“If you’re ashamed of my family you’ll please leave me, because I’m not one of those women who deny their father and mother. You must take me and them together, d’you understand?”
They took her as required; they accepted the dad, the mamma, the past; in fact, whatever she chose. With their eyes fixed on the tablecloth, the four now sat shrinking and insignificant while Nana, in a transport of omnipotence, trampled on them in the old muddy boots worn long since in the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or. She was determined not to lay down the cudgels just yet. It was all very fine to bring her fortunes, to build her palaces; she would never leave off regretting the time when she munched apples! Oh, what bosh that stupid thing money was! It was made for the tradespeople! Finally her outburst ended in a sentimentally expressed desire for a simple, openhearted existence, to be passed in an atmosphere of universal benevolence.
When she got to this point she noticed Julien waiting idly by.
“Well, what’s the matter? Hand the champagne then!” she said. “Why d’you stand staring at me like a goose?”
During this scene the servants had never once smiled. They apparently heard nothing, and the more their mistress let herself down, the more majestic they became. Julien set to work to pour out the champagne and did so without mishap, but Francois, who was handing round the fruit, was so unfortunate as to tilt the fruit dish too low, and the apples, the pears and the grapes rolled on the table.
“You bloody clumsy lot!” cried Nana.
The footman was mistaken enough to try and explain that the fruit had not been firmly piled up. Zoé had disarranged it by taking out some oranges.
“Then it’s Zoé that’s the goose!” said Nana.
“Madame—” murmured the lady’s maid in an injured tone.
Straightway Madame rose to her feet, and in a sharp voice and with royally authoritative gesture: