Four Short Stories By Emile Zola

“Gracious me, it’s Baby! What ARE you doing there, baby?”

“‘Gad, I’ve come – that’s all!” replied Georges.

Her head swam.

“You knew I’d come through the gardener telling you? Oh, that poor child! Why, he’s soaking!”

“Oh, I’ll explain that to you! The rain caught me on my way here, and then, as I didn’t wish to go upstream as far as Gumieres, I crossed the Choue and fell into a blessed hole.”

Nana forgot the strawberries forthwith. She was trembling and full of pity. That poor dear Zizi in a hole full of water! And she drew him with her in the direction of the house and spoke of making up a roaring fire.

“You know,” he murmured, stopping her among the shadows, “I was in hiding because I was afraid of being scolded, like in Paris, when I come and see you and you’re not expecting me.”

She made no reply but burst out laughing and gave him a kiss on the forehead. Up till today she had always treated him like a naughty urchin, never taking his declarations seriously and amusing herself at his expense as though he were a little man of no consequence whatever. There was much ado to install him in the house. She absolutely insisted on the fire being lit in her bedroom, as being the most comfortable place for his reception. Georges had not surprised Zoe, who was used to all kinds of encounters, but the gardener, who brought the wood upstairs, was greatly nonplused at sight of this dripping gentleman to whom he was certain he had not opened the front door. He was, however, dismissed, as he was no longer wanted.

A lamp lit up the room, and the fire burned with a great bright flame.

“He’ll never get dry, and he’ll catch cold,” said Nana, seeing Georges beginning to shiver.

And there were no men’s trousers in her house! She was on the point of calling the gardener back when an idea struck her. Zoe, who was unpacking the trunks in the dressing room, brought her mistress a change of underwear, consisting of a shift and some petticoats with a dressing jacket.

“Oh, that’s first rate!” cried the young woman. “Zizi can put ‘em all on. You’re not angry with me, eh? When your clothes are dry you can put them on again, and then off with you, as fast as fast can be, so as not to have a scolding from your mamma. Make haste! I’m going to change my things, too, in the dressing room.”

Ten minutes afterward, when she reappeared in a tea gown, she clasped her hands in a perfect ecstasy.

“Oh, the darling! How sweet he looks dressed like a little woman!”

He had simply slipped on a long nightgown with an insertion front, a pair of worked drawers and the dressing jacket, which was a long cambric garment trimmed with lace. Thus attired and with his delicate young arms showing and his bright damp hair falling almost to his shoulders, he looked just like a girl.

“Why, he’s as slim as I am!” said Nana, putting her arm round his waist. “Zoe, just come here and see how it suits him. It’s made for him, eh? All except the bodice part, which is too large. He hasn’t got as much as I have, poor, dear Zizi!”

“Oh, to be sure, I’m a bit wanting there,” murmured Georges with a smile.

All three grew very merry about it. Nana had set to work buttoning the dressing jacket from top to bottom so as to make him quite decent. Then she turned him round as though he were a doll, gave him little thumps, made the skirt stand well out behind. After which she asked him questions. Was he comfortable? Did he feel warm? Zounds, yes, he was comfortable! Nothing fitted more closely and warmly than a woman’s shift; had he been able, he would always have worn one. He moved round and about therein, delighted with the fine linen and the soft touch of that unmanly garment, in the folds of which he thought he discovered some of Nana’s own warm life.

Meanwhile Zoe had taken the soaked clothes down to the kitchen in order to dry them as quickly as possible in front of a vine-branch fire. Then Georges, as he lounged in an easy chair, ventured to make a confession.

“I say, are you going to feed this evening? I’m dying of hunger. I haven’t dined.”

Nana was vexed. The great silly thing to go sloping off from Mamma’s with an empty stomach, just to chuck himself into a hole full of water! But she was as hungry as a hunter too. They certainly must feed! Only they would have to eat what they could get. Whereupon a round table was rolled up in front of the fire, and the queerest of dinners was improvised thereon. Zoe ran down to the gardener’s, he having cooked a mess of cabbage soup in case Madame should not dine at Orleans before her arrival. Madame, indeed, had forgotten to tell him what he was to get ready in the letter she had sent him. Fortunately the cellar was well furnished. Accordingly they had cabbage soup, followed by a piece of bacon. Then Nana rummaged in her handbag and found quite a heap of provisions which she had taken the precaution of stuffing into it. There was a Strasbourg pate, for instance, and a bag of sweet-meats and some oranges. So they both ate away like ogres and, while they satisfied their healthy young appetites, treated one another with easy good fellowship. Nana kept calling Georges “dear old girl,” a form of address which struck her as at once tender and familiar. At dessert, in order not to give Zoe any more trouble, they used the same spoon turn and turn about while demolishing a pot of preserves they had discovered at the top of a cupboard.

“Oh, you dear old girl!” said Nana, pushing back the round table. “I haven’t made such a good dinner these ten years past!”

Yet it was growing late, and she wanted to send her boy off for fear he should be suspected of all sorts of things. But he kept declaring that he had plenty of time to spare. For the matter of that, his clothes were not drying well, and Zoe averred that it would take an hour longer at least, and as she was dropping with sleep after the fatigues of the journey, they sent her off to bed. After which they were alone in the silent house.

It was a very charming evening. The fire was dying out amid glowing embers, and in the great blue room, where Zoe had made up the bed before going upstairs, the air felt a little oppressive. Nana, overcome by the heavy warmth, got up to open the window for a few minutes, and as she did so she uttered a little cry.

