Complete Works of Emile Zola (455 page)

Little by little the hall gradually filled. Gentlemen calmly halted and examined the stall-holders, as though the latter formed part of the goods for sale. Fashionably dressed young fellows crowded round certain stalls, laughing and flirting, while the lady-sellers flitted from one to another with inexhaustible complacence, offering all their wares in turn with the same charming expression. It seemed quite an enjoyment to them. Sales by auction could be heard pro­ceeding, interrupted by joyous peals of laughter, amid the low tramping over the sanded floor. The crimson hangings softened the bright light from the lofty windows, and diffused a ruddy glow, which here and there set a pinky touch on the stall-holders’ bare necks and shoulders. And in the space between the stalls six other ladies, a baroness, two bankers’ daughters, and the wives of three high officials, threaded their way among the public with light baskets hanging from their necks. These darted upon each new arrival, crying cigars and matches.

However, Madame de Combelot met with particular suc­cess. She was the flower girl, and sat on a high seat in the rose-crammed kiosk, a carved and gilded affair which looked like a great pigeon-cote. She was dressed in a tight-fitting rose-coloured dress, the corsage of which was very low. And she wore no jewellery, but simply the regulation bunch of violets nestling on her bosom. To make herself as much like a genuine flower-girl as possible, it had occurred to her to tie up her bouquets in public, holding the wire between her teeth and twisting it round a full-blown rose, a bud, and three leaves, which she sold at prices ranging from one to ten louis, accord­ing to the appearance of her customers. And her bouquets were in such demand that she could not make them quickly enough, while every now and then she pricked herself in her haste and quickly sucked the blood from her fingers.

In the canvas tent opposite the flower stall pretty Madame Bouchard presided over the lucky-wheel. She was wearing a charming blue peasant-costume, high waisted and with a
fichu-
shaped bodice; indeed almost a disguise which gave her quite the appearance of a vendor of cakes and gingerbread. She also affected a pretty lisp and a guileless air which was very original. Over the lucky-wheel were displayed the dif­ferent prizes; some hideous trifles in leather, glass, and china, worth four or five sous apiece. And every few moments, whenever there was a lack of patrons, Madame Bouchard called out, in her pretty innocent voice, which suggested some simple Susan fresh from her village: ‘Try your luck, gentle­men! Only twenty sous a time! Try your luck, gentle­men!’

The refreshment room, which, like the larger hall, had its floor sanded and its corners decorated with rare plants, was furnished with little round tables and cane-seated chairs. It had been made to resemble a café as much as possible. At one end, behind a massive counter, were three ladies who fanned themselves while waiting for orders. Decanters of
liqueurs,
plates of cakes and sandwiches, sweetmeats, cigars and cigarettes, were set out in front of them, recalling the kind of display which one sees at the buffets of questionable dancing saloons. Every few moments the lady in the middle, a dark and petulant Countess, rose and bent forward to pour out a glass of something or other, seeming quite bewildered amidst all those decanters, and dashing her bare arms about at the risk of breaking everything. It was Clorinde, how­ever, who was the real queen of the buffet. It was she who handed the customers the refreshments they ordered, when they sat down at the little tables. She looked like Juno masquerading as a waiting-maid. She wore a yellow satin robe slashed slant-wise with black satin, a dazzling, extraor­dinary arrangement which suggested a blazing star with a comet’s tail sweeping after it. Her bodice was cut very low, and she sailed about majestically amidst the cane-seated chairs, carrying her glasses on a pewter tray with all the serenity of a goddess. Her bare elbows brushed against the men’s shoulders, and her bosom showed conspicuously as she bent down to take their orders, evincing no haste as she did so, but answering every one with a smile, apparently quite at her ease. When the refreshments had been consumed, she received in her queenly hand the silver and copper coins tendered in payment, and, with a gesture that had already become familiar to her, dropped them into a bag hanging from her waist.

At last M. Kahn and M. Béjuin came into the buffet and sat down. The former jocosely rapped the zinc table at which he installed himself just as he might have done at a café, and called: ‘Two beers, madame.’

Clorinde hastened up, served the two glasses of beer, and then remained standing near the table, to snatch a little rest, as just then there happened to be very few customers. And while she wiped her fingers on which some beer had trickled, M. Kahn noticed the peculiar brightness of her eyes, the expression of triumph with which her whole face shone. He blinked at her for a moment, and then asked: ‘When did you get back from Fontainebleau?’

‘This morning,’ she replied.

‘You’ve seen the Emperor, then, I suppose? Well, what is the news?’

Clorinde smiled, compressed her lips in a peculiar fashion, and then in her turn looked at M. Kahn. The latter there­upon noticed that she was wearing an eccentric ornament which he had never seen before. It was a dog-collar en­circling her bare neck; a real dog-collar of black velvet, with buckle, ring and bell. The bell was of gold, and a pearl tinkled inside it. Upon the collar there were two names in letters of diamonds, oddly twisted and interlaced. And from the ring a thick gold chain fell over her bosom, and then rose again, ending in a gold plate fastened to her right arm, on which were these words:
I belong to my master.

‘Is that a present?’ softly asked M. Kahn, pointing to the ornament.

Clorinde nodded assent, still keeping her lips compressed with a cunning, sensual expression. She had desired this ser­vitude and she paraded it with shameless serenity, as though she felt honoured by a sovereign’s choice, an object of envy to every other woman. When she had made her appearance with this collar round her neck, on which the keen eyes of rivals fancied they could decipher an illustrious name interlaced with her own, every woman present had understood the truth, and had exchanged significant glances with her acquaintances. However, business in the refreshment room was suddenly becoming brisk. ‘A glass of beer, madame, please,’ said a fat gentleman wearing a decoration — a general — as he looked at Clorinde smiling.

When she had brought the beer, two deputies asked her for some Chartreuse. A crowd was now pouring into the buffet, and orders were given on all sides for liqueurs, lemonade, biscuits, and cigars. And the men, while staring at Clorinde, repeated in whispers the various stories which were current. For her part she turned her neck in all serenity, the better indeed to show her dog-collar and the heavy gold chain which tinkled as she moved. That she had been a queen of the left hand imparted additional piquancy to her present assumption of the part of a waiting-maid, who, answering every one’s beck and call, dragged statuesque feet — which had been passion­ately kissed by august moustaches — over the floor of a mock café, amongst pieces of lemon-peel and biscuit-crumbs.

‘It’s really quite amusing,’ the young woman said, as she came back and stood by M. Kahn. ‘One of the gentlemen actually gave me a pinch just now! But I didn’t say any­thing. What would have been the good? It’s all for the sake of the poor, isn’t it?’

M. Kahn motioned to her to stoop, and when she had done so, he whispered: ‘Well, what about Rougon?’

‘Hush! You’ll know everything soon,’ she replied, in equally low tones. ‘I have sent him an invitation card, and I am expecting his arrival.’ Then, as M. Kahn wagged his head, she added, with animation: ‘Yes, yes, I know him, I’m sure he’ll come. And besides he knows nothing of what has happened.’

M. Kahn and M. Béjuin then began to look out anxiously for Rougon’s appearance. They could see the whole of the large hall through the opening in the curtains. The crowd there was increasing every minute. On the circular settee several men were lounging with their knees crossed and their eyes sleepily closed, while a continual flow of visitors brushed against their feet as it streamed past. The heat was becoming excessive; and the hubbub grew ever louder in the roseate haze that floated over the forest of black silk hats. Every few moments, too, the grating, rattling sound of the lucky-wheel could be heard.

Madame Correur, who had just arrived, was going slowly round the stalls. She looked very fat, in her gown of grena­dine striped white and mauve; and there was a shrewd expression on her face, the calculating air of the customer who looks about her with the intention of making some advantageous bargain. There were plenty of such to be made, she said, at these charitable bazaars, for the ladies often did not know the value of their wares. However, she never bought anything of such stall-holders as were friends of her own, for they always tried to take advantage of her. When she had been all round the hall, moving the different goods about, examining them and putting them back in their places again, she returned to a stall where some fancy articles in leather were displayed for sale, and here she remained for fully ten minutes turning everything over with an air of per­plexity. At last, she carelessly took up a Russian leather pocket-book, on which she had really cast her eyes a quarter of an hour previously.

‘How much?’ she asked.

The stall-holder, a tall, fair, young woman, who was joking with two gentlemen, scarcely turned as she replied: ‘Fifteen francs.’

The pocket-book was worth at least twenty. These ladies, who contended with each other in wresting extravagant prices from the men, generally sold their goods to visitors of their own sex at cost price, actuated in the matter by a sort of free­masonry. Madame Correur, however, laid the pocket-book on the stall again, and put on an expression of alarm. ‘Oh, it is too expensive,’ she said. ‘I want something for a present, but I don’t wish to give more than ten francs. Have you got anything nice for ten francs?’

Then she began to turn all the goods over again. Nothing, however, seemed to suit her. What a pity it was that the pocket-book was so dear! She took it up again and poked her nose into the pockets, whereupon the stall-holder, growing impatient, at last offered to sell it to her for fourteen francs, and then for twelve. That, however, was still too much, according to Madame Correur, who, after much keen bargain­ing, succeeded in getting it for eleven.

