seemed to suit her. What a pity it was that the pocket-book was so
dear! She took it up again and poked her nose into the pockets,
whereupon the stall-holder, growing impatient, at last offered to sell
it to her for fourteen francs, and then for twelve. That, however,
was still too much, according to Madame Correur, who, after much keen
bargaining, succeeded in getting it for eleven.
'I prefer selling things if I can,' said the tall young woman. 'All the
ladies bargain and not one of them buys anything. If it weren't for the
gentlemen I don't know what we should do!'
As Madame Correur went off she had the satisfaction of finding inside
the pocket-book a ticket denoting that the real price was twenty-five
francs. Then she strolled about again, and finally installed herself
behind the lucky-wheel, by the side of Madame Bouchard, whom she called
her 'pet,' and whose side curls she began to arrange.
'Ah! here comes the colonel!' suddenly exclaimed M. Kahn, who was still
sitting in the refreshment room with his eyes fixed upon the entrance.
The colonel had come because he could not very well help doing so. He
hoped, however, to get off with the expenditure of a louis, though the
thought of even that small outlay was already making his heart bleed.
As soon as he made his appearance he was surrounded and attacked by
three or four ladies, who repeated: 'Buy a cigar of me, monsieur! A box
of matches, monsieur!'
The colonel smiled, and politely extricated himself from their skirts.
Then he looked round him and coming to the conclusion that he had
better spend his money at once, he went up to a stall presided over
by a lady high in favour at Court, of whom he inquired the price of
a very ugly cigar-case. Seventy-five francs! The colonel could not
suppress a gesture of alarm, and dropping the cigar-case he hurriedly
escaped; while the lady, flushing red and feeling offended, turned her
head away as though he had been guilty of some shocking impropriety in
her presence. Then the colonel, desirous of preventing any unpleasant
comments, went up to the kiosk where Madame de Combelot was still
manufacturing her little bouquets. These, at any rate, could not be so
very expensive, he thought. However, he would not even venture upon the
purchase of a bouquet, for he felt sure that Madame de Combelot would
put a fairly good price upon her handiwork; so from amongst the heap of
roses he chose a cankered bud, the poorest and most insignificant he
could see.
'What is the price of this flower, madame?' he then inquired, with a
great show of politeness, as he took out his purse.
'A hundred francs, monsieur,' replied the lady, who had been stealthily
watching his manœuvres.
The colonel began to stammer, and his hands trembled. This time,
however, he felt that retreat was impossible. There were several people
watching him. So he reluctantly paid his money and then sought refuge
in the refreshment room.
'It is an abominable swindle, an abominable swindle!' he muttered, as
he took a seat at M. Kahn's table.
'You haven't seen anything of Rougon in the hall, have you?' asked M.
Kahn.
The colonel made no reply. He was casting furious side-long glances at
the stall-holders. Then, hearing M. d'Escorailles and M. La Rouquette
laughing loudly in front of one of the stalls, he ground out between
his teeth: 'Ah! it's all very well for those young fellows! They manage
to get something for their money!'
M. d'Escorailles and M. La Rouquette certainly seemed to be amusing
themselves. The ladies at the stalls were struggling to get possession
of them. As soon as they had made their appearance, all hands had
beckoned to them and they were called on every side: 'Monsieur
d'Escorailles, you know that you promised me--' 'Now, Monsieur La
Rouquette, do buy this little horse of me! No? Well, you shall buy a
doll, then! Yes, a doll: a doll's exactly what you want!'
The two young men were walking arm in arm for mutual protection as
they playfully asserted. They advanced radiant, enraptured through the
attacking battalion of petticoats, greeted with a caressing chorus of
sweet voices. Every now and then they disappeared amidst a wave of
bare shoulders, against which they pretended to defend themselves with
little cries of alarm. And at every stall they allowed themselves to be
attacked. Then they began to affect miserliness and to assume the most
comical expressions of surprise. What! a louis for a doll that wasn't
worth more than a sou! Oh, that was quite beyond their means! Two
louis for three pencils! What! did the ladies want to reduce them to
starvation? The ladies were immensely amused and their pretty laughter
rippled on in flute-like strains. They grew keener than ever, quite
intoxicated by the shower of gold raining around them, and trebled
and quadrupled their prices in their craving for plunder. They passed
the young men on from stall to stall with significant winks; and such
remarks as 'I'll squeeze them well!' or 'You can stick it on with
them!' were bandied about; remarks which the two young fellows heard
and acknowledged with playful bows. Behind them the ladies triumphed
and boasted one to the other. The cleverest and most envied was a girl
of eighteen, who had sold one of them a stick of sealing wax for three
louis. However, when they at last reached the end of the hall and a
lady insisted upon forcing a box of soap into M. d'Escorailles' pocket,
he shook his purse before her face, saying: 'But I haven't a copper
left. Shall I give you a promissory note for the money?'
The lady, who was quite excited, took the purse and searched it. Then
she looked at the young man, and it seemed as though she was on the
point of asking him for his watch chain. However, it was all a trick on
M. d'Escorailles' part. On such occasions he took an empty purse with
him by way of amusement.
'Come, let's be off!' he said, dragging M. La Rouquette away. 'I'm
going to be stingy now. We must try to recoup ourselves, eh?'
'Try your luck, gentlemen! Twenty sous a chance!' called Madame
Bouchard as they passed in front of the lucky-wheel.
They at once approached her, and went into the business
enthusiastically. For a quarter of an hour the lucky-wheel was kept
going without cessation. First one, then the other set it spinning. M.
d'Escorailles won two dozen egg-cups, three little looking-glasses,
seven china figures, and five cigarette-cases; while M. La Rouquette's
winnings consisted of two packets of lace, a china tray mounted on feet
of gilded zinc, some glasses, a candlestick, and a box with a glass
cover. Madame Bouchard became indignant: 'Come, that's enough,' said
she, 'you're too lucky! I won't let you go on any longer! Here, take
your winnings away.'
She had arranged them in two big piles upon a table beside her. M. La
Rouquette seemed filled with consternation at the sight of them; and
asked her to exchange them for the regulation bunch of violets which
she was wearing in her hair. But she declined to do so. 'No, no,' she
said, 'you've won those things, haven't you? Very well, then, take them
away with you.'
'Madame is quite right,' remarked M. d'Escorailles, gravely. 'We
mustn't despise fortune, and for my part I do not mean to leave a
single egg-cup behind me. I'm getting stingy.'
He had spread out his handkerchief and was tying his winnings up
in a neat bundle, which caused a fresh burst of gaiety. And M. La
Rouquette's embarrassment was equally amusing. But at last Madame
Correur, who had hitherto kept in the background with smiling matronly
dignity, protruded her fat rosy face. She would be very glad to make an
exchange, said she.
'Oh, no, I don't want anything!' the young deputy hastily exclaimed.
'Take the whole lot; I make you a present of everything.'
He and Escorailles did not, however, take themselves off at once, but
began to whisper doubtful compliments to Madame Bouchard. Turning
a lucky-wheel was all very well, they told her, but she knew much
better how to turn men's heads. Meanwhile Madame Bouchard dropped her
eyelashes and giggled like a peasant-girl chaffed by gentlemen. Madame
Correur gazed at her in admiration. 'Isn't she sweet? Isn't she sweet?'
she exclaimed every now and then, with a rapturous expression.
But Madame Bouchard at last began to rap M. d'Escorailles' fingers, for
he wanted to examine the mechanism of the lucky-wheel, alleging that it
did not work fairly. Would they never leave her at peace? she cried. As
there was nothing more to be got out of them they had better go. And
when she at length managed to get rid of them, she again began to call
in a coaxing voice: 'Only twenty sous a spin, gentlemen. Come and try
one spin!'
At that moment M. Kahn, who had risen from his chair to look over the
heads of the crowd, hastily sat down again. 'Here's Rougon coming!' he
exclaimed. 'Let's pretend not to see him.'
Rougon was slowly making his way up the hall. He stopped first at
Madame Bouchard's tent, tried his fortune at the lucky-wheel, and
afterwards purchased a rose from Madame de Combelot for three louis.
Having thus contributed to the funds of the charity, he seemed inclined
to take his departure. He elbowed his way through the throng, already
turning towards one of the doors. But all at once, having glanced into
the refreshment room, he abruptly altered his course, and entered
the buffet, proudly, calmly, with head erect. M. d'Escorailles and
M. La Rouquette had now taken seats beside M. Kahn, M. Béjuin, and
the colonel. M. Bouchard also came up and joined them. And all of
them trembled slightly as the minister passed by, so big and strong
did he seem to them with those massive limbs of his. He greeted
them familiarly in a loud distinct voice and seated himself at a
neighbouring table. He kept his broad face raised, and turned it slowly
to the right and left as though anxious to confront unflinchingly the
glances which he felt were fixed upon him.
Clorinde stepped up to him, dragging her heavy yellow train
majestically behind her. 'What will you take?' she asked him, affecting
a vulgarity of manners not untinged with raillery.
'Ah, that's the question,' he answered gaily. 'I never drink anything,
you know. What have you got?'
Clorinde went rapidly through her list of liqueurs; brandy, rum,
curaçoa, kirsch-water, chartreuse, vespétro, anisette, and kummel.
'No, no, I won't have any of those. Give me a glass of sugared water.'
She went off to the counter, and came back with the glass of sugared
water, still preserving an air of goddess-like majesty. And she
lingered in front of Rougon, watching him stir the sugar. The minister
continued to smile, making the first commonplace remarks that suggested
themselves to him. 'You are well, I hope? It is an age since I saw you.'
'I have been at Fontainebleau,' she quietly replied.
Rougon raised his eyes, and gave her a searching glance. But in her
turn she began to question him. 'And are you well pleased?' she asked.
'Is everything going on as you wish it?'
'Yes, quite so,' the minister replied.
'Oh! so much the better.'
For a moment she turned around him with all the attention of a
professional waiter. But her malicious flashing eyes were fixed on
him, as though she were every moment going to overwhelm him with her
triumph. At last, as she was making up her mind to leave him, she
raised herself upon tip-toes, and cast a glance into the adjoining
hall. And thereupon she touched Rougon's shoulder. 'There is some one
looking for you, I believe,' she said, with an animated expression on
her face.
Merle indeed was respectfully threading his way between the
neighbouring chairs and tables. He made three bows, one after the
other, and begged his excellency to excuse him; but, said he, the
letter which his excellency had been expecting all the morning had
arrived, and, although he had received no instructions, he had
thought----
'Yes, yes, all right; give it to me,' interrupted Rougon.
The usher handed him a large envelope, and then went off to prowl about
the bazaar. Rougon had recognised the writing at a glance. It was an
autograph letter from the Emperor in answer to the one proffering his
resignation. A chilly perspiration mounted to his brow; still he showed
no sign of pallor, but quietly slipped the letter into the inner pocket
of his coat, without ceasing to meet the glances that were directed
upon him from M. Kahn's table. Clorinde had just gone to speak a few
words to the latter gentleman; and the whole band was now watching
Rougon with feverish curiosity.
However, Clorinde returned and again stood in front of him, while
he drank half his glassful of sugared water, and thought of some
compliment to address to her.
'You are looking quite lovely to-day. If queens turn themselves into
waiting-maids----'
But she cut his compliment short. 'You haven't read your letter then?'
she said audaciously.
For a moment he affected forgetfulness; and then all at once pretended
to recollect. 'Oh, yes, that letter. I'll read it at once, if it will
give you any pleasure.'
He opened the envelope carefully with a penknife, and at a glance read
the brief letter inside it. The Emperor accepted his resignation. For
nearly a minute he kept the letter before his face as though he were
reading it over again. He felt afraid lest he should not be able to
maintain a calm expression. A terrible protest was rising within him;
a rebellion of his whole strength, which was unwilling to accept this
downfall, shook him to his very bones. If he had not sternly restrained
himself, he would have shouted aloud, and have smashed the table with
his ponderous fists. And with his eyes still fixed upon the letter, he
pictured the Emperor as he had seen him at Saint Cloud renewing his
expressions of confidence, and confirming his previous instructions
with soft words and ceaseless smile. What long devised plan of disgrace
had Napoleon been maturing behind that impenetrable expression of his,
that he should now so suddenly have crushed him in a night, after a
score of times insisting on his retaining office?
At last, by a mighty effort, Rougon conquered his emotion. He raised
his face again, and it appeared unruffled. Then he put the letter
back into his pocket with a careless gesture. But Clorinde, whose
hands rested upon the little table, stooped eagerly towards him, and
with quivering, eager lips exclaimed: 'I knew it all. I was there this
morning--my poor friend!'
