The Ladies' Paradise

Madame Baudu listened to him, her head flat on the pillow, and so pale that her face seemed the colour of the sheets. "They've paid you," she at length said softly.

At this Baudu became dumb. He walked about for an instant with his eyes on the ground. Then he resumed: "They've paid me, 'tis true; and, after all, their money is as good as another's. It would be funny if we revived the business with this money. Ah! if I were not so old and worn out!"

A long silence ensued. The draper was full of vague projects. Suddenly, without moving her head, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, his wife spoke again: "Have you noticed your daughter lately?"

"No," he replied.

"Well! she makes me rather anxious. She's getting pale, she seems to be pining away."

He stood before the bed, full of surprise. "Really! whatever for? If she's ill she should say so. To-morrow we must send for the doctor."

Madame Baudu still remained motionless; but after a time, she declared, with her meditative air: "I think it would be better to get this marriage with Colomban over."

He looked at her and then began walking about again. Certain things came back to his mind. Was it possible that his daughter was falling ill over the shopman? Did she love him so much that she could not wait? Here was another misfortune! It worried him all the more from the circumstance that he himself had fixed ideas about this marriage. He could never consent to it in the present state of affairs. However, his anxiety softened him.

"Very good," said he at last, "I'll speak to Colomban."

And without adding another word he continued his walk. Soon afterwards his wife fell asleep still looking quite white, as if dead; while he still kept on tramping about. Before getting into bed he drew aside the curtains and glanced outside; across the street through the gaping windows of the old Hôtel Duvillard the workmen could be seen stirring in the dazzling glare of the electric light.

On the following morning Baudu took Colomban to the further end of the store-room on the upper floor, having made up his mind over night as to what he would say to him. "My boy," he began, "you know I've sold my property at Rambouillet. That will enable us to show some fight. But I should first of all like to have a talk with you."

The young man, who seemed to dread the interview, waited with an awkward air. His small eyes twinkled in his broad face, and he stood there with his mouth open – with him a sign of profound agitation.

"Just listen to me," resumed the draper. "When old Hauchecorne left me The Old Elbeuf, the house was prosperous; he himself had received it from old Finet in a satisfactory state. You know my ideas; I should consider it wrong if I passed this family trust over to my children in a diminished state; and that's why I've always postponed your marriage with Geneviève. Yes, I was obstinate; I hoped to bring back our former prosperity; I wanted to hand you the books, saying: 'Look here! the year I commenced we sold so much cloth, and this year, the year I retire, we have sold ten thousand or twenty thousand francs' worth more.' In short, you understand, it was a vow I made to myself, the very natural desire I had to prove that the house had not declined in my hands. Otherwise it would seem to me that I was robbing you." His voice became husky with emotion. He blew his nose to recover himself a bit, and then asked, "You don't say anything?"

But Colomban had nothing to say. He shook his head, and waited, feeling more and more perturbed, and fancying that he could guess what the governor was aiming at. It was the marriage without further delay. How could he refuse? He would never have the strength to do so. And yet there was that other girl, of whom he dreamed at night, devoured by insensate passion.

"Now," continued Baudu, "a sum of money has come in that may save us. The situation becomes worse every day, but perhaps by making a supreme effort. – In short, I thought it right to warn you. We are going to venture our last stake. If we are beaten, why that will entirely ruin us! Only, my poor boy, your marriage must again be postponed, for I don't wish to throw you two all alone into the struggle. That would be too cowardly, wouldn't it?"

Colomban, greatly relieved, had seated himself on a pile of molleton. His legs were still trembling. He was afraid of showing his delight, so he held down his head whilst rolling his fingers on his knees.

"You don't say anything?" repeated Baudu.

No, he said nothing, he could find nothing to say. Thereupon the draper slowly resumed: "I was sure this would grieve you. You must muster up courage. Pull yourself together a bit, don't let yourself be crushed in this way. Above all, understand my position. Can I hang such a weight about your neck? Instead of leaving you a good business, I should leave you a bankruptcy perhaps. No, only scoundrels play such tricks as that! No doubt, I desire nothing but your happiness, but nobody shall ever make me go against my conscience."

