“Oh! Look, Zoé, what a lot of grass! Is that corn, do you think? Heavens! how lovely!”
“It is very plain that madame has never been in the country,” the maid ended by saying in a surly tone of voice. “I had only too much of the country when I was at the dentist’s, who had a house at Bougival. It’s very chilly, too, this evening. Besides, the air is damp about here.”
They were passing beneath some trees. Nana sniffed at the scent of the leaves like a young dog. Suddenly, on the road taking a turn, she caught sight of the corner of a house amidst the trees. Perhaps that was it; so she recommenced questioning the driver, who again said “No” with a shake of the head. Then, as they descended the hill on the other side, he contented himself with pointing his whip, murmuring:
“There it is over there.”
She jumped up and looked ahead. “Where? where?” cried she, very pale and not distinguishing anything. At length she noticed a bit of a wall. Then she sang and jumped for joy, like a woman quite overcome by a powerful emotion.
“Zoé, I see it, I see it! Look, on the other side. Oh! on the roof there’s a sort of little terrace with some bricks. Over there there’s a conservatory! Oh! but it’s an enormous place. Oh! I am so pleased! Look, Zoé, look!”
The carriage had stopped in front of the iron gates. A little side door was opened, and the gardener, a tall thin fellow, appeared holding his cap in his hand. Nana tried to look dignified, for the driver already seemed to be laughing inwardly, though his lips were tightly compressed together. She restrained herself from running, and listened to the gardener, a very talkative one by the way, who begged madame to excuse the place being a little untidy, as he had only received her letter that very morning; but, in spite of her efforts, she seemed to be lifted from the earth, and walked so fast that Zoé could not keep up with her. At the end of the path she stopped for an instant to take a look at the house. It was a large building in the Italian style, flanked by a smaller structure, and had been erected by a rich Englishman who had resided for two years at Naples; he had, however, soon taken a dislike to it.
“I will show madame over the premises,” said the gardener.
But Nana, who was some distance ahead, called to him not to trouble himself, she would look at everything by herself, she preferred that; and, without taking off her bonnet, she ran about the rooms, calling to Zoé, giving her opinion about everything, and filling with her shouts and her laughter the vacuum of that house which had remained uninhabited for so many long months. First, there was the hall; it was rather damp, but that did not matter, no one would have to sleep there. Then the drawing-room, which was splendid with its large windows opening on to the lawn; only, the red-covered furniture was frightful, she would have it altered. As for the dining-room, it was simply magnificent. And what parties one could give at Paris if one only had a dining-room of that size! As she was going up to the first floor she recollected that she had not seen the kitchen; she went down again, uttering all kinds of exclamations, and Zoé had to admire the beauty of the sink and the magnitude of the fire-place, which was large enough to roast a sheep. When she had gone up-stairs again, her bedroom especially enraptured her—it had been hung with pale rose-coloured cretonne, style of Louis XVI., by an upholsterer from Orleans. Well, one ought to sleep well in there, it was quite a school-girls’ nest! There were also four or five other bed-rooms for guests, and some magnificent attics, which would be very useful for the trunks. Zoé, looking very sulky, just glanced coldly into each room, and kept a long way behind madame. She watched her disappear at the top of the steep ladder which led to the roof. Thank you for nothing! she didn’t want to break her legs. But the sound of a voice reached her from afar off, as though coming down a chimney.
“Zoé! Zoé! where are you? come up here! Oh, you’ve no idea—it’s like fairy-land!”
Zoé ascended the ladder, grumbling the while. She saw madame on the roof, leaning against the brick balustrade, and looking down upon the valley which extended into the distance. The horizon was immense, but it was half hidden by a grey mist, whilst a high wind drove away the fine drops of rain. Nana was obliged to hold her bonnet with both hands to prevent it blowing off, and her skirts flapped about like the snapping of a flag.
