France -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories
“Oh, he’s going to return,” said the lad, growing white. He added
nothing, and they ceased talking of Philippe. She began dressing to go
out, and he watched her with his great, sad eyes. Doubtless he was very
glad that matters had got settled, for he would have preferred death to
a rupture of their connection, but deep down in his heart there was a
silent anguish, a profound sense of pain, which he had no experience of
and dared not talk about. How Philippe quieted their mother’s fears he
never knew, but three days later she returned to Les Fondettes,
apparently satisfied. On the evening of her return, at Nana’s house, he
trembled when Francois announced the lieutenant, but the latter jested
gaily and treated him like a young rascal, whose escapade he had
favored as something not likely to have any consequences. The lad’s
heart was sore within him; he scarcely dared move and blushed girlishly
at the least word that was spoken to him. He had not lived much in
Philippe’s society; he was ten years his junior, and he feared him as
he would a father, from whom stories about women are concealed.
Accordingly he experienced an uneasy sense of shame when he saw him so
free in Nana’s company and heard him laugh uproariously, as became a
man who was plunging into a life of pleasure with the gusto born of
magnificent health. Nevertheless, when his brother shortly began to
present himself every day, Georges ended by getting somewhat used to it
all. Nana was radiant.
This, her latest installation, had been involving all the riotous waste
attendant on the life of gallantry, and now her housewarming was being
defiantly celebrated in a grand mansion positively overflowing with
males and with furniture.
One afternoon when the Hugons were there Count Muffat arrived out of
hours. But when Zoé told him that Madame was with friends he refused to
come in and took his departure discreetly, as became a gallant
gentleman. When he made his appearance again in the evening Nana
received him with the frigid indignation of a grossly affronted woman.
“Sir,” she said, “I have given you no cause why you should insult me.
You must understand this: when I am at home to visitors, I beg you to
make your appearance just like other people.”
The count simply gaped in astonishment. “But, my dear—” he endeavored
to explain.
“Perhaps it was because I had visitors! Yes, there were men here, but
what d’you suppose I was doing with those men? You only advertise a
woman’s affairs when you act the discreet lover, and I don’t want to be
advertised; I don’t!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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