returned into the wide streets, which were then in course of
construction on either side of the new opera house. Soaked by the
rain and cut up by cart wheels, the chalky soil had become a lake of
liquid mire. But he never looked to see where he was stepping and
walked on and on, slipping and regaining his footing as he went.
The awakening of Paris, with its gangs of sweepers and early workmen
trooping to their destinations, added to his troubles as day
brightened. People stared at him in surprise as he went by with
scared look and soaked hat and muddy clothes. For a long while he
sought refuge against palings and among scaffoldings, his desolate
brain haunted by the single remaining thought that he was very
miserable.
Then he thought of God. The sudden idea of divine help, of
superhuman consolation, surprised him, as though it were something
unforeseen and extraordinary. The image of M. Venot was evoked
thereby, and he saw his little plump face and ruined teeth.
Assuredly M. Venot, whom for months he had been avoiding and thereby
rendering miserable, would be delighted were he to go and knock at
his door and fall weeping into his arms. In the old days God had
been always so merciful toward him. At the least sorrow, the
slightest obstacle on the path of life, he had been wont to enter a
church, where, kneeling down, he would humble his littleness in the
presence of Omnipotence. And he had been used to go forth thence,
fortified by prayer, fully prepared to give up the good things of
this world, possessed by the single yearning for eternal salvation.
But at present he only practiced by fits and starts, when the terror
of hell came upon him. All kinds of weak inclinations had overcome
him, and the thought of Nana disturbed his devotions. And now the
thought of God astonished him. Why had he not thought of God
before, in the hour of that terrible agony when his feeble humanity
was breaking up in ruin?
Meanwhile with slow and painful steps he sought for a church. But
he had lost his bearings; the early hour had changed the face of the
streets. Soon, however, as he turned the corner of the Rue de la
Chaussee-d'Antin, he noticed a tower looming vaguely in the fog at
the end of the Trinite Church. The white statues overlooking the
bare garden seemed like so many chilly Venuses among the yellow
foliage of a park. Under the porch he stood and panted a little,
for the ascent of the wide steps had tired him. Then he went in.
The church was very cold, for its heating apparatus had been
fireless since the previous evening, and its lofty, vaulted aisles
were full of a fine damp vapor which had come filtering through the
windows. The aisles were deep in shadow; not a soul was in the
church, and the only sound audible amid the unlovely darkness was
that made by the old shoes of some verger or other who was dragging
himself about in sulky semiwakefulness. Muffat, however, after
knocking forlornly against an untidy collection of chairs, sank on
his knees with bursting heart and propped himself against the rails
in front of a little chapel close by a font. He clasped his hands
and began searching within himself for suitable prayers, while his
whole being yearned toward a transport. But only his lips kept
stammering empty words; his heart and brain were far away, and with
them he returned to the outer world and began his long, unresting
march through the streets, as though lashed forward by implacable
necessity. And he kept repeating, "O my God, come to my assistance!
O my God, abandon not Thy creature, who delivers himself up to Thy
justice! O my God, I adore Thee: Thou wilt not leave me to perish
under the buffetings of mine enemies!" Nothing answered: the
shadows and the cold weighed upon him, and the noise of the old
shoes continued in the distance and prevented him praying. Nothing,
indeed, save that tiresome noise was audible in the deserted church,
where the matutinal sweeping was unknown before the early masses had
somewhat warmed the air of the place. After that he rose to his
feet with the help of a chair, his knees cracking under him as he
did so. God was not yet there. And why should he weep in M.
Venot's arms? The man could do nothing.
And then mechanically he returned to Nana's house. Outside he
slipped, and he felt the tears welling to his eyes again, but he was
not angry with his lot--he was only feeble and ill. Yes, he was too
tired; the rain had wet him too much; he was nipped with cold, but
the idea of going back to his great dark house in the Rue Miromesnil
froze his heart. The house door at Nana's was not open as yet, and
he had to wait till the porter made his appearance. He smiled as he
went upstairs, for he already felt penetrated by the soft warmth of
that cozy retreat, where he would be able to stretch his limbs and
go to sleep.
When Zoe opened the door to him she gave a start of most uneasy
astonishment. Madame had been taken ill with an atrocious sick
headache, and she hadn't closed her eyes all night. Still, she
could quite go and see whether Madame had gone to sleep for good.
And with that she slipped into the bedroom while he sank back into
one of the armchairs in the drawing room. But almost at that very
moment Nana appeared. She had jumped out of bed and had scarce had
time to slip on a petticoat. Her feet were bare, her hair in wild
disorder, her nightgown all crumpled.
"What! You here again?" she cried with a red flush on her cheeks.
Up she rushed, stung by sudden indignation, in order herself to
thrust him out of doors. But when she saw him in such sorry plight--
nay, so utterly done for--she felt infinite pity.
"Well, you are a pretty sight, my dear fellow!" she continued more
gently. "But what's the matter? You've spotted them, eh? And it's
given you the hump?"
He did not answer; he looked like a broken-down animal.
Nevertheless, she came to the conclusion that he still lacked
proofs, and to hearten him up the said:
"You see now? I was on the wrong tack. Your wife's an honest
woman, on my word of honor! And now, my little friend, you must go
home to bed. You want it badly."
He did not stir.
"Now then, be off! I can't keep you here. But perhaps you won't
presume to stay at such a time as this?"
"Yes, let's go to bed," he stammered.
She repressed a violent gesture, for her patience was deserting her.
Was the man going crazy?
"Come, be off!" she repeated.
"No."
But she flared up in exasperation, in utter rebellion.
"It's sickening! Don't you understand I'm jolly tired of your
company? Go and find your wife, who's making a cuckold of you.
Yes, she's making a cuckold of you. I say so--yes, I do now.
