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Updated: June 25, 2025
Why, she was growing jolly stupid nowadays! How could she take up with such an ape? For, indeed, Fontan was a regular ape with that great swingeing nose of his. Oh, he had an ugly mug! Besides, the man knocked her about too! "It's possible I like him as he is," she one day made answer in the quiet voice peculiar to a woman who confesses to an abominable taste.
Clarisse offered him a place on the bench beside her. "What's he bawling like that for?" she said in allusion to Bordenave. "Things will be getting rosy soon! A piece can't be put on nowadays without its getting on his nerves." Bosc shrugged his shoulders; he was above such storms. Fontan whispered: "He's afraid of a fiasco. The piece strikes me as idiotic."
Yet seeing that the lady was keeping them waiting, she declared that she would not stay longer, and accordingly they both took their departure. The next day Fontan informed Nana that he was not coming home to dinner, and she went down early to find Satin with a view to treating her at a restaurant. The choice of the restaurant involved infinite debate.
He no longer saw Fontan; he no longer heard the stinging taunt about his wife's adultery with which Nana cast him out of doors. These things were as words whose memory vanished. Yet deep down in his heart there was a poignant smart which wrung him with such increasing pain that it nigh choked him.
They gave 'em it to drink, and then some more and then some more. I'll vouch for it they sent themselves something down, my lad, into their waistcoats. I can vouch for it that the bottles of champagne came like magic out of the ground. Fontan kept always bringing them as though he was coining them. Got to admit it was an extra-double-special guaranteed champagne, that you want to go cautious with.
The rebel opens his steely eye and relapses into silence, like the rest of us, as the big person grows bigger. "The Bonéas are even richer," my aunt murmurs. Monsieur Fontan passes the open door, and we can hear the breathing of the corpulent recluse.
It was this man Fontan then whom Nana had been to fetch at the Varieties every day for a week past, for she was smitten with that fierce sort of passion which the grimacing ugliness of a low comedian is wont to inspire in the genus courtesan. "There!" she said, pointing him out with tragic gesture. Muffat, who hitherto had pocketed everything, rebelled at this affront. "Bitch!" he stammered.
Thus their latent affections would be stirred, and they would end with mutual adoration. "As you will," she replied. "I'll make tea, and we'll go to bed after." Thereupon Fontan installed himself at the table on which pen, ink and paper were at the same time grandly displayed. He curved his arm; he drew a long face. "My heart's own," he began aloud.
He was entirely taken up with Nana and looked annoyed at seeing her with Fontan. Besides, the turtle doves were kissing so excessively as to be becoming positive bores. Contrary to all known rules, they had elected to sit side by side. "Devil take it! Why don't you eat? You've got plenty of time ahead of you!" Bosc kept repeating with his mouth full. "Wait till we are gone!"
"What filthy weather!" he growled. Simonne and Prulliere did not move. Four or five pictures a landscape, a portrait of the actor Vernet hung yellowing in the hot glare of the gas, and a bust of Potier, one of the bygone glories of the Varietes, stood gazing vacant-eyed from its pedestal. But just then there was a burst of voices outside. It was Fontan, dressed for the second act.
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