Complete Works of Emile Zola (735 page)

“What is the matter with him?” murmured Madame Aurélie, quite overcome by his reproaches.

And the young ladies looked at each other with a surprised air. At six o’clock the stock-taking was finished. The sun was still shining — a blonde summer sun, of which the golden reflection streamed through the glazed roofs of the halls. In the heavy air of the streets, tired families were already returning from the suburbs, loaded with bouquets, dragging their children along. One by one, the departments had become silent. Nothing was now heard in the depths of the galleries but the lingering calls of a few men clearing a last shelf. Then even these voices ceased, and there remained of the bustle of the day nothing but a shivering, above the formidable piles of goods. The shelves, cupboards, boxes, and band-boxes, were now empty: not a yard of stuff, not an object of any sort had remained in its place. The vast establishment presented nothing but the carcase of its usual appearance, the woodwork was absolutely bare, as on the day of entering into possession. This nakedness was the visible proof of the complete and exact taking of the stock. And on the ground was sixteen million francs’ worth of goods, a rising sea, which had finished by submerging the tables and counters. The shopmen, drowned up to the shoulders, had commenced to put each article back into its place. They expected to finish about ten o’clock.

When Madame Aurélie, who went to the first dinner, returned to the dining room, she announced the amount of business done during the year, which the totals of the various departments had just given. The figure was eighty million francs, ten millions more than the preceding year. The only real decrease was on the fancy silks.

“If Monsieur Mouret is not satisfied, I should like to know what more he wants,” added the first-hand. “See! he’s over there, at the top of the grand staircase, looking furious.”

The young ladies went to look at him. He was standing alone, with a sombre countenance, above the millions scattered at his feet.

“Madame,” said Denise, at this moment, “would you kindly let me go away now? I can’t do any more good on account of my foot, and as I am to dine at my uncle’s with my brothers.”

They were all astonished. She had not yielded, then! Madame Aurélie hesitated, and seemed inclined to prohibit her going out, her voice sharp and disagreeable; whilst Clara shrugged her shoulders, full of incredulity. That wouldn’t do! it was very simple — the governor no longer wanted her! When Pauline learnt this, she was in the baby-linen department with Deloche, and the sudden joy exhibited by the young, man made her very angry. That did him a lot of good, didn’t it? Perhaps he was pleased to see that his friend had been stupid enough to miss a fortune? And Bourdoncle, who did not dare to approach Mouret in his ferocious isolation, marched up and down amidst these rumors, in despair also, and full of anxiety. However, Denise went downstairs. As she arrived at the bottom of the left-hand staircase, slowly, supporting herself by the banister, she came upon a group of grinning salesmen. Her name was pronounced, and she felt that they were talking about her adventure. They had not noticed her.

“Oh! all that’s put on, you know,” Favier was saying. “She’s full of vice! Yes, I know someone she wanted to take by force.”

And he looked at Hutin, who, in order to preserve his dignity as second-hand, was standing a certain distance apart, without joining in their conversation. But he was so flattered by the air of envy with which the others were contemplating him, that he deigned to murmur: “She was a regular nuisance to me, that girl!”

Denise, wounded to the heart, clung to the banister. They must have seen her, for they all disappeared, laughing. He was right, she thought, and she accused herself of her former ignorance, when she used to think about him. But what a coward he was, and how she scorned him now! A great trouble had seized her: was it not strange that she should have found the strength just now to repulse a man whom she adored, when she used to feel herself so feeble in bygone days before this worthless fellow, whom she had only dreamed off? Her sense of reason and her bravery foundered before these contradictions of her being, in which she could not read clearly. She hastened to cross the hall. Then a sort of instinct prompted her to raise her head, whilst an inspector opened the door, closed since the morning. And she perceived Mouret, who was still at the top of the stairs, on the great central landing, dominating the gallery. But he had forgotten the stock-taking, he did not see his empire, this building bursting with riches. Everything had disappeared, his former glorious victories, his future colossal fortune. With a desponding look he was watching Denise’s departure, and when she had passed the door everything disappeared, a darkness came over the house.

