Complete Works of Emile Zola (705 page)

“How do you do, madame?” graciously asked Madame Aurélie, who had come forward. “And what can we show you? You shall be attended to at once.” Then, turning round: “Now, young ladies!”

Denise approached; but Clara had sprung forward. As a rule, she was very careless and idle, not caring about the money she earned in the shop, as she could get plenty outside, without trouble. But the idea of doing the new-comer out of a good customer spurred her on.

“I beg your pardon, it’s my turn,” said Denise, indignantly.

Madame Aurélie set her aside with a severe look, saying: “There are no turns. I alone am mistress here. Wait till you know, before serving our regular customers.”

The young girl retired, and as the tears were coming in her eyes, and she wished to conceal this excess of sensibility, she turned her back, standing up before the window, pretending to be looking into the street. Were they going to prevent her selling? Would they all arrange together to deprive her of the important sales, like that? A fear for the future seized her, she felt herself crushed between so many interests let loose. Yielding to the bitterness of her abandonment, her forehead against the cold glass, she gazed at The Old Elbeuf opposite, thinking she ought to have implored her uncle to keep her. Perhaps he himself regretted his decision, for he seemed to her greatly affected the previous evening. Now she was quite alone in this vast house, where no one liked her, where she found herself hurt, lost. Pépé and Jean, who had never left her side, were living with strangers; it was a cruel separation, and the big tears which she kept back made the street dance in a sort of fog. All this time, the hum of voices continued behind her.

“This one makes me look a fright,” Madame Boutarel was saying.

“You really make a mistake, madame,” said Clara; “the shoulders fit perfectly — but perhaps you would prefer a pelisse to a mantle?”

But Denise started. A hand was laid on her arm. Madame Aurélie addressed her severely:

“Well, you’re doing nothing now — eh? only looking at the people passing. Things can’t go on this way, you know!”

“But they prevent me selling, madame.”

“Oh, there’s other work for you, mademoiselle! Begin at the beginning. Do the folding-up.”

In order to please the few customers who had called, they had been obliged to ransack all the cupboards, and on the two long oaken tables, to the right and the left, were heaps of mantles, pelisses, and capes, garments of all sizes and all materials. Without replying, Denise set about sorting them, folding them carefully and arranging them again in the cupboards. This was the lowest work, generally performed by beginners. She ceased to protest, knowing that they required the strictest obedience, waiting till the first hand should be good enough to let her sell, as she seemed at first to have the intention of doing. She was still folding, when Mouret appeared on the scene. This was a violent shock for her; she blushed without knowing why, she felt herself invaded by a strange fear, thinking he was going to speak to her. But he did not even see her; he no longer remembered this little girl whom the charming impression of an instant had induced him to support.

“Madame Aurélie,” called he in a brief voice.

He was rather pale, but his eyes were clear and resolute. In making the tour of the departments he had found them empty, and the possibility of a defeat had suddenly presented itself in the midst of his obstinate faith in fortune. True, it was only eleven o’clock; he knew by experience that the crowd never arrived much before the afternoon. But certain symptoms troubled him. At the previous sales, a general movement had taken place from the morning even; besides he did not see any of those bareheaded women, customers living in the neighborhood, who usually dropped into his shop as into a neighbor’s. Like all great captains, he felt at the moment of giving battle a superstitious weakness, notwithstanding his habitually resolute attitude. Things would not go on well, he was lost, and he could not have explained why; he thought he could read his defeat on the faces of the passing ladies even.

Just at that moment, Madame Boutarel, she who always bought something, was going away, saying: “No, you have nothing that pleases me. I’ll see, I’ll decide later on.”

Mouret watched her depart. Then, as Madame Aurélie ran up at his call, he took her aside, and they exchanged a few rapid words. She wore a despairing air, and was evidently admitting that things were looking bad. For a moment they remained face to face, seized with one of those doubts which generals conceal from their soldiers. Ultimately he said out loud in his brave way: “If you want assistance, understand, take a girl from the workroom. She’ll be a little help to you.”

He continued his inspection in despair. He had avoided Bourdoncle all the morning, for his anxious doubts irritated him. On leaving the under-linen department, where business was still worse, he dropped right on to him, and was obliged to submit to the expression of his fears. He did not hesitate to send him to the devil, with a brutality that even his principal employees came in for when things were looking bad.

