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Updated: June 25, 2025
He was sitting on a bench covered with green velvet, with his head against the wall. But Simonne said that it was one's duty to consider Mme Bron's small perquisites. She clapped her hands excitedly and devoured Fontan with her gaze while his long goatlike visage kept up a continuous twitching of eyes and nose and mouth. "Oh, that Fontan!" she murmured. "There's no one like him, no one like him!"
As Fontan had not yet come home, the old lady ventured to give expression to her fears, for she trembled to see her niece renouncing the chance of wealth. "Oh, Aunt, I love him so dearly!" cried Nana, pressing her hands to her heart with the prettiest of gestures. This phrase produced an extraordinary effect on Mme Lerat, and tears came into her eyes.
Bordenave, Daguenet, Labordette, Prulliere and others, besides, had swollen the group, and now they were all listening to Fontan, who was explaining his plan for taking Berlin within a week. Meanwhile Maria Blond was touched as she stood by the bedside and murmured, as the others had done before her: "Poor pet! The last time I saw her was in the grotto at the Gaite."
One evening Nana came in toward eleven o'clock and found the door bolted. She tapped once there was no answer; twice still no answer. Meanwhile she saw light under the door, and Fontan inside did not trouble to move. She rapped again unwearyingly; she called him and began to get annoyed. At length Fontan's voice became audible; he spoke slowly and rather unctuously and uttered but this one word.
Bosc and Fontan had appeared profoundly indifferent during the course of this explanation. Let each man fight for his own hand, they reflected; the present dispute had nothing to do with them; they had no interest therein!
"That's all right, but if I were you I should drink the champagne at the restaurant its better there," he said, suddenly addressing Fontan when he had finished his recital. "The curtain's up!" cried the callboy in cracked and long-drawn accents "The curtain's up! The curtain's up!" The shout sounded for some moments, during which there had been a noise of rapid footsteps.
No blackguard of a man would ever have sacrificed himself like that without trumpeting the fact abroad. Nevertheless, she was struck by one thing: Labordette had given her exactly the same advice as Francis had given her. That evening when Fontan came home she questioned him about Fauchery's piece. The former had been back at the Varietes for two months past.
Do they think I'm to be sold so that they can get their bills paid? Why, look here, I'd rather die of hunger than deceive Fontan." "That's what I said," averred Mme Lerat. "'My niece, I said, 'is too noble-hearted!" Nana, however, was much vexed to learn that La Mignotte was being sold and that Labordette was buying it for Caroline Hequet at an absurdly low price.
Doubtless she was willing to make sacrifices and to keep the child by her whatever might happen while waiting for more prosperous times, but the thought that Fontan was preventing her and the brat and its mother from swimming in a sea of gold made her so savage that she was ready to deny the very existence of true love.
It was a letter from Georges, who was still a prisoner at Les Fondettes and comforted himself weekly with the composition of glowing pages. Nana loved to be written to, especially when the letters were full of grand, loverlike expressions with a sprinkling of vows. She used to read them to everybody. Fontan was familiar with the style employed by Georges and appreciated it.
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