Nana by Émile Zola (top 100 novels of all time .txt) 📕
Then to put an end to the discussion, he introduced his cousin, M.Hector de la Faloise, a young man who had come to finish hiseducation in Paris. The manager took the young man's measure at aglance. But Hector returned his scrutiny with deep interest. This,then, was that Bordenave, that showman of the sex who treated womenlike a convict overseer, that clever fellow who was always at fullsteam over some advertising dodge, that shouting, spitting, thigh-slapping fellow, that cynic with the soul of a policeman! Hectorwas under the impression that he ought to discover some amiableobservation for the occasion.
"Your theater--" he began in dulcet tones.
Bordenave interrupted him with a savage phrase, as becomes a man whodotes on frank situations.
"Call it my brothel!"
At this Fauchery laughed approvingly, while La Faloise stopped with
Read free book «Nana by Émile Zola (top 100 novels of all time .txt) 📕» - read online or download for free at americanlibrarybooks.com
- Author: Émile Zola
- Performer: -
Read book online «Nana by Émile Zola (top 100 novels of all time .txt) 📕». Author - Émile Zola