Part 33

However, another misfortune befell him. He was obliged to remove Gilquin, who had compromised himself by taking a bribe to procure a conscript exemption from the service. It was his wont to promise exemption to peasants' sons on being paid a hundred francs a head. All that Du Poizat could do for Gilquin in the matter was to save him from prosecution and then disown him. So far the sub-prefect had relied entirely upon Rougon, and had tried to make him more and more responsible for every matter that went wrong. Now, however, he probably divined something of the minister's critical position, for he came to Paris without giving him any intimation of his intention to do so. He felt his own position to be very much shaken, and, fearing the collapse of the power which he had so largely helped to ruin, he was already on the look-out for the support of some influential hand. He contemplated asking permission to change his prefecture in order to escape certain dismissal. Indeed, since his father's death and Gilquin's knavery, Niort was becoming quite impossible for him.

'I just met Monsieur Du Poizat in the Faubourg Saint Honoré,' Clorinde mischievously said to the minister one day. 'Aren't you good friends now? He seems very bitter against you.'

Rougon avoided making any reply. After being compelled to refuse several favours to the prefect, he had become conscious of increasing coldness between them, and they now simply confined themselves to official intercourse. The desertion was becoming general. Even Madame Correur had abandoned Rougon. On certain evenings he again experienced that feeling of loneliness which he had formerly felt in the Rue Marbeuf when his friends were doubting his star. At the close of his busy days, amidst the crowd of visitors who besieged his drawing-room, he felt alone and lost and heart-broken, because his old familiar friends were not there. And he once more began to feel an overwhelming craving for the continuous praises of the colonel and M. Bouchard, for all the vitalising warmth with which his little court had once encompassed him. He even regretted M. Béjuin's silence. And so he made an attempt to win his old associates back again, by showing himself very pleasant and amiable, writing to them and even venturing to call on them. But the ties were broken, and he could never succeed in getting them all around him. If he contrived to piece up the links at one end of the chain, some mischance kept those at the other end broken; the chain remained imperfect in spite of every endeavour; some of his old friends were invariably absent. At last they all abandoned him. This was the death-agony of his power. He, strong as he was, was bound to those foolish weaklings by the long labour of their common fortune; and, as each deserted him, a piece of his being seemed to be ravished away. His strength and abilities remained as it were useless in this lessening of his importance; his big fists only struck the empty air. On the day when his shadow alone showed in the sunshine and he could no longer add to it by an abuse of power and patronage, it seemed to him as if he held but little room in the world; and he began to dream of a new incarnation, a resurrection in the shape of some Jupiter Tonans, with no band at his feet, but ruling by the sole power of his voice.

However, Rougon did not yet feel that his position was seriously threatened. He treated with disdain the bites that scarcely touched his heels. He went on governing with stern decision, unpopular and solitary. His great reliance was on the Emperor. His only weakness was his credulity. Each time that he saw his Majesty he found him kindly disposed and amiable, ever preserving his impenetrable smile; and the Emperor invariably renewed his expressions of confidence, and repeated the instructions which he had so frequently given before. This seemed quite sufficient to Rougon. His sovereign could have no thought of sacrificing him.

His feeling of security led him to venture on a deep stroke of policy. To silence his enemies and place his authority on a firmer footing than ever, he sent in his resignation couched in the most dignified terms. He spoke of the complaints which were being circulated against him, and asserted that he had strictly obeyed the Emperor's commands, but at the same time he felt the need of his Majesty's undoubted approval before further continuing his labours for the public weal. Moreover, he undisguisingly championed a stern policy, posed as the representative of merciless repression. The Court was at Fontainebleau at the time, and the resignation having been despatched, Rougon awaited the result with the confidence of a cool gamester. All the recent scandals, the tragedy at Coulonges, the perquisition at the convent of the Sisters of the Holy Family, would be blotted out, he thought. At any rate, if he were destined to fall, he wished to fall boldly like the strong man he was.