“Ah! no indeed!” said Zoé, bringing her head in at once. “Madame will be blown away. What awful weather! ”
Madame did not hear. With her head bent forward, she was examining the grounds beneath her. There were seven or eight acres, all walled in. Then the view of the kitchen garden quite fascinated her. She hurried inside again, and rushed past the maid on the stairs, exclaiming:
“It’s full of cabbages! Oh! cabbages as big as that! And lettuce, and sorrel, and onions, and everything! Come quick!”
The rain was falling faster. She opened her white silk parasol, and ran along the paths.
“Madame will be ill!” cried Zoé, who quietly remained standing beneath the verandah.
But madame wished to see everything. Each fresh discovery brought more exclamations. “Zoé, here’s some spinach! Come and see! Oh! artichokes!—they do look funny. They flower then, do they? I say! whatever’s this? I don’t know it at all. Come and see, Zoé; perhaps you know?”
But the maid did not stir. Madame must really be mad. It was now pouring in torrents. The little white silk parasol already looked quite black, and did not cover madame, whose skirt was sopping. But this did not worry her. In spite of the rain she inspected both the kitchen and fruit gardens, stopping at each tree, and leaning over each bed of vegetables. Then she ran and gave a look down the well, raised a frame to see what was underneath, and became quite absorbed in the contemplation of an enormous pumpkin. Her business was to go along every path, to take immediate possession of all these things, of which she used to dream when she dragged her work-girl’s shoes along the streets of Paris. The rain fell faster still, but she did not notice it, and only regretted that the night was coming on apace. She could no longer see plainly, so she felt with her hands whenever she had a doubt. All of a sudden, in the twilight, she discovered some strawberries. Then her childhood seemed to return to her.
“Strawberries! strawberries! There are some, I feel them! Zoé, a plate! Come and gather some strawberries.”
And Nana, who had stooped down in the mud, let go of her parasol, and received the full force of the shower. With her hands all wet, she gathered the strawberries among the leaves. Zoé, however, did not bring the plate. As the young woman got up, she had a fright. She thought she had noticed something move.
“An animal!” she cried; but astonishment rooted her to the centre of the path. It was a man, and she had recognised him.
“Why! it’s baby! Whatever are you doing there, baby?”
“I’ve come, of course!” replied George.
She remained lost in surprise. “Did you then hear from the gardener of my arrival? Oh! the child! He is soaked!”
“Ah! I must tell you. It began to rain after I started, and then I didn’t want to go round by Gumières, and in crossing the Choue, I slipped and fell into a confounded pool.”
Nana at once forgot the strawberries. She was all trembling, and full of pity. That poor Ziziam in a pool of water! She dragged him towards the house. She talked of making up a big fire.
“You know,” he murmured, stopping her in the darkness, “I was hiding, because I was afraid of being scolded like at Paris, when I came to see you without being expected.”
She began to laugh without answering, and kissed him on the forehead. Until that day she had treated him like a child, not thinking seriously of his declarations, and amusing herself with him as with a youngster of no consequence. She made a great deal of fuss so that he should be comfortable. She insisted on the fire lighted in her bed-room. They would be more cozy there. The sight of George did not surprise Zoé, used to all sorts of meetings; but the gardener, who brought up some wood, was struck dumb on seeing the gentleman dripping with water, to whom he was certain h
e had not opened the door. He was sent away, as nothing more was required. A lamp lighted the room, whilst the fire burst into a bright blaze.
“He will never become dry, he will catch cold,” said Nana, seeing George shiver.
And not another pair of trousers in the house! She was on the point of calling the gardener, when an idea struck her. Zoé, who had been unpacking the trunks in the dressing-room, brought madame some clean clothes for her to change—a chemise, some petticoats, and a dressing-gown.
“But that’s capital!” exclaimed the young woman, “Zizi can put on these. Eh! you don’t mind putting on my things? When your own clothes are dry you can put them on again, and then hurry back home, so as not to be scolded by your mamma. Be quick, and I will go and change my things in the dressingroom.”
When, ten minutes later, she reappeared in a dressing-gown, she clasped her hands in rapture.
“Oh, the love! how pretty he looks as a woman!”
