France -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories
Thereupon Nana understood that they would most likely make game of her
and so said nothing more. She even kept her seat for some moments, as
she did not wish to show how angry she felt. She could hear Lucy
Stewart laughing at the end of the next saloon, where she was treating
a whole table of little women who had come from the public balls at
Montmartre and La Chapelle. It was very hot; the servant was carrying
away piles of dirty plates with a strong scent of boiled fowl and rice,
while the four gentlemen had ended by regaling quite half a dozen
couples with capital wine in the hope of making them tipsy and hearing
some pretty stiffish things. What at present most exasperated Nana was
the thought of paying for Satin’s dinner. There was a wench for you,
who allowed herself to be amused and then made off with never a
thank-you in company with the first petticoat that came by! Without
doubt it was only a matter of three francs, but she felt it was hard
lines all the same—her way of doing it was too disgusting.
Nevertheless, she paid up, throwing the six francs at Laure, whom at
the moment she despised more than the mud in the street. In the Rue des
Martyrs Nana felt her bitterness increasing. She was certainly not
going to run after Satin! It was a nice filthy business for one to be
poking one’s nose into! But her evening was spoiled, and she walked
slowly up again toward Montmartre, raging against Mme Robert in
particular. Gracious goodness, that woman had a fine cheek to go
playing the lady—yes, the lady in the dustbin! She now felt sure she
had met her at the Papillon, a wretched public-house ball in the Rue
des Poissonniers, where men conquered her scruples for thirty sous. And
to think a thing like that got hold of important functionaries with her
modest looks! And to think she refused suppers to which one did her the
honor of inviting her because, forsooth, she was playing the virtuous
game! Oh yes, she’d get virtued! It was always those conceited prudes
who went the most fearful lengths in low corners nobody knew anything
about.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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