On the day when the minister's fate was to be decided, it so happened that a bazaar was held at the Orangery in the Tuileries gardens in support of an orphanage which the Empress patronised. All the palace circle and the high officials would certainly attend out of respect for their Majesties. And Rougon resolved that he also would go and show them his unruffled face. It was quite a piece of bravado, this idea of boldly confronting the people who cast furtive glances at him, of thus exhibiting his contemptuous unconcern amidst their hostile whispers. Towards three o'clock, while he was giving a final order to his chief subordinate, his valet came to tell him that a lady and gentleman particularly wished to see him in his private rooms. The card which the servant brought bore the names of the Marquis and Marchioness d'Escorailles.

The two old people, whom the valet, deceived by their almost shabby appearance, had left in the dining-room, rose ceremoniously when Rougon appeared. He hastened to lead them into the drawing-room, feeling some emotion at their presence and also a thrill of disquietude. However, he spoke of their arrival in Paris as an unexpected pleasure, and tried to appear as amiable as possible. But the Marquis and his wife remained cold and stiff and sullen.

'Monsieur,' at length said the Marquis, 'you will excuse, I hope, the step we have considered it necessary to take. It concerns our son Jules. We wish him to retire from the administration; we ask you to keep him no longer about you.' Then, as the minister looked at him with extreme surprise, he added: 'Young people are not to be depended upon. We have twice written to Jules telling him our reasons, and desiring him to send in his resignation. As he has not obeyed our instructions, we at last determined to come ourselves. This is the second time, monsieur, that we have come to Paris in thirty years.'

Then Rougon began to protest. Jules had the most promising future before him, said he; they would simply ruin his career. But the Marchioness made a gesture of impatience, and began to explain her reasons with more animation than her husband had shown. 'It is not for us, Monsieur Rougon, to judge you,' said she, 'but there are certain traditions in our family. Jules must not be mixed up in any abominable persecution of the Church. Everyone at Plassans is amazed already. We should embroil ourselves with the whole nobility of the neighbourhood.'

Rougon at once understood what was amiss. He was going to reply, but the Marchioness silenced him with an imperious gesture.

'Let me finish!' she said. 'Our son entered the public service in spite of our protests. You know what grief we felt at seeing him take office under an illegitimate government. It was all I could do to keep his father from cursing him. However, our house has been in mourning ever since, and when we receive our friends, the name of our son is never mentioned. We had sworn that we would trouble ourselves about him no longer; but there are limits to everything, and it is intolerable that an Escorailles should be mixed up with the enemies of our holy faith. You hear me, do you not, monsieur?'

Rougon bowed. He did not even think of smiling at the old lady's pious fibs. She and her husband once more stood before him proud and haughty and disdainful, as in the old days when he had prowled about Plassans pinched with hunger. If anyone else had used such language to him, he would certainly have had them turned out by the lackeys. But now he felt wounded, distressed, shrunken as it were. He again thought of his youth of sordid poverty, and for a moment could almost have fancied that he was wearing his old worn-down shoes once more. However, he promised that he would use his influence with Jules to make him conform with his parents' wishes; and then alluding to the reply which he was awaiting from the Emperor he just added: 'It is quite possible, madame, that your son will be restored to you this very evening.'

When he was alone again, Rougon felt a thrill of fear. That old couple had succeeded in disturbing his hitherto unruffled placidity. He now hesitated about going to the bazaar where all eyes would read his perturbation on his face. He felt ashamed, however, of this childish fear, and so passed through his study on his way out. Then he asked Merle if anything had come for him.

'No, your excellency,' respectfully replied the usher, who had been on the look-out all the morning.

