Part
III
They slept the peaceful sleep of a quiet conscience, until they got to Rouen, and when they returned to the house, refreshed and rested, Madame could not help saying:
“It was all very well, but I was already longing to get home.”
They hurried over their supper, and then, when they had put on their professional costume, waited for their usual customers, and the little coloured lamp outside the door told the passersby that the flock had returned to the fold, and in a moment the news spread, nobody knew how or by whom. Monsieur Phillippe, the banker’s son, even carried his forgetfulness so far, as to send a special messenger to Monsieur Tournevau, who was confined to the bosom of his family.
The fish-curer used every Sunday to have several cousins to dinner, and they were having coffee, when a man came in with a letter in his hand. Monsieur Tournevau was much excited, he opened the envelope and grew pale; it only contained these words in pencil:
“The cargo of cod has been found; the ship has come into port; good business for you. Come immediately.”
He felt in his pockets, gave the messenger twopence, and suddenly blushing to his ears, he said: “I must go out.” He handed his wife the laconic and mysterious note, rang the bell, and when the servant came in, he asked her to bring him his hat and overcoat immediately. As soon as he was in the street, he began to run, and the way seemed to him to be twice as long as usual, his impatience was so great.
Madame Tellier’s establishment had put on quite a holiday look. On the ground floor, a number of sailors were making a deafening noise, and Louise and Flora drank with one and the other, so as to merit their name of the two Pumps more than ever. They were being called for everywhere at once; already they were not able to cope with business, and the night bid fair to be a very busy one for them.
The circle in the upstairs room was complete by nine o’clock. Monsieur Vasse, the Judge of the Tribunal of Commerce, Madame’s usual, but Platonic wooer, was talking to her in a corner, in a low voice, and they were both smiling, as if they were about to come to an understanding. Monsieur Poulin, the ex-mayor, was holding Rosa astride on his knees; and she, with her nose close to his, was running her podgy hands through the old gentleman’s white whiskers. A glimpse of her bare thigh was visible beneath her upraised dress of yellow silk, and was thrown into relief by the background of his dark trousers, while her red stockings were held up by blue garters, the commercial traveller’s present.
Tall Fernande, who was lying on the sofa, had both her feet on Monsieur Pinipesse, the tax-collector’s stomach, and her back on young Monsieur Philippe’s waistcoat; her right arm was round his neck, while she held a cigarette in her left.
Raphaële appeared to be discussing matters with Monsieur Dupuis, the insurance agent, and she finished by saying: “Yes, my dear, I will, this evening.” Then waltzing across the room—“Anything you like this evening,” she cried.
Just then, the door opened suddenly, and Monsieur Tournevau came in, who was greeted with enthusiastic cries of: “Long live Tournevau!” And Raphaële, who was still twirling round, went and threw herself into his arms. He seized her in a vigorous embrace, and without saying a word, lifting her up as if she had been a feather, he went through the room, opened the door at the other end and disappeared with his living burden in the direction of the stairs, amidst great applause.
Rosa, who was exciting the ex-mayor, kissing him every moment, and pulling both his whiskers at the same time in order to keep his head straight, was inspired by this example. “Come, do what he did,” she said. The old boy got up, pulled his waistcoat straight, and followed the girl, fumbling in the pocket where he kept his money.
Fernande and Madame remained with the four men, and Monsieur Philippe exclaimed: “I will pay for some champagne; get three bottles, Madame Tellier.” And Fernande gave him a hug, and whispered to him: “Play us a waltz, will you?” So he rose and sat down at the old piano in the corner, and managed to get a hoarse waltz out of the entrails of the instrument. The tall girl put her arms round the Tax-Collector, Madame fell into the arms of Monsieur Vasse, and the two couples turned round, kissing as they danced. Monsieur Vasse, who had formerly danced in good society, waltzed with such elegance that Madame was quite captivated. She looked at him with a glance which said “Yes,” a more discreet and delicious “Yes” than the spoken word.
Frédéric brought the champagne; the first cork popped, and Monsieur Philippe played the introduction to a quadrille, through which the four dancers walked in society fashion, decorously, with propriety, deportment, bows and curtsies, and then they began to drink. Monsieur Tournevau returned, relieved, contented, radiant. “I do not know,” he said, “what has happened to Raphaële; she is perfect this evening.” A glass was handed to him and he drank it off at a gulp, as he murmured, “By heavens, everything is being done on a luxurious scale!”
Monsieur Philippe at once struck up a lively polka, and Monsieur Tournevau started off with the handsome Jewess, whom he held up in the air, without letting her feet touch the ground. Monsieur Pinipesse and Monsieur Vasse had started off with renewed vigour, and from time to time one or other couple would stop to toss off a long glass of sparkling wine, and the dance was threatening to become never-ending, when Rosa opened the door.
She had a candlestick in her hand, her hair was down, and she was in bedroom slippers and chemise. Her face was flushed and very animated: “I want to dance,” she shouted. “And what about the old gentleman?” Raphaële asked. Rosa burst out laughing: “Him? he’s asleep already. He falls asleep at once.” She caught hold of Monsieur Dupuis, who was sitting on the sofa doing nothing, and the polka was resumed.
But the bottles were empty. “I will pay for one,” Monsieur Tournevau said. “So will I,” Monsieur Vasse declared. “And I will do the same,” Monsieur Dupuis remarked.
They all began to clap their hands, and it soon became a regular ball, and from time to time, Louise and Flora ran upstairs quickly, had a few turns, while their customers downstairs grew impatient, and then they returned regretfully to the café. At midnight they were still dancing. From time to time one of the girls would disappear, and when she was wanted for the dance, it would suddenly be discovered that one of the men was also missing.
“Where have you been?” asked Monsieur Philippe, jocularly, when Monsieur Pinipesse returned with Fernande. “Watching Monsieur Poulin sleep,” replied the Tax-Collector. The joke was a great success, and all the men in turn went upstairs to see Monsieur Poulin sleeping, with one or other of the girls, who on this occasion displayed an unusual amiability.
Madame shut her eyes to what was going on and she had long private talks in corners with Monsieur Vasse, as if to settle the last details of something that had already been settled.
At last, at one o’clock, the two married men, Monsieur Tournevau and Monsieur Pinipesse, declared that they were going home, and wanted to pay. Nothing was charged for except the champagne, and that only cost six francs a bottle, instead of ten, which was the usual price, and when they expressed their surprise at such generosity, Madame, who was beaming, said to them:
“We don’t have a holiday every day.”