And he went on for a long time in this way, meandering through a maze of contradictory sentences, like a man who would have liked to be understood at the first word but finds himself obliged to explain everything. As he had promised his daughter and the shop, strict probity forced him to deliver both in good condition, without defects or debts. But he was weary, the burden seemed to be too much for him, and entreaty almost pierced though his stammering accents. At last he got more entangled than ever, awaiting some sudden impulse from Colomban, some heartfelt cry, which did not come.

"I know," he murmured, "that old men are wanting in ardour. With young ones, things light up. They are full of fire, it's only natural. But, no, no, I can't, my word of honour! If I gave it up to you, you would blame me later on."

He stopped, trembling, and as the young man still kept his head down, he asked him for the third time, after a painful silence: "You don't say anything?" Then, at last, without venturing to look at him, Colomban replied: "There's nothing to say. You are the master, you know better than all of us. As you wish it we'll wait, we'll try and be reasonable."

It was all over. Baudu still hoped he was going to throw himself into his arms, exclaiming: "Father, do you take a rest, we'll fight in our turn; give us the shop as it is, so that we may work a miracle and save it!" Then, however, he looked at him, and felt full of shame, reproaching himself for having wished to dupe his children. His deep-rooted maniacal commercial honesty was awakened in him; it was this prudent fellow who was right, for there is no such thing as sentiment in business, which is only a question of figures.

"Embrace me, my boy," he said in conclusion. "It's settled; we won't speak about the marriage for another year. One must think of the business before everything."

That evening, in their room, when Madame Baudu questioned her husband as to the result of the conversation, the draper had regained his obstinate resolve to fight on in person to the bitter end. He gave Colomban high praise, calling him a solid fellow, firm in his ideas, brought up in the best principles, incapable, for instance, of joking with the customers like those puppies at The Paradise. No, he was honest, he belonged to the family, he didn't speculate on the business as though he were a stock-jobber.

"Well, then, when's the marriage to take place?" asked Madame Baudu.

"Later on," he replied, "when I am able to keep my promises."

She made no gestures but simply remarked: "It will be our daughter's death."

Baudu restrained himself though hot with anger. He was the one whom it would kill, if they continually upset him like this! Was it his fault? He loved his daughter – would lay down his life for her; but he could not make the business prosper when it obstinately refused to do so. Geneviève ought to have a little more sense, and wait patiently for a better balance. The deuce! Colomban would always be there, no one would run away with him!

"It's incredible!" he repeated; "such a well-trained girl!"

Madame Baudu said no more. She had doubtless guessed Geneviève's jealous agony; but she did not dare to inform her husband of it. A singular womanly modesty always prevented her from approaching certain tender, delicate subjects with him. When he saw her so silent, he turned his anger against the people opposite, stretching out his fists towards the works, where they were that night setting up some large iron girders, with a great noise of hammers.

Denise had now decided to return to The Ladies' Paradise, having understood that the Robineaus, obliged to cut down their staff, were at a loss how to dismiss her. To maintain their position they were now obliged to do everything themselves. Gaujean, still obstinate in his rancour, renewed their bills and even promised to find them funds; but they were frightened, they wanted to try the effect of economy and order. During a whole fortnight Denise had felt that they were embarrassed about her, and it was she who spoke the first, saying that she had found a situation elsewhere. This came as a great relief. Madame Robineau embraced her, deeply affected, and declaring that she should always miss her. Then when, in answer to a question, the young girl acknowledged that she was going back to Mouret's, Robineau turned pale.

"You are right!" he exclaimed violently.