He had merely put on a long night-dress, an embroidered pair of drawers, and a cambric dressing-gown trimmed with lace. In those clothes he looked like a girl, with his fair arms uncovered, and his light hair, still wet, hanging down his neck.
“He is really as slim as I am!” said Nana, taking hold of him round the waist. “Zoé, come and see how well they fit him. Eh! don’t they look as though they were made for him? all except the body part, which is too broad. He hasn’t as much as I have, poor Zizi.”
“There certainly is a slight difference,” murmured George, smiling.
All three were highly amused. Nana buttoned the dressing-gown all down the front so that he should look decent. She turned him about like a doll, gave him little taps, and made the skirt swell out behind. And she questioned him, asking him if he was comfortable, and if he was warm enough. Oh, yes! he was all right. Nothing was warmer than a woman’s night-dress; if he had had his way he would always have worn one. He rolled himself about in it, pleased with the soft touch of the linen, with that loose garment that smelt so nice, and which to him seemed slightly impregnated with the warmth of Nana’s body. Zoé had taken his wet clothes down to the kitchen, so as to dry them as quickly as possible before a large wood fire. Then George, stretched out in an easy chair, dared to make an avowal.
“I say, aren’t you going to have anything to eat to-night? I’m famishing. I haven’t had any dinner.”
Nana was very angry. What a great stupid he was to run away from his mamma with an empty stomach, just to go and throw himself into a pool of water! But she also felt rather hungry. Of course they must have something to eat, only they would have to do the best they could. And they improvised the funniest dinner ever heard of, on a little table drawn up before the fire. Zoé ran over to the gardener, who had made some cabbage soup in case madame did not dine at Orleans. Madame had forgotten to mention in her letter what she required to be got ready. Fortunately the cellar was well-stocked. They had, therefore, some cabbage soup, with a piece of bacon. Then, looking in her bag, Nana produced all sorts of things which she had taken the precaution to provide: a little goose liver pasty, a packet of sweets, some oranges. They both ate like ogres, with the appetite of youth, and, like comrades, without ceremony. Nana called George “my dear,” she thought it more familiar and loving. For dessert they devoured a pot of jam, discovered on the top shelf of a cupboard, both eating in turn with the same spoon so as not to disturb Zoé.
“Ah, my dear!” said Nana, as she pushed the little table on one side, “for ten years I haven’t dined so well.”
It was getting late, however, and she wished to send the youngster home so as not to bring him into trouble. He kept repeating that he had plenty of time; besides, the clothes were not drying well—Zoé declared that they would take at least an hour longer, and as she was every minute falling asleep, being tired out by the journey, they sent her off to bed. Then they were left alone in the silent house. It was a calm, pleasant night. The fire was burning low, and the heat was rather stifling in the big room, the bed of which Zoé had made before leaving. Nana, feeling too warm, rose to open the window for a minute. But she uttered a faint cry.
“Heavens! how lovely it is! Look, my dear.”
George joined her, and, as though the window-rail was not long enough for two, he put his arm round Nana’s waist and rested his head on her shoulder. The weather had suddenly changed, the sky was perfectly clear and studded with stars, whilst a full moon lit up the country with a sheet of gold. A sovereign peacefulness hung over all, the valley widened and opened on to the immensity of the plain, where the trees cast shadows that looked like islands in the motionless lake of light. And Nana was deeply moved and felt like a child again. She was sure she had dreamt of such nights at an epoch of her life which she could no longer recall. All that she had seen since she left the train, this vast expanse of fields, this grass that smelt so nice, this house, these vegetables, all these upset her to such an extent, that it seemed as though she had left Paris fully twenty years before. Her existence of the previous day was already far away. She felt as she had never previously felt. George, all this while, was slyly kissing her on the neck, which increased her perturbation. With a hesitating hand she repelled him as one would a child when wearied by its caresses, and she repeated that it was time for him to go home. He did not say “no,” by-and-by, he would leave by-and-by. But a bird began to sing, then stopped. It was a robin, in an elder bush under the window.