‘I prefer selling things if I can,’ said the tall young woman. ‘All the ladies bargain and not one of them buys anything. If it weren’t for the gentlemen I don’t know what we should do!’

As Madame Correur went off she had the satisfaction of finding inside the pocket-book a ticket denoting that the real price was twenty-five francs. Then she strolled about again, and finally installed herself behind the lucky-wheel, by the side of Madame Bouchard, whom she called her ‘pet,’ and whose side curls she began to arrange.

‘Ah! here comes the colonel!’ suddenly exclaimed M. Kahn, who was still sitting in the refreshment room with his eyes fixed upon the entrance.

The colonel had come because he could not very well help doing so. He hoped, however, to get off with the expenditure of a louis, though the thought of even that small outlay was already making his heart bleed. As soon as he made his appearance he was surrounded and attacked by three or four ladies, who repeated: ‘Buy a cigar of me, monsieur! A box of matches, monsieur!’

The colonel smiled, and politely extricated himself from their skirts. Then he looked round him and coming to the conclusion that he had better spend his money at once, he went up to a stall presided over by a lady high in favour at Court, of whom he inquired the price of a very ugly cigar-case. Seventy-five francs! The colonel could not suppress a gesture of alarm, and dropping the cigar-case he hurriedly escaped; while the lady, flushing red and feeling offended, turned her head away as though he had been guilty of some shocking impropriety in her presence. Then the colonel, desirous of preventing any unpleasant comments, went up to the kiosk where Madame de Combelot was still manufacturing her little bouquets. These, at any rate, could not be so very expensive; he thought. However, he would not even venture upon the purchase of a bouquet, for he felt sure that Madame de Combelot would put a fairly good price upon her handi­work; so from amongst the heap of roses he chose a cankered bud, the poorest and most insignificant he could see.

‘What is the price of this flower, madame?’ he then in­quired, with a great show of politeness, as he took out his purse.

‘A hundred francs, monsieur,’ replied the lady, who had been stealthily watching his manœuvres.

The colonel began to stammer, and his hands trembled. This time, however, he felt that retreat was impossible. There were several people watching him. So he reluctantly paid his money and then sought refuge in the refreshment room.

‘It is an abominable swindle, an abominable swindle!’ he muttered, as he took a seat at M. Kahn’s table.

‘You haven’t seen anything of Rougon in the hall, have you?’ asked M. Kahn.

The colonel made no reply. He was casting furious side­long glances at the stall-holders. Then, hearing M. d’Esco­railles and M. La Rouquette laughing loudly in front of one of the stalls, he ground out between his teeth: ‘Ah! it’s all very well for those young fellows! They manage to get something for their money!’

M. d’Escorailles and M. La Rouquette certainly seemed to be amusing themselves. The ladies at the stalls were strug­gling to get possession of them. As soon as they had made their appearance, all hands had beckoned to them and they were called on every side: ‘Monsieur d’Escorailles, you know that you promised me — ‘ ‘Now, Monsieur La Rouquette, do buy this little horse of me! No? Well, you shall buy a doll, then! Yes, a doll: a doll’s exactly what you want!’

The two young men were walking arm in arm for mutual protection as they playfully asserted. They advanced radiant, enraptured through the attacking battalion of petticoats, greeted with a caressing chorus of sweet voices. Every now and then they disappeared amidst a wave of bare shoulders, against which they pretended to defend themselves with little cries of alarm. And at every stall they allowed themselves to be attacked. Then they began to affect miserliness and to assume the most comical expressions of surprise. What! a louis for a doll that wasn’t worth more than a sou! Oh, that was quite beyond their means! Two louis for three pencils! What! did the ladies want to reduce them to starvation? The ladies were immensely amused and their pretty laughter rippled on in flute-like strains. They grew keener than ever, quite intoxicated by the shower of gold raining around them, and trebled and quadrupled their prices in their craving for plunder. They passed the young men on from stall to stall with significant winks; and such remarks as ‘I’ll squeeze them well!’ or ‘You can stick it on with them!’ were bandied about; remarks which the two young fellows heard and acknowledged with playful bows. Behind them the ladies triumphed and boasted one to the other. The cleverest and most envied was a girl of eighteen, who had sold one of them a stick of sealing wax for three louis. However, when they at last reached the end of the hall and a lady insisted upon for­cing a box of soap into M. d’Escorailles’ pocket, he shook his purse before her face, saying: ‘But I haven’t a copper left. Shall I give you a promissory note for the money?’