“Great heavens, how beautiful it is! Look, dear old girl!”

Georges had come up, and as though the window bar had not been sufficiently wide, he put his arm round Nana’s waist and rested his head against her shoulder. The weather had undergone a brisk change: the skies were clearing, and a full moon lit up the country with its golden disk of light. A sovereign quiet reigned over the valley. It seemed wider and larger as it opened on the immense distances of the plain, where the trees loomed like little shadowy islands amid a shining and waveless lake. And Nana grew tenderhearted, felt herself a child again. Most surely she had dreamed of nights like this at an epoch which she could not recall. Since leaving the train every object of sensation – the wide countryside, the green things with their pungent scents, the house, the vegetables – had stirred her to such a degree that now it seemed to her as if she had left Paris twenty years ago. Yesterday’s existence was far, far away, and she was full of sensations of which she had no previous experience. Georges, meanwhile, was giving her neck little coaxing kisses, and this again added to her sweet unrest. With hesitating hand she pushed him from her, as though he were a child whose affectionate advances were fatiguing, and once more she told him that he ought to take his departure. He did not gainsay her. All in good time – he would go all in good time!

But a bird raised its song and again was silent. It was a robin in an elder tree below the window.

“Wait one moment,” whispered Georges; “the lamp’s frightening him. I’ll put it out.”

And when he came back and took her waist again he added:

“We’ll relight it in a minute.”

Then as she listened to the robin and the boy pressed against her side, Nana remembered. Ah yes, it was in novels that she had got to know all this! In other days she would have given her heart to have a full moon and robins and a lad dying of love for her. Great God, she could have cried, so good and charming did it all seem to her! Beyond a doubt she had been born to live honestly! So she pushed Georges away again, and he grew yet bolder.

“No, let me be. I don’t care about it. It would be very wicked at your age. Now listen – I’ll always be your mamma.”

A sudden feeling of shame overcame her. She was blushing exceedingly, and yet not a soul could see her. The room behind them was full of black night while the country stretched before them in silence and lifeless solitude. Never had she known such a sense of shame before. Little by little she felt her power of resistance ebbing away, and that despite her embarrassed efforts to the contrary. That disguise of his, that woman’s shift and that dressing jacket set her laughing again. It was as though a girl friend were teasing her.

“Oh, it’s not right; it’s not right!” she stammered after a last effort.

And with that, in face of the lovely night, she sank like a young virgin into the arms of this mere child. The house slept.

Next morning at Les Fondettes, when the bell rang for lunch, the dining-room table was no longer too big for the company. Fauchery and Daguenet had been driven up together in one carriage, and after them another had arrived with the Count de Vandeuvres, who had followed by the next train. Georges was the last to come downstairs. He was looking a little pale, and his eyes were sunken, but in answer to questions he said that he was much better, though he was still somewhat shaken by the violence of the attack. Mme Hugon looked into his eyes with an anxious smile and adjusted his hair which had been carelessly combed that morning, but he drew back as though embarrassed by this tender little action. During the meal she chaffed Vandeuvres very pleasantly and declared that she had expected him for five years past.

“Well, here you are at last! How have you managed it?”

Vandeuvres took her remarks with equal pleasantry. He told her that he had lost a fabulous sum of money at the club yesterday and thereupon had come away with the intention of ending up in the country.

“‘Pon my word, yes, if only you can find me an heiress in these rustic parts! There must be delightful women hereabouts.”

The old lady rendered equal thanks to Daguenet and Fauchery for having been so good as to accept her son’s invitation, and then to her great and joyful surprise she saw the Marquis de Chouard enter the room. A third carriage had brought him.

“Dear me, you’ve made this your trysting place today!” she cried. “You’ve passed word round! But what’s happening? For years I’ve never succeeded in bringing you all together, and now you all drop in at once. Oh, I certainly don’t complain.”

Another place was laid. Fauchery found himself next the Countess Sabine, whose liveliness and gaiety surprised him when he remembered her drooping, languid state in the austere Rue Miromesnil drawing room. Daguenet, on the other hand, who was seated on Estelle’s left, seemed slightly put out by his propinquity to that tall, silent girl. The angularity of her elbows was disagreeable to him. Muffat and Chouard had exchanged a sly glance while Vandeuvres continued joking about his coming marriage.

“Talking of ladies,” Mme Hugon ended by saying, “I have a new neighbor whom you probably know.”

And she mentioned Nana. Vandeuvres affected the liveliest astonishment.

“Well, that is strange! Nana’s property near here!”

Fauchery and Daguenet indulged in a similar demonstration while the Marquis de Chouard discussed the breast of a chicken without appearing to comprehend their meaning. Not one of the men had smiled.

“Certainly,” continued the old lady, “and the person in question arrived at La Mignotte yesterday evening, as I was saying she would. I got my information from the gardener this morning.”

At these words the gentlemen could not conceal their very real surprise. They all looked up. Eh? What? Nana had come down! But they were only expecting her next day; they were privately under the impression that they would arrive before her! Georges alone sat looking at his glass with drooped eyelids and a tired expression. Ever since the beginning of lunch he had seemed to be sleeping with open eyes and a vague smile on his lips.

“Are you still in pain, my Zizi?” asked his mother, who had been gazing at him throughout the meal.

He started and blushed as he said that he was very well now, but the worn-out insatiate expression of a girl who has danced too much did not fade from his face.