France -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories
“What’s the matter?” said Nana in surprise.
“Oh, darling, do speak to her!” said Satin. “I’ve been trying to make
her listen to reason for the last twenty minutes. She’s crying because
you called her a goose.”
“Yes, madame, it’s very hard—very hard,” stuttered Zoé, choked by a
fresh fit of sobbing.
This sad sight melted the young woman’s heart at once. She spoke
kindly, and when the other woman still refused to grow calm she sank
down in front of her and took her round the waist with truly cordial
familiarity:
“But, you silly, I said ‘goose’ just as I might have said anything
else. How shall I explain? I was in a passion—it was wrong of me; now
calm down.”
“I who love Madame so,” stuttered Zoé; “after all I’ve done for
Madame.”
Thereupon Nana kissed the lady’s maid and, wishing to show her she
wasn’t vexed, gave her a dress she had worn three times. Their quarrels
always ended up in the giving of presents! Zoé plugged her handkerchief
into her eyes. She carried the dress off over her arm and added before
leaving that they were very sad in the kitchen and that Julien and
Francois had been unable to eat, so entirely had Madame’s anger taken
away their appetites. Thereupon Madame sent them a louis as a pledge of
reconciliation. She suffered too much if people around her were
sorrowful.
Nana was returning to the drawing room, happy in the thought that she
had patched up a disagreement which was rendering her quietly
apprehensive of the morrow, when Satin came and whispered vehemently in
her ear. She was full of complaint, threatened to be off if those men
still went on teasing her and kept insisting that her darling should
turn them all out of doors for that night, at any rate. It would be a
lesson to them. And then it would be so nice to be alone, both of them!
Nana, with a return of anxiety, declared it to be impossible. Thereupon
the other shouted at her like a violent child and tried hard to
overrule her.
“I wish it, d’you see? Send ’em away or I’m off!”
And she went back into the drawing room, stretched herself out in the
recesses of a divan, which stood in the background near the window, and
lay waiting, silent and deathlike, with her great eyes fixed upon Nana.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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