“Get out of my way!” said he. “Everything is going on all right. I shall end by pitching out the tremblers.”

Mouret planted himself alone on the landing of the hallstaircase. From there he commanded the whole shop; around him the departments on the first-floor; beneath, those of the ground-floor. Above, the emptiness seemed heart-breaking; in the lace department, an old woman was having everything turned over and buying nothing; whilst three good-for-nothing minxes in the under-linen department were slowly choosing some collars at eighteen sous. Down below, under the covered galleries, in the ray of light which came in from the street, he noticed that the customers were commencing to get more numerous. It was a slow, broken procession, a promenade before the counters; in the mercery and the haberdashery departments some women of the commoner class were pushing about, but there was hardly a customer in the linen or in the woollen departments. The shop messengers, in their green coats, the buttons of which shone brilliantly, were waiting for customers, their hands dangling about. Now and again there passed an inspector with a ceremonious air, very stiff in his white neck-tie. Mouret was especially grieved by the mortal silence which reigned in the hall, where the light fell from above from a ground glass window, showing a white dust, diffuse and suspended, as it were, under which the silk department seemed to be sleeping, amid a shivering religious silence. A shopman’s footstep, a few whispered words, the rustling of a passing skirt, were the only noises heard, and they were almost stifled by the hot air of the heating apparatus. However, carriages began to arrive, the sudden pulling up of the horses was heard, and immediately after the banging of the carriage doors. Outside, a distant tumult was commencing to make itself heard, groups of idlers were pushing in front of the windows, cabs were taking up their positions in the Place Gaillon, there were all the appearances of an approaching crowd. But on seeing the idle cashiers leaning back on their chairs behind their wickets, and observing that the parceltables with their boxes of string and reams of blue packing-paper remained unoccupied, Mouret, though indignant with himself for being afraid, thought he felt his immense machine stop and turn cold beneath him.

“I say, Favier,” murmured Hutin, “look at the governor up there. He doesn’t seem to be enjoying himself.”

“This is a rotten shop!” replied Favier. “Just fancy, I’ve not sold a thing yet.”

Both of them, waiting for customers, whispered such short remarks from time to time without looking at each other. The other salesmen of the department were occupied in arranging large bales of the Paris Paradise under Robineau’s orders; whilst Bouthemont, in full consultation with a thin young woman, seemed to be taking an important order. Around them, on frail and elegant shelves, the silks, folded in long pieces of creamy paper, were heaped up like pamphlets of an unusual size; and, encumbering the counters, were fancy silks, moirés, satins, velvets, presenting the appearance of mown flowers, quite a harvest of delicate precious tissues. This was the most elegant of all the departments, a veritable drawing-room, where the goods, so light and airy, were nothing but a luxurious furnishing.

“I must have a hundred francs by Sunday,” said Hutin. “If I don’t make an average of twelve francs a day, I’m lost. I’d reckoned on this sale.”

“By Jove! a hundred francs; that’s rather stiff,” said Favier. “I only want fifty or sixty. You must go in for swell women, then?”

“Oh, no, my dear fellow. It’s a stupid affair; I made a bet and lost. So I have to stand a dinner for five persons, two fellows and three girls. Hang me! the first one that passes I’ll let her in for twenty yards of Paris Paradise!”

They continued talking for several minutes, relating what they had done the previous day, and what they intended to do the next week. Favier did a little betting, Hutin did a little boating, and kept music-hall singers. But they were both possessed by the same desire for money, struggling for it all the week, and spending it all on Sunday. It was their sole preoccupation in the shop, an hourly and pitiless struggle. And that cunning Bouthemont had just managed to get hold of Madame Sauveur’s messenger, the skinny woman with whom he was talking! good business, three or four dozen pieces, at least, for the celebrated dressmaker always gave good orders. At that moment Robineau took it into his head to do Favier out of a customer.

“Oh! as for that fellow, we must settle up with him,” said Hutin, who took advantage of the slightest thing in order to stir up the salesmen against the man whose place he coveted. “Ought the first and second hands to sell? My word of honor! my dear fellow, if ever I become second you’ll see how well I shall act with the others.”

And all his little Norman person, so fat and jolly, played the good-natured man energetically. Favier could not help casting a side glance towards him, but he preserved his phlegmatical air, contenting himself with replying: “Yes, I know. I should be only too pleased.” Then, as a lady came up, he added in a lower tone: “Look out! Here’s one for you.”