The Orangery in the Tuileries Gardens, where the bazaar was being held, had been sumptuously decorated for the occasion. Crimson velvet hangings with fringes of gold concealed the walls, and transformed the huge bare gallery into a lofty gala hall. Towards one end on the left, large curtains, also of crimson velvet, were stretched across the gallery, cutting off a portion of it. They were, however, looped up with bands ornamented with huge golden tassels so as to afford free communication between the chief section of the hall, where the stalls were ranged on either side, and the smaller division where a refreshment counter had been fitted up. The floor was strewn with fine sand; and in each corner stood majolica pots containing rare plants. In the middle of the square space formed by the stalls there was a low circular settee upholstered in velvet and with a very sloping back; and from the centre of it a huge column of flowers shot up, a sheaf of stems amongst which drooped roses, carnations, and verbenas, like a shower of dazzling drops. On the terrace overlooking the Seine, in front of the folding glass-doors, which had been thrown wide open, some grave-looking ushers in black dress coats glanced at the cards of the _invités_ as they arrived.

The lady patronesses did not expect many people before four o'clock. Erect behind their stalls in the great hall they waited for customers to arrive. Their wares were spread out on long tables covered with crimson cloth. There were several stalls of Parisian and Chinese fancy goods; two of children's toys; a florist's kiosk crammed full of roses; and, lastly, inside a tent, a lucky-wheel, like those to be seen at the fairs in the Parisian suburbs. The stall-holders, in low-necked theatre dresses, assumed all the persuasive graces of shopkeepers, the seductive smiles of _modistes_ trying to palm off old-fashioned goods, and they modulated their voices alluringly, as they prattled and puffed their wares. They made themselves quite familiar with everyone who came to purchase of them. A Princess presided over one of the toy stalls, and in front of her, on the opposite side of the hall, a Marchioness sold purses which had cost twenty-nine sous for twenty francs a-piece. These two were rivals, each seeking to make a larger sum of money than the other. They seized hold of customers, called out to the men, and asked the most shameless prices; and, after bargaining as greedily as thievish butchers, they would throw in the tips of their fingers or a glimpse of their bosoms to turn the scale and complete some remunerative transaction. Charity was, of course, their excuse.

Little by little the hall gradually filled. Gentlemen calmly halted and examined the stall-holders, as though the latter formed part of the goods for sale. Fashionably dressed young fellows crowded round certain stalls, laughing and flirting, while the lady-sellers flitted from one to another with inexhaustible complacence, offering all their wares in turn with the same charming expression. It seemed quite an enjoyment to them. Sales by auction could be heard proceeding, interrupted by joyous peals of laughter, amid the low tramping over the sanded floor. The crimson hangings softened the bright light from the lofty windows, and diffused a ruddy glow, which here and there set a pinky touch on the stall-holders' bare necks and shoulders. And in the space between the stalls six other ladies, a baroness, two bankers' daughters, and the wives of three high officials, threaded their way among the public with light baskets hanging from their necks. These darted upon each new arrival, crying cigars and matches.

However, Madame de Combelot met with particular success. She was the flower girl, and sat on a high seat in the rose-crammed kiosk, a carved and gilded affair which looked like a great pigeon-cote. She was dressed in a tight-fitting rose-coloured dress, the corsage of which was very low. And she wore no jewellery, but simply the regulation bunch of violets nestling on her bosom. To make herself as much like a genuine flower-girl as possible, it had occurred to her to tie up her bouquets in public, holding the wire between her teeth and twisting it round a full-blown rose, a bud, and three leaves, which she sold at prices ranging from one to ten louis, according to the appearance of her customers. And her bouquets were in such demand that she could not make them quickly enough, while every now and then she pricked herself in her haste and quickly sucked the blood from her fingers.

In the canvas tent opposite the flower stall pretty Madame Bouchard presided over the lucky-wheel. She was wearing a charming blue peasant-costume, high waisted and with a _fichu_-shaped bodice; indeed almost a disguise which gave her quite the appearance of a vendor of cakes and gingerbread. She also affected a pretty lisp and a guileless air which was very original. Over the lucky-wheel were displayed the different prizes; some hideous trifles in leather, glass, and china, worth four or five sous a-piece. And every few moments, whenever there was a lack of patrons, Madame Bouchard called out, in her pretty innocent voice, which suggested some simple Susan fresh from her village: 'Try your luck, gentlemen! Only twenty sous a time! Try your luck, gentlemen!'