Then she went on to pity him in so cruelly mocking a voice that he
again looked keenly at her. She had ceased to dissemble now. She had
at last reached the triumph to which she had been looking forward for
months past, and she spoke slowly and deliberately, savouring the
sweetness of being at last able to show herself his implacable and
avenged foe.
'I was unable to defend you,' she continued. 'You are doubtless not
aware----' Then she broke off, and said with a cutting expression:
'Guess who succeeds you as Minister of the Interior!'
He made a gesture expressive of indifference; but she still kept her
eyes fixed on him, and at last let these words fall: 'My husband!'
Rougon, whose mouth was parched, drank some more of the sugared water.
Clorinde had thrown into her last two words the expression of all she
felt, her anger at having been formerly despised, the rancour which she
had so skilfully satisfied, her delight as a woman in having crushed
a man who was credited with the highest abilities. And she allowed
herself the pleasure of torturing him and abusing her victory. No
doubt, said she, her husband wasn't a very clever person. She confessed
it freely, and even joked about it; meaning to convey that the first
comer would have done equally as well, and that she could have made
Merle a minister if the whim had seized her. Yes, indeed, the usher
Merle, or any other imbecile that she might have come across. Any
one would have done to succeed Rougon. All this went to prove the
omnipotence of woman. Then she assumed a motherly, protecting air, and
began to lavish good advice.
'You see, my friend, as I've often told you, you made a mistake in
despising women. Women are not the fools you imagine them to be. It
used to make me quite angry to hear you speak of us as though we were
idiots, mere cumbersome paraphernalia, even mill-stones about your
neck. Look at my husband now! Have I been a mill-stone to him, do you
think? I have been looking forward to show you all this. I promised
myself this satisfaction, as you may perhaps remember, on the day when
we had a certain conversation together. Now I hope I have convinced
you. I willingly allow, my friend, that you are a very clever fellow;
but be quite sure of this, that a woman can always topple you over if
she chooses to take the trouble.'
Rougon had turned rather pale, still he smiled. 'Yes; I dare say you
are right,' he said in a low voice, calling to mind all that had gone
before.
He indulged in no recriminations. Clorinde had sucked some of his
strength away from him to use it for his own overthrow; she had applied
to his own ruin the lessons which she had learnt from him during those
pleasant afternoons in the Rue Marbeuf. He was now drinking the cup
of ingratitude and treason; but, man of experience that he was, he
accepted it with all its bitterness. The only point which troubled him
was whether he even now fully understood Clorinde. He thought of his
former inquiries about her, his futile efforts to discover the secret
workings of that majestic but erratic machine. Decidedly, he said to
himself, the folly of man was great indeed.
Clorinde had twice left him for a moment to serve other customers; and,
now that she had had full satisfaction, she again resumed her stately
perambulations amidst the tables, affecting to take no further notice
of him. He watched her, however, and saw her approach a gentleman with
an immense beard, a foreigner, whose lavish prodigality was at that
time quite exciting Paris. He was just finishing a glass of Malaga.
'How much, madame?' he inquired, rising from his seat.
'Five francs, monsieur. Everything is five francs a glass.'
He paid the money. 'And a kiss, how much is that?' he continued, in the
same tone with his foreign accent.
'A hundred thousand francs,' answered Clorinde, without the slightest
hesitation.
The foreigner sat down again, and wrote a few words on a page which
he tore from a memorandum-book. Then he deposited a smacking kiss on
Clorinde's cheek, paid for it, and went off in the most phlegmatic
manner possible. All the people in the café smiled, much amused by the
incident.
'It's only a question of paying the price,' murmured Clorinde, going up
towards Rougon again.
He detected a fresh allusion in this remark. To him she had said
'Never!' And then, this man of chaste life, who had borne so bravely
the stunning blow of his dismissal, began to feel keenly pained by the
collar which Clorinde so impudently paraded. She stooped and swayed
her neck as though to provoke him still further. The pearl tinkled in
the golden bell; the chain hung low, still warm from the hands of the
giver; and on the velvet flashed the diamond letters by which Rougon
could easily read the secret known to everybody. And never before had
he so keenly felt the bite of unconfessed jealousy, the burning envy
which he had sometimes experienced in the presence of the all-powerful
Emperor.
The young woman probably guessed the torment he was suffering, and
it pleased her to inflict yet another pang upon him. She called his
attention to Madame de Combelot, who was still selling her roses in
the flower-stall. 'Ah! that poor Madame de Combelot!' she said, with a
malicious laugh; 'she is still waiting!'
However, Rougon finished his sugared water. He felt as though he were
choking. 'How much?' he stammered, taking out his purse.
'Five francs.'
When she had tossed the coin into the bag, Clorinde held out her hand
again. 'Aren't you going to give anything to the waiter?' she asked
playfully.
Rougon felt in his pocket and brought out a couple of sous, which he
dropped into her hand. This insult was the only vengeance which his
parvenu boorishness could think of. In spite of her self-possession,
Clorinde blushed. But she quickly resumed her goddess-like demeanour,
and went off bowing and saying: 'Thank you, your excellency.'
Rougon did not dare to rise immediately. His legs felt nerveless, he
was afraid of tottering, and desired to go away as he had come, with
a firm gait and calm expression. He particularly disliked having to
pass his old friends and associates, whose straining ears and staring
eyes had not lost a point of what had taken place. So for a few moments
longer he let his glance wander over the room, feigning perfect
indifference. He was thinking over what had happened. Another act of
his political life had come to a conclusion. He had fallen, undermined,
eaten away and ruined by his band. His heavy shoulders had collapsed
beneath the weight of the responsibilities he had assumed, the acts
of folly and injustice which he had perpetrated entirely on their
account in his braggart craving to be a feared and generous chief. And
his mighty muscles only made his fall the more ignominious. The very
conditions on which he had held power: the necessity of having behind
him a crowd of greedy appetites whose longings he must satisfy, of
maintaining himself in his position by dint of abusing his credit,
had made his fall merely a question of time. And he now recalled the
slow efforts of his band, whose sharp teeth had day by day nibbled
away some of his authority. They had thronged around him, hung on to
his knees, then to his breast, then to his throat, and finally they
had choked him. They had availed themselves of him in every way. They
had used his feet to climb with, his hands to plunder with, his jaws
to devour with. They had, so to say, used his body as their own, used
it for their personal gratification, indulging in every fancy without
a thought of the morrow. And now, having drained his body, and hearing
its frame-work crack, they abandoned him like rats, whom instinct
warns of the approaching collapse of a house, the foundations of which
they have undermined. They were all sleek and flourishing, and they
were already battening upon some one else. M. Kahn had just sold his
railway line from Niort to Angers to M. de Marsy. In another week the
colonel would be gazetted to an appointment in the imperial palaces.
M. Bouchard had received a formal promise that his _protégé_, the
interesting Georges Duchesne, should be appointed assistant head clerk
as soon as Delestang entered upon his duties at the Ministry of the
Interior. Madame Correur was rejoicing over a serious illness which had
fallen on Madame Martineau, and already pictured herself residing in
her house at Coulonges, where she would live comfortably, and play the
part of a lady bountiful. M. Béjuin, on his side, was certain of the
Emperor visiting his cut-glass works towards the autumn; and, lastly,
M. d'Escorailles, after being seriously lectured by his parents, was
rendering homage to Clorinde and winning a sub-prefecture merely by the
look of admiration with which he watched her carrying glasses about
the refreshment room. And Rougon, as he glanced at his glutted band,
felt as though he had grown smaller, whereas they had attained to huge
proportions, and were crushing him beneath their weight. And he did not
dare to rise from his seat, for fear lest he should see them smile if
he happened to totter.
By degrees, however, he grew more collected and then he at last stood
up. And he was pushing the little zinc table aside to give himself
room to pass, when Delestang entered the refreshment room on Count
de Marsy's arm. There was a very curious story in circulation about
the latter. If certain whisperings were to be believed, he had gone
to Fontainebleau the previous week, while Clorinde was there, solely
to facilitate the young woman's assignations with the Emperor, by
entertaining and amusing the Empress, so as to divert her attention. To
most people this seemed merely a piquant incident; but Rougon fancied
he could detect in it a piece of revenge on the part of the Count, who
had leagued himself with Clorinde to bring about his fall, thus turning
against him the very weapons which had been successfully employed
against himself some time previously at Compiègne. At all events, the
Count, since his return from Fontainebleau, had kept perpetually in
Delestang's company.