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Updated: May 8, 2025
The day before during rehearsal he had been incessantly yelling at Simonne. There was a fellow whom the theatrical people wouldn't shed many tears over. Nana announced that if he were to ask her to take another part she would jolly well send him to the rightabout. Moreover, she began talking of leaving the stage; the theater was not to compare with her home.
Then came Labordette and, finally, at the two ends of the table were irregular crowding groups of young men and of women, such as Simonne, Lea de Horn and Maria Blond. It was in this region that Daguenet and Georges forgathered more warmly than ever while smilingly gazing at Nana. Nevertheless, two people remained standing, and there was much joking about it. The men offered seats on their knees.
He seemed bent on passing the evening there, and yet he was not quite happy. Indeed, he kept tucking up his long legs in his endeavors to escape from a whole litter of black kittens who were gamboling wildly round them while the mother cat sat bolt upright, staring at him with yellow eyes. "Ah, it's you, Mademoiselle Simonne! What can I do for you?" asked the portress.
She was put out somewhat when Fauchery assured her that Victor Emmanuel could not come to the exhibition. Louise Violaine and Lea favored the emperor of Austria, and all of a sudden little Maria Blond was heard saying: "What an old stick the king of Prussia is! I was at Baden last year, and one was always meeting him about with Count Bismarck." "Dear me, Bismarck!" Simonne interrupted.
Farther off, on a sofa, an attache had slipped his arm round Simonne's waist and was trying to kiss her neck, but Simonne, sullen and thoroughly out of sorts, pushed him away at every fresh attempt with cries of "You're pestering me!" and sound slaps of the fan across his face. For the matter of that, not one of the ladies allowed herself to be touched. Did people take them for light women?
Simonne Evrard gave her good name, her family position, her money, her life her soul into the keeping of Jean Paul Marat. That his love and gratitude to her was great and profound, there is abundant proof. She was his only servant, his secretary, his comrade, his friend, his wife. Not only did she attend him in sickness, but in banishment and disgrace she never faltered.
Pierre had been in the service of the Marquis for forty years. He had known Simonne, and felt for his master the deepest affection. He was of the people, and only this affection had induced him to leave France. By degrees he had become the confidant of his master, and read his half-broken heart like an open book, and realized that it was full of regrets, almost of remorse.
"Three times!" said Simonne when she was again able to speak. "It's getting exciting. You know, he won't go to her place; he takes her to his. And it seems that he has to pay for it too!" "Egad! It's a case of when one 'has to go out," muttered Prulliere wickedly, and he got up to have a last look at the mirror as became a handsome fellow whom the boxes adored. "They've knocked!
Simonne had some property and was descended from a family of note. When she became the wife of Marat, her kinsmen denounced her, refused to mention her name, but she was loyal to the man she loved. The Psalmist speaks of something "that passeth the love of woman," but the Psalmist was wrong nothing does.
"Immediately, eh?" she queried, turning round again to Simonne. Simonne seemed much worried. The letter was from a young man to whom she had engaged herself for that evening. She gave Mme Bron a scribbled note in which were the words, "Impossible tonight, darling I'm booked." But she was still apprehensive; the young man might possibly wait for her in spite of everything.
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