It was a lady with a blotchy face, a yellow bonnet, and a red dress. Hutin immediately recognized in her a woman who would buy nothing. He quickly stooped behind the counter, pretending to be doing up his boot-lace; and, thus concealed, he murmured: “No fear, let someone else take her. I don’t want to lose my turn!”

However, Robineau called out: “Whose turn, gentlemen? Monsieur Hutin’s? Where’s Monsieur Hutin?”

And as this gentleman still gave no reply, it was the next salesman who served the lady with the blotches. Hutin was right, she simply wanted some samples with the prices; and she kept the salesman more than ten minutes, overwhelming him with questions. However, Robineau had seen Hutin get up from behind the counter; so that when another customer arrived, he interfered with a stern air, stopping the young man, who was rushing forward.

“Your turn is passed. I called you, and as you were there behind.”

“But I didn’t hear you, sir.”

“That’ll do! Write your name at the bottom. Now, Monsieur Favier, it’s your turn.”

Favier, greatly amused at heart at this adventure, threw a glance at his friend, as if to excuse himself. Hutin, with pale lips, had turned his head away. What enraged him was that he knew the customer very well, an adorable blonde who often came to their department, and whom the salesmen called amongst themselves “the pretty lady,” knowing nothing of her, not even her name. She bought a great deal, had her purchases taken to her carriage, and immediately disappeared. Tall, elegant, dressed with exquisite taste, she appeared to be very rich, and to belong to the best society.

“Well! and your courtesan?” asked Hutin of Favier, when the latter returned from the pay-desk, where he had accompanied the lady.

“Oh! a courtesan!” replied the other. “I fancy she looks too lady-like for that. She must be the wife of a stockbroker or a doctor, or something of that sort.”

“Don’t tell me! it’s a courtesan. With their grand lady airs it’s impossible to tell now-a-days!”

Favier looked at his book of debit-notes. “I don’t care!” said he, “I’ve stuck her for two hundred and ninety-three francs. That makes nearly three francs for me.”

Hutin bit his lips, and vented his spleen on the debit notebooks. Another invention for cramming their pockets. There was a secret rivalry between these two. Favier, as a rule, pretended to sing small, to recognize Hutin’s superiority, but in reality devouring him all the while behind his back. Thus Hutin was wild at the thought of the three francs pocketed so easily by a salesman whom he considered to be his inferior in business. A fine day’s work! If it went on like this, he would not earn enough to pay for the seltzer water for his guests. And in the midst of the battle, which was now becoming fiercer, he walked along the counters with hungry eyes, eager for his share, jealous even of his superior, who was just showing the thin young woman out, and saying to her:

“Very well! it’s understood. Tell her I’ll do my best to obtain this favor from Monsieur Mouret.”

Mouret had quitted his post on the stairs some time before. Suddenly he reappeared on the landing of the principal staircase which communicated with the ground floor; and from there he commanded a view of the whole establishment. His face had regained its color, his faith was restored and increasing before the crowd which was gradually filling the place. It was the expected rush at last, the afternoon crush, which he had for a moment despaired of. All the shopmen were at their posts, a last ring of the bell had announced the end of the third lunch; the disastrous morning, due no doubt to a shower which fell about nine o’clock, could still be repaired, for the blue sky of early morn had resumed its victorious gaiety. Now that the first-floor departments were becoming animated, he was obliged to stand back to make way for the women who were going up to the under-clothing and dress departments; whilst, behind him, in the lace and the shawl departments, he heard large sums bandied about. But the sight of the galleries on the ground-floor especially reassured him. There was a crowd at the haberdashery department, and even the linen and woollen departments were invaded. The procession of buyers closed up, nearly all of a higher class at present, with a few lingering housewives. Under the pale light of the silk hall, ladies had taken off their gloves to feel the Paris Paradise, talking in half-whispers. And there was no longer any mistaking the noises arriving from outside, rolling of cabs, banging of carriage-doors, an increasing tumult in the crowd. He felt the machine commencing to work under him, getting up steam and reviving, from the pay-desks where the money was jingling, and the tables where the messengers were hurriedly packing up the goods, down to the basement, in the delivery-room, which was quickly filling up with the parcels sent down, and the underground rumbling of which seemed to shake the whole house. In the midst of the crowd was the inspector, Jouve, walking about gravely, watching for thieves.