It was not so easy to tell the news to old Bourras however. Still, Denise had to give him notice, and she trembled at the thought, for she felt full of gratitude towards him. Bourras was at this time in a rage from morn till night, for he more than any other suffered from the uproar of the adjacent works. The builder's carts blocked up his doorway; the picks tapped on his walls; umbrellas and sticks, everything in his place, danced about to the noise of the hammers. It seemed as if the hovel, obstinately remaining in the midst of these demolitions, would suddenly split to pieces. But the worst was that the architect, in order to connect the existing shops with those about to be opened in the Hôtel Duvillard, had conceived the idea of tunnelling a passage under the little house that separated them. This house now belonged to the firm of Mouret & Co., and as the lease stipulated that the tenant should submit to all necessary repairs, the workmen one morning appeared on the scene. At this Bourras nearly went into a fit. Wasn't it enough that they should grip him on all sides, on the right, the left, and behind, without attacking him underfoot as well, taking the very ground from under him! And he drove the masons away, and went to law. Repairs, yes! but this was a work of embellishment. The neighbourhood thought he would win the day, without, however, being sure of anything. The case, at any rate, threatened to be a long one, and people became quite impassioned over this interminable duel.

On the day when Denise at last resolved to give him notice, Bourras had just returned from his lawyer's. "Would you believe it!" he exclaimed, "they now say that the house is not solid; they pretend that the foundations must be strengthened. Confound it! they have shaken it up so much with their infernal machines, that it isn't astonishing if it gives way!"

Then, when the girl announced she was going to leave, and was returning to The Ladies' Paradise at a salary of a thousand francs, he became so amazed that he could only raise his trembling hands in the air. Emotion made him drop upon a chair.

"You! you!" he stammered. "Ah, I'm the only one – I'm the only one left!" And after a pause, he asked: "And the youngster?"

"He'll go back to Madame Gras's," replied Denise. "She was very fond of him."

They again became silent. She would have rather seen him furious, swearing and banging the counter with his fist; the sight of this old man, suffocating and crushed, made her heart bleed. But he gradually recovered, and began shouting out once more. "A thousand francs! that isn't to be refused. You'll all go. Go, then, leave me here alone. Yes, alone – you understand! One at all events will never bow his head. And tell them I'll win my lawsuit, if I have to sell my last shirt for it!"

Denise was not to leave Robineau's till the end of the month. She had seen Mouret again and everything had been settled. One evening as she was going up to her room, Deloche, who was watching for her in a doorway, stopped her. He was delighted, having just heard the good news; they were all talking about it in the shop, said he. And he gaily told her of all the gossip at the counters.

"The young ladies in the mantle department are pulling fearfully long faces, you know." And then breaking off, he added: "By the way, you remember Clara Prunaire? Well, it appears the governor has taken a fancy to her."

He had turned quite red. She, very pale, exclaimed:

"What! Monsieur Mouret!"

"Funny taste – eh?" he resumed. "A woman who looks like a horse. However, that's his business."

Once upstairs, Denise almost fainted away. It was surely through coming up too quickly. Leaning out of the window she had a sudden vision of Valognes, the deserted street and grassy pavement, which she had seen from her room as a child; and she was seized with a desire to go and live there once more – to seek refuge in the peace and forgetfulness of the country. Paris irritated her, she hated The Ladies' Paradise, she no longer knew why she had consented to go back. She would certainly suffer there as much as formerly; she was already suffering from an unknown uneasiness since Deloche's stories. And then all at once a flood of tears forced her to leave the window. She continued weeping on for some time, but at last found a little courage to live on still.

The next day at lunch time, as Robineau had sent her on an errand, and she was passing The Old Elbeuf, she opened the door on seeing Colomban alone in the shop. The Baudus were having their meal; she could hear the clatter of the knives and forks in the little dining-room.

"You can come in," said the shopman. "They are at table."

But she motioned him to be silent, and drew him into a corner. Then, lowering her voice, she said: "It's you I want to speak to. Have you no heart? Can't you see that Geneviève loves you, and that it's killing her."

She was trembling, her fever of the previous night had taken possession of her again. He, frightened and surprised by this sudden attack, stood looking at her, without a word.

"Do you hear?" she continued. "Geneviève knows you love another. She told me so. She wept like a child. Ah, poor girl! she isn't very strong now, I can tell you! If you had seen her thin arms! It's heart-breaking. You can't leave her to die like this!"

At last he spoke, quite overcome. "But she isn't ill – you exaggerate! I don't see anything myself. Besides, it's her father who is postponing the marriage."