She refused; it was useless. Two days before she had succeeded in getting five thousand francs out of the count. However, she soon regretted her discreet conduct, for the moment Labordette had gone the baker reappeared, though it was barely half-past two, and with many loud oaths roughly settled himself on a bench in the hall. The young woman listened to him from the first floor. She was pale, and it caused her especial pain to hear the servants’ secret rejoicings swelling up louder and louder till they even reached her ears. Down in the kitchen they were dying of laughter. The coachman was staring across from the other side of the court; Francois was crossing the hall without any apparent reason. Then he hurried off to report progress, after sneering knowingly at the baker. They didn’t care a damn for Madame; the walls were echoing to their laughter, and she felt that she was deserted on all hands and despised by the servants’ hall, the inmates of which were watching her every movement and liberally bespattering her with the filthiest of chaff. Thereupon she abandoned the intention of borrowing the hundred and thirty-three francs from Zoé; she already owed the maid money, and she was too proud to risk a refusal now. Such a burst of feeling stirred her that she went back into her room, loudly remarking:
“Come, come, my girl, don’t count on anyone but yourself. Your body’s your own property, and it’s better to make use of it than to let yourself be insulted.”
And without even summoning Zoé she dressed herself with feverish haste in order to run round to the Tricon’s. In hours of great embarrassment this was her last resource. Much sought after and constantly solicited by the old lady, she would refuse or resign herself according to her needs, and on these increasingly frequent occasions when both ends would not meet in her royally conducted establishment, she was sure to find twenty-five louis awaiting her at the other’s house. She used to betake herself to the Tricon’s with the ease born of use, just as the poor go to the pawnshop.
But as she left her own chamber Nana came suddenly upon Georges standing in the middle of the drawing room. Not noticing his waxen pallor and the somber fire in his wide eyes, she gave a sigh of relief.
“Ah, you’ve come from your brother.”
“No,” said the lad, growing yet paler.
At this she gave a despairing shrug. What did he want? Why was he barring her way? She was in a hurry—yes, she was. Then returning to where he stood:
“You’ve no money, have you?”
“No.”
“That’s true. How silly of me! Never a stiver; not even their omnibus fares Mamma doesn’t wish it! Oh, what a set of men!”