“Wait a minute,” murmured George, “the lamp-light frightens him, I will put it out.” And, when he came back, again placing his arm around Nana’s waist, he added, “We can light it again directly.”
Then, as she listened to the robin, whilst the boy pressed close against her, Nana recollected. Yes, it was in novels that she had seen all that. Once, in the days gone by, she would have given her heart to have seen the moon thus, to have heard the robin and to have had a little fellow full of love by her side. Oh, heaven! she could have cried, it all seemed to her so lovely and good! For certain she was born to live a virtuous life. She again repelled George, who was becoming bolder.
“No, leave me, I won’t. It would be very wrong at your age. Listen, I will be your mamma.”
She had become quite bashful; her face was flushing scarlet. Yet no one could see her. The room behind them was full of the darkness of night, whilst as far as the eye could reach the countryside unfolded the silence and immobility of its solitude. Never before had she felt such shame. Little by little her strength seemed to leave her in spite of her constraint and her struggles. That disguise, that woman’s night-dress and that dressing-gown, made her laugh still. It was like a girl friend teasing her.
“Oh! it is wrong, it is wrong,” murmured she, after a last effort; and she fell like a virgin into the child’s arms, in the face of the beautiful night. The house was hushed in sleep.
On the morrow, when the luncheon bell rang at Les Fondettes, the table in the dining-room was no longer too large. A first vehicle had brought Fauchery and Daguenet, and after them came the Count de Vandeuvres, who had arrived by a later train. George made his appearance the last, looking rather pale and heavy about the eyes. In answer to all inquiries he replied that he was much better, although still upset by the violence of the attack. Madame Hugon, who looked into his face with an anxious smile, passed her hand through his hair, which was badly combed that morning, whilst he drew back as though embarrassed by the caress. During luncheon, she affectionately scolded Vandeuvres, whom she said she had been expecting for five years past.
“Well, here you are at last! How did you manage it?”
Vandeuvres thought best to treat the matter as a joke. He related that he had lost an enormous sum of money the previous evening at his club; so he had started off with the idea of settling down in the provinces.
“Yes, really now, if you can only find me an heiress somewhere in the neighbourhood. There must be some very charming ladies about here.”
The old lady was thanking both Daguenet
and Fauchery for having so kindly accepted her son’s invitation, when she experienced another pleasant surprise on seeing the Marquis de Chouard, who had just arrived in a third vehicle, enter the room.
“Ah!” she exclaimed, “it must be a general meeting this morning. You have all arranged to assemble here. Whatever has happened? For years past I have never been able to get you to come, and now you all arrive together. Oh! but I am not complaining.”
Another place was laid at the table. Fauchery found himself seated beside Countess Sabine, who surprised him with her liveliness—she whom he had seen looking so languid, in the austere drawing-room of the Rue Miromesnil. Daguenet, seated on Estelle’s left, seemed uncomfortable at being so close to the silent, lanky girl, whose sharp elbows were his horror. Muffat and de Chouard exchanged a sly glance. Vandeuvres continued to joke about his contemplated marriage.
“Respecting ladies,” Madame Hugon ended by saying to him, “I have a new neighbour whom you probably know”; and she mentioned Nana.
Vandeuvres affected the utmost astonishment. “What! Nana’s country-house is near here?”
Fauchery and Daguenet also pretended to be surprised. The Marquis de Chouard devoured the breast of a chicken, without appearing to understand. Not one of the men had smiled.
“Without doubt,” resumed the old lady; “and what is more, this person arrived last night at La Mignotte, as I had expected. I heard of it this morning from the gardener.”
On receiving this information, none of the gentlemen could hide their genuine astonishment. They all looked up. What! Nana had arrived! And they were not expecting her till the morrow; they had thought they were before her! George, alone, did not raise his eyes, but looked at his tumbler in a wearied sort of way. Ever since the beginning of the meal he had seemed asleep with his eyes open, and a vague smile hovered about his lips.
“Do you still suffer, Zizi?” inquired his mother, who scarcely moved her eyes from him.