappeared to hesitate, they had a business conversation, and thecount was the first to speak of selling the Bordes. She consentedat once. They both stood in great want of money, and they wouldshare and share alike. This completed the reconciliation, andMuffat, remorseful though he was, felt veritably relieved.That very day, as Nana was dozing toward two in the afternoon, Zoemade so bold as to knock at her bedroom door. The curtains weredrawn to, and a hot breath of wind kept blowing through a windowinto the fresh twilight stillness within. During these last daysthe young woman had been getting up and about again, but she wasstill somewhat weak. She opened her eyes and asked:"Who is it?"Zoe was about to reply, but Daguenet pushed by her and announcedhimself in person. Nana forthwith propped herself up on her pillowand, dismissing the lady's maid:"What! Is that you?" she cried. "On the day of your marriage?What can be the matter?"Taken aback by the darkness, he stood still in the middle of theroom. However, he grew used to it and came forward at last. He wasin evening dress and wore a white cravat and gloves."Yes, to be sure, it's me!" he said. "You don't remember?"No, she remembered nothing, and in his chaffing way he had to offerhimself frankly to her."Come now, here's your commission. I've brought you the handsel ofmy innocence!"And with that, as he was now by the bedside, she caught him in herbare arms and shook with merry laughter and almost cried, shethought it so pretty of him."Oh, that Mimi, how funny he is! He's thought of it after all! Andto think I didn't remember it any longer! So you've slipped off;you're just out of church. Yes, certainly, you've got a scent ofincense about you. But kiss me, kiss me! Oh, harder than that,Mimi dear! Bah! Perhaps it's for the last time."In the dim room, where a vague odor of ether still lingered, theirtender laughter died away suddenly. The heavy, warm breeze swelledthe window curtains, and children's voices were audible in theavenue without. Then the lateness of the hour tore them asunder andset them joking again. Daguenet took his departure with his wifedirectly after the breakfast.