CHAPTER XI

That day Bouthemont was the first to arrive at Madame Desforges’s four o’clock tea. Still alone in her large Louis XVI. drawing-room, the brasses and brocatelle of which shone out with a clear gaiety, the latter rose with an air of impatience, saying, “Well?”

“Well,” replied the young man, “when I told him I should doubtless call on you he formally promised me to come.”

“You made him thoroughly understand that I counted on the baron today?”

“Certainly. That’s what appeared to decide him.”

They were speaking of Mouret, who the year before had suddenly taken such a liking to Bouthemont that he had admitted him to share his pleasures, and had even introduced him to Henriette, glad to have an agreeable fellow always at hand to enliven an intimacy of which he was getting tired. It was thus that Bouthemont had ultimately become the confidant of his governor and of the handsome widow; he did their little errands, talked of the one to the other, and sometimes reconciled them. Henriette, in her jealous fits, abandoned herself to a familiarity which sometimes surprised and embarrassed him, for she lost all her lady-like prudence, using all her art to save appearances.

She resumed violently, “You ought to have brought him. I should have been sure then.”

“Well,” said he, with a good-natured laugh, “it isn’t my fault if he escapes so frequently now. Oh! he’s very fond of me, all the same. Were it not for him I should be in a bad way at the shop.”

His situation at The Ladies’ Paradise was really menaced since the last stock-taking. It was in vain that he adduced the rainy season; one could not overlook the considerable stock of fancy silks; and as Hutin was improving the occasion, undermining him with the governors with an increase of sly rage, he felt the ground cracking under him. Mouret had condemned him, weary, no doubt, of this witness who prevent him breaking with Henriette, tired of a familiarity which was profitless. But, in accordance with his usual tactics, he was pushing Bourdoncle forward; it was Bourdoncle and the other partners who insisted on his dismissal at each board-meeting; whilst he resisted still, according to his account, defending his friend energetically, at the risk of getting into serious trouble with the others.

“Well, I shall wait,” resumed Madame Desforges. “You know that girl is coming here at five o’clock, I want to see them face to face. I must discover their secret.”

And she returned to this long-meditated plan. She repeated in her fever that she had requested Madame Aurélie to send her Denise to look at a mantle which fitted badly. When she had once got the young girl in her room, she would find a means of calling Mouret, and could then act. Bouthemont, who had sat down opposite her, was gazing at her with his fine laughing eyes, which he endeavored to render grave. This jovial, dissipated fellow, with his coal-black beard, whose warm Gascon blood empurpled his cheeks, was thinking that these fine ladies were not much good, and that they let out a nice lot of secrets, when they opened their hearts. His friend’s mistresses, simple shop-girls, certainly never made more complete confessions.

“Come,” he ventured to say at last, “what does that matter to you? I swear to you there is nothing whatever between them.”

“Just so,” cried she, “because he loves her! I don’t care in the least for the others, chance acquaintances, friends of a day!”

She spoke of Clara with disdain. She was well aware that Mouret, after Denise’s refusal, had fallen back on this tall, red-haired girl, with the horse’s head, doubtless by calculation; for he maintained her in the department, loading her with presents. Not only that, for the last three months he had been leading a terrible life, squandering his money with a prodigality which caused a great many remarks; he had bought a mansion for a worthless actress, and was being ruined by two or three other jades, who seemed to be struggling to outdo each other in costly, stupid caprices.

“It’s this creature’s fault,” repeated Henriette. “I feel sure he’s ruining himself with the others because she repulses him. Besides, what’s his money to me? I should have loved him better poor. You know how I love him, you who have become our friend.”

She stopped, choked, ready to burst into tears; and with a movement of abandon she held out her two hands to him. It was true, she adored Mouret for his youth and his triumphs, never had any man thus conquered her so entirely in a quiver of her flesh and of her pride; but at the thought of losing him, she also heard the knell of her fortieth year, and she asked herself with terror how she should replace this great love.

“I’ll have my revenge,” murmured she. “I’ll have my revenge, if he behaves badly!”

Bouthemont continued to hold her hands in his. She was still handsome. But she would be a very awkward mistress, thought he, and he did not like that style of woman. The thing, however, deserved thinking over; perhaps it would be worthwhile risking certain annoyances.

“Why don’t you set up for yourself?” she asked all at once, drawing her hands away.

He was astonished. Then he replied: “But it would require an immense sum. Last year I had an idea in my head. I feel convinced that there are customers enough in Paris for one or two more big shops; but the district would have to be chosen. The Bon Marché has the left side of the river; the Louvre occupies the centre; we monopolize, at The Paradise, the rich west-end district. There remains the north, where a rival to the Place Clichy could be created. And I had discovered a splendid position, near the Opera House.”

“Well?”

He set up a noisy laugh. “Just fancy. I was stupid enough to go and talk to my father about it. Yes, I was simple enough to ask him to find some shareholders at Toulouse.”

And he gaily described the anger of the old man, enraged against the great Parisian bazaars, in his little country shop. Old Bouthemont, suffocated by the thirty thousand francs a year earned by his son, had replied that he would give his money and that of his friends to the hospitals rather than contribute a sou to one of those shops which were the pests of the drapery business.

“Besides,” continued the young man, “it would require millions.”

“Suppose they were found?” observed Madame Desforges, simply.

He looked at her, serious all at once. Was it not merely a jealous woman’s word? But she did not give him time to question her, adding: “In short, you know what a great interest I take in you. We’ll talk about it again.”

The outer bell had rung. She got up, and he, himself, with an instinctive movement, drew back his chair, as if they might have been surprised. A silence reigned in the drawing-room, with its pretty hangings, and decorated with such a profusion of green plants that there was quite a small wood between the two windows. She stood there waiting, with her ear towards the door.

“There he is,” she murmured.

The footman announced Monsieur Mouret and Monsieur de Vallagnosc. Henriette could not restrain a movement of anger. Why had he not come alone? He must have gone after his friend, fearful of a tête-à-tête with her. However, she smiled and shook hands with the two men.

“What a stranger you are getting. I may say the same for you, Monsieur de Vallagnosc.”

Her great grief was to be becoming stout, and she squeezed herself into tight black silk dresses, to conceal her increasing obesity. However, her pretty face, with her dark hair, preserved its amiable expression. And Mouret could familiarly tell her, enveloping her with a look:

“It’s useless to ask how you are. You are as fresh as a rose.”

“Oh! I’m almost too well,” replied she. “Besides, I might have died; you would have known nothing about it.”

She was examining him also, and thought him looking tired and nervous, his eyes heavy, his complexion livid.

“Well,” she resumed, in a tone which she endeavored to render agreeable, “I cannot return the compliment; you don’t look at all well today.”

“Overwork!” remarked De Vallagnosc.

Mouret shrugged his shoulders, without replying. He had just perceived Bouthemont, and nodded to him in a friendly way. During the time of their close intimacy he used to take him away direct from the department, bringing him to Henriette’s during the busiest moments of the afternoon. But times had changed; he said to him in a half whisper:

“You went away rather early. They noticed your departure, and are furious about it.”

He referred to Bourdoncle and the other persons who had an interest in the business, as if he were not himself the master.

“Ah!” murmured Bouthemont, rather anxious.

“Yes, I want to talk to you. Wait for me, we’ll leave together.”

Meanwhile, Henriette had sat down again; and while listening to De Vallagnosc, who was announcing that Madame de Boves would probably pay her a visit, she did not take her eyes off Mouret. The latter, silent again, gazed at the furniture, seemed to be looking for something on the ceiling. Then as she laughingly complained that she had only gentlemen at her four o’clock tea, he so far forgot himself as to blurt out:

“I expected to find Baron Hartmann here.”

Henriette turned pale. No doubt she knew he came to her house solely to meet the baron; but he might have avoided throwing his indifference in her face like this. At that moment the door had opened and the footman was standing behind her. When she had interrogated him by a sign, he leant over her and said in a very low tone: