“No, father, we are free!”
She felt her hand tremble on the glass case where it lay. Anything, anything, just so she could get rid of that woman! So that she would go away, back to her tall coxcomb, that Gerald whose mistress she must surely be! Later they could get out of the engagement. Let her only go! Not to see her any more in the room, not to hear her voice any more, no longer to breathe in her perfume, like that of Gerald, heavy!
They returned to the drawing-room. Mme. Raindal, surprised, accepted at once. The whole family saw Zozé off at the door. Even Thérèse followed them. When Mme. Chambannes reached the stairs and looked up for a last parting word, it was the gir challenging glance that met her last one.
“A peculiar look!” Mme. Chambannes thought in the cab that took her away. It was a look that held both admiration and a little envy, such as the poor give when they watch the beautiful women going into the opera.... Well, this little Raindal girl was strange!
Her cab passed the bridge of La Concorde and entered the Champs Élysées.
Zozé could not refrain from making eyes at the first well-dressed young man she passed. At last she was back in her own element, on her own soil, in her own district.
Once before, she had had a similar impression; it was when she had returned from abroad and saw, on crossing the frontier, the first French customs inspector. As she returned now to the right bank of the river, she found everything different from the place she had just left. Clothes, faces and gait—it was all different. The cold seemed less bitter, less cruel to her cheeks. Men walked down the avenue, comfortable, peaceful, covered with soft fur coats. Women passed in rapid victorias, their faces a smile in the midst of furs; children played and ran among the trees. Everywhere the pleasures of summer were carried on in spite of the hostile winter. Rich people met rich people, all well dressed, quite au courant of the latest thing, among connoisseurs, in their own sets. Zozé shut her eyes tight in an attempt to visualize again the rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs, so far away, in the provinces as it were, gray and flat as a stereopticon view....
Her mental comparisons were cut short when she heard the Élysée clock strike four. What! already! She would be late! What would Gerald say? Fortunately she was almost there. Yet it was not fast enough for Zozé who, with her feet propped up against the back seat of the cab, pushed the hot water can with her two feet, as if to help the horse along.
At length, the cab came to a stop in rue guesseau, before a quiet-looking house. Carelessly, she settled her fare, ran madly up one flight and entered the apartment, all out of breath. Gerald was there. He was dozing on the divan of the dressing room. His arms were folded around his head, making a dark setting for it. The obscurity of the corner where he lay further heightened his peaceful expression.
Mme. Chambannes contemplated him tenderly. Poor little Raldo! How beautiful he was in his sleep!