There, you've got the sack! Will you leave me or will you not?"
Muffat's eyes filled with tears. He clasped his hands together.
"Oh, let's go to bed!"
At this Nana suddenly lost all control over herself and was choked
by nervous sobs. She was being taken advaatage of when all was said
and done! What had these stories to do with her? She certainly had
used all manner of delicate methods in order to teach him his lesson
gently. And now he was for making her pay the damages! No, thank
you! She was kindhearted, but not to that extent.
"The devil, but I've had enough of this!" she swore, bringing her
fist down on the furniture. "Yes, yes, I wanted to be faithful--it
was all I could do to be that! Yet if I spoke the word I could be
rich tomorrow, my dear fellow!"
He looked up in surprise. Never once had he thought of the monetary
question. If she only expressed a desire he would realize it at
once; his whole fortune was at her service.
"No, it's too late now," she replied furiously. "I like men who
give without being asked. No, if you were to offer me a million for
a single interview I should say no! It's over between us; I've got
other fish to fry there! So be off or I shan't answer for the
consequences. I shall do something dreadful!"
She advanced threateningly toward him, and while she was raving, as
became a good courtesan who, though driven to desperation, was yet
firmly convinced of her rights and her superiority over tiresome,
honest folks, the door opened suddenly and Steiner presented
himself. That proved the finishing touch. She shrieked aloud:
"Well, I never. Here's the other one!"
Bewildered by her piercing outcry, Steiner stopped short. Muffat's
unexpected presence annoyed him, for he feared an explanation and
had been doing his best to avoid it these three months past. With
blinking eyes he stood first on one leg, then on the other, looking
embarrassed the while and avoiding the count's gaze. He was out of
breath, and as became a man who had rushed across Paris with good
news, only to find himself involved in unforeseen trouble, his face
was flushed and distorted.
"Que veux-tu, toi?" asked Nana roughly, using the second person
singular in open mockery of the count.
"What--what do I--" he stammered. "I've got it for you--you know
what."
"Eh?"
He hesitated. The day before yesterday she had given him to
understand that if he could not find her a thousand francs to pay a
bill with she would not receive him any more. For two days he had
been loafing about the town in quest of the money and had at last
made the sum up that very morning.
"The thousand francs!" he ended by declaring as he drew an envelope
from his pocket.
Nana had not remembered.
"The thousand francs!" she cried. "D'you think I'm begging alms?
Now look here, that's what I value your thousand francs at!"
And snatching the envelope, she threw it full in his face. As
became a prudent Hebrew, he picked it up slowly and painfully and
then looked at the young woman with a dull expression of face.
Muffat and he exchanged a despairing glance, while she put her arms
akimbo in order to shout more loudly than before.
"Come now, will you soon have done insulting me? I'm glad you've
come, too, dear boy, because now you see the clearance'll be quite
complete. Now then, gee up! Out you go!"
Then as they did not hurry in the least, for they were paralyzed:
"D'you mean to say I'm acting like a fool, eh? It's likely enough!
But you've bored me too much! And, hang it all, I've had enough of
swelldom! If I die of what I'm doing--well, it's my fancy!"
They sought to calm her; they begged her to listen to reason.
"Now then, once, twice, thrice! Won't you go? Very well! Look
there! I've got company."
And with a brisk movement she flung wide the bedroom door.
Whereupon in the middle of the tumbled bed the two men caught sight
of Fontan. He had not expected to be shown off in this situation;
nevertheless, he took things very easily, for he was used to sudden
surprises on the stage. Indeed, after the first shock he even hit
upon a grimace calculated to tide him honorably over his difficulty;
he "turned rabbit," as he phrased it, and stuck out his lips and
wrinkled up his nose, so as completely to transform the lower half
of his face. His base, satyrlike head seemed to exude incontinence.
It was this man Fontan then whom Nana had been to fetch at the
Varieties every day for a week past, for she was smitten with that
fierce sort of passion which the grimacing ugliness of a low
comedian is wont to inspire in the genus courtesan.
"There!" she said, pointing him out with tragic gesture.
Muffat, who hitherto had pocketed everything, rebelled at this
affront.
"Bitch!" he stammered.
But Nana, who was once more in the bedroom, came back in order to
have the last word.
"How am I a bitch? What about your wife?"
And she was off and, slamming the door with a bang, she noisily
pushed to the bolt. Left alone, the two men gazed at one another in
silence. Zoe had just come into the room, but she did not drive
them out. Nay, she spoke to them in the most sensible manner. As
became a woman with a head on her shoulders, she decided that
Madame's conduct was rather too much of a good thing. But she
defended her, nonetheless: this union with the play actor couldn't
last; the madness must be allowed to pass off! The two men retired
without uttering a sound. On the pavement outside they shook hands
silently, as though swayed by a mutual sense of fraternity. Then
they turned their backs on one another and went crawling off in
opposite directions.
When at last Muffat entered his town house in the Rue Miromesnil his
wife was just arriving. The two met on the great staircase, whose
walls exhaled an icy chill. They lifted up their eyes and beheld
one another. The count still wore his muddy clothes, and his pale,
bewildered face betrayed the prodigal returning from his debauch.
The countess looked as though she were utterly fagged out by a night
in the train. She was dropping with sleep, but her hair had been
brushed anyhow, and her eyes were deeply sunken.
CHAPTER VIII
We are in a little set of lodgings on the fourth floor in the Rue
Veron at Montmartre. Nana and Fontan have invited a few friends to
cut their Twelfth-Night cake with them. They are giving their
housewarming, though they have been only three days settled.
They had no fixed intention of keeping house together, but the whole
thing had come about suddenly in the first glow of the honeymoon.
After her grand blowup, when she had turned the count and the banker
so vigorously out of doors, Nana felt the world crumbling about her
