“There now! I suspected as much,” said Nana. “Now, my dear fellow, it’s all very well her being a countess, for she’s no better than she should be. Yes, yes, she’s no better that she should be. You know, I’ve got an eye for such things, I have! And now I know your countess as well as if I had been at the making of her! I’ll bet you that she’s the mistress of that viper Fauchery! I tell you, she’s his mistress! Between women you guess that sort of thing at once!”
Steiner shrugged his shoulders. Since the previous day his irritation had been hourly increasing. He had received letters which necessitated his leaving the following morning, added to which he did not much appreciate coming down to the country in order to sleep on the drawing-room divan.
“And this poor baby boy!” Nana continued, melting suddenly at sight of Georges’s pale face as he still sat rigid and breathless in front of her.
“D’you think Mamma recognized me?” he stammered at last.
“Oh, most surely she did! Why, she cried out! But it’s my fault. He didn’t want to come with us; I forced him to. Now listen, Zizi, would you like me to write to your mamma? She looks such a kind, decent sort of lady! I’ll tell her that I never saw you before and that it was Steiner who brought you with him for the first time today.”
“No, no, don’t write,” said Georges in great anxiety. “I’ll explain it all myself. Besides, if they bother me about it I shan’t go home again.”
But he continued plunged in thought, racking his brains for excuses against his return home in the evening. The five carriages were rolling through a flat country along an interminable straight road bordered by fine trees. The country was bathed in a silvery-gray atmosphere. The ladies still continued shouting remarks from carriage to carriage behind the backs of the drivers, who chuckled over their extraordinary fares. Occasionally one of them would rise to her feet to look at the landscape and, supporting herself on her neighbor’s shoulder, would grow extremely excited till a sudden jolt brought her down to the seat again. Caroline Hequet in the meantime was having a warm discussion with Labordette. Both of them were agreed that Nana would be selling her country house before three months were out, and Caroline was urging Labordette to buy it back for her for as little as it was likely to fetch. In front of them La Faloise, who was very amorous and could not get at Gaga’s apoplectic neck, was imprinting kisses on her spine through her dress, the strained fabric of which was nigh splitting, while Amelie, perching stiffly on the bracket seat, was bidding them be quiet, for she was horrified to be sitting idly by, watching her mother being kissed. In the next carriage Mignon, in order to astonish Lucy, was making his sons recite a fable by La Fontaine. Henri was prodigious at this exercise; he could spout you one without pause or hesitation. But Maria Blond, at the head of the procession, was beginning to feel extremely bored. She was tired of hoaxing that blockhead of a Tatan Nene with a story to the effect that the Parisian dairywomen were wont to fabricate eggs with a mixture of paste and saffron. The distance was too great: were they never going to get to their destination? And the question was transmitted from carriage to carriage and finally reached Nana, who, after questioning her driver, got up and shouted:
“We’ve not got a quarter of an hour more to go. You see that church behind the trees down there?”
Then she continued:
“Do you know, it appears the owner of the Château de Chamont is an old lady of Napoleon’s time? Oh, SHE was a merry one! At least, so Joseph told me, and he heard it from the servants at the bishop’s palace. There’s no one like it nowadays, and for the matter of that, she’s become goody-goody.”