The refreshment room, which, like the larger hall, had its floor sanded and its corners decorated with rare plants, was furnished with little round tables and cane-seated chairs. It had been made to resemble a café as much as possible. At one end, behind a massive counter, were three ladies who fanned themselves while waiting for orders. Decanters of _liqueurs_, plates of cakes and sandwiches, sweetmeats, cigars and cigarettes, were set out in front of them, recalling the kind of display which one sees at the buffets of questionable dancing saloons. Every few moments the lady in the middle, a dark and petulant Countess, rose and bent forward to pour out a glass of something or other, seeming quite bewildered amidst all those decanters, and dashing her bare arms about at the risk of breaking everything. It was Clorinde, however, who was the real queen of the buffet. It was she who handed the customers the refreshments they ordered, when they sat down at the little tables. She looked like Juno masquerading as a waiting-maid. She wore a yellow satin robe slashed slant-wise with black satin, a dazzling, extraordinary arrangement which suggested a blazing star with a comet's tail sweeping after it. Her bodice was cut very low, and she sailed about majestically amidst the cane-seated chairs, carrying her glasses on a pewter tray with all the serenity of a goddess. Her bare elbows brushed against the men's shoulders, and her bosom showed conspicuously as she bent down to take their orders, evincing no haste as she did so, but answering every one with a smile, apparently quite at her ease. When the refreshments had been consumed, she received in her queenly hand the silver and copper coins tendered in payment, and, with a gesture that had already become familiar to her, dropped them into a bag hanging from her waist.

At last M. Kahn and M. Béjuin came into the buffet and sat down. The former jocosely rapped the zinc table at which he installed himself just as he might have done at a café, and called: 'Two beers, madame.'

Clorinde hastened up, served the two glasses of beer, and then remained standing near the table, to snatch a little rest, as just then there happened to be very few customers. And while she wiped her fingers on which some beer had trickled, M. Kahn noticed the peculiar brightness of her eyes, the expression of triumph with which her whole face shone. He blinked at her for a moment, and then asked: 'When did you get back from Fontainebleau?'

'This morning,' she replied.

'You've seen the Emperor, then, I suppose? Well, what is the news?'

Clorinde smiled, compressed her lips in a peculiar fashion, and then in her turn looked at M. Kahn. The latter thereupon noticed that she was wearing an eccentric ornament which he had never seen before. It was a dog-collar encircling her bare neck; a real dog-collar of black velvet, with buckle, ring and bell. The bell was of gold, and a pearl tinkled inside it. Upon the collar there were two names in letters of diamonds, oddly twisted and interlaced. And from the ring a thick gold chain fell over her bosom, and then rose again, ending in a gold plate fastened to her right arm, on which were these words: _I belong to my master_.

'Is that a present?' softly asked M. Kahn, pointing to the ornament.

Clorinde nodded assent, still keeping her lips compressed with a cunning, sensual expression. She had desired this servitude and she paraded it with shameless serenity, as though she felt honoured by a sovereign's choice, an object of envy to every other woman. When she had made her appearance with this collar round her neck, on which the keen eyes of rivals fancied they could decipher an illustrious name interlaced with her own, every woman present had understood the truth, and had exchanged significant glances with her acquaintances.

However, business in the refreshment room was suddenly becoming brisk. 'A glass of beer, madame, please,' said a fat gentleman wearing a decoration--a general--as he looked at Clorinde smiling.

When she had brought the beer, two deputies asked her for some Chartreuse. A crowd was now pouring into the buffet, and orders were given on all sides for liqueurs, lemonade, biscuits, and cigars. And the men, while staring at Clorinde, repeated in whispers the various stories which were current. For her part she turned her neck in all serenity, the better indeed to show her dog-collar and the heavy gold chain which tinkled as she moved. That she had been a queen of the left hand imparted additional piquancy to her present assumption of the part of a waiting-maid, who, answering every one's beck and call, dragged statuesque feet--which had been passionately kissed by august moustaches--over the floor of a mock café, amongst pieces of lemon-peel and biscuit-crumbs.

'It's really quite amusing,' the young woman said, as she came back and stood by M. Kahn. 'One of the gentlemen actually gave me a pinch just now! But I didn't say anything. What would have been the good? It's all for the sake of the poor, isn't it?'

M. Kahn motioned to her to stoop, and when she had done so, he whispered: 'Well, what about Rougon?'

'Hush! You'll know everything soon,' she replied, in equally low tones. 'I have sent him an invitation card, and I am expecting his arrival.' Then, as M. Kahn wagged his head, she added, with animation: 'Yes, yes, I know him, I'm sure he'll come. And besides he knows nothing of what has happened.'

M. Kahn and M. Béjuin then began to look out anxiously for Rougon's appearance. They could see the whole of the large hall through the opening in the curtains. The crowd there was increasing every minute. On the circular settee several men were lounging with their knees crossed and their eyes sleepily closed, while a continual flow of visitors brushed against their feet as it streamed past. The heat was becoming excessive; and the hubbub grew ever louder in the roseate haze that floated over the forest of black silk hats. Every few moments, too, the grating, rattling sound of the lucky-wheel could be heard.

Madame Correur, who had just arrived, was going slowly round the stalls. She looked very fat, in her gown of grenadine striped white and mauve; and there was a shrewd expression on her face, the calculating air of the customer who looks about her with the intention of making some advantageous bargain. There were plenty of such to be made, she said, at these charitable bazaars, for the ladies often did not know the value of their wares. However, she never bought anything of such stall-holders as were friends of her own, for they always tried to take advantage of her. When she had been all round the hall, moving the different goods about, examining them and putting them back in their places again, she returned to a stall where some fancy articles in leather were displayed for sale, and here she remained for fully ten minutes turning everything over with an air of perplexity. At last, she carelessly took up a Russian leather pocket-book, on which she had really cast her eyes a quarter of an hour previously.

'How much?' she asked.

The stall-holder, a tall, fair, young woman, who was joking with two gentlemen, scarcely turned as she replied: 'Fifteen francs.'

The pocket-book was worth at least twenty. These ladies, who contended with each other in wresting extravagant prices from the men, generally sold their goods to visitors of their own sex at cost price, actuated in the matter by a sort of freemasonry. Madame Correur, however, laid the pocket-book on the stall again, and put on an expression of alarm. 'Oh, it is too expensive,' she said. 'I want something for a present, but I don't wish to give more than ten francs. Have you got anything nice for ten francs?'

Then she began to turn all the goods over again. Nothing, however, seemed to suit her. What a pity it was that the pocket-book was so dear! She took it up again and poked her nose into the pockets, whereupon the stall-holder, growing impatient, at last offered to sell it to her for fourteen francs, and then for twelve. That, however, was still too much, according to Madame Correur, who, after much keen bargaining, succeeded in getting it for eleven.

'I prefer selling things if I can,' said the tall young woman. 'All the ladies bargain and not one of them buys anything. If it weren't for the gentlemen I don't know what we should do!'

As Madame Correur went off she had the satisfaction of finding inside the pocket-book a ticket denoting that the real price was twenty-five francs. Then she strolled about again, and finally installed herself behind the lucky-wheel, by the side of Madame Bouchard, whom she called her 'pet,' and whose side curls she began to arrange.

'Ah! here comes the colonel!' suddenly exclaimed M. Kahn, who was still sitting in the refreshment room with his eyes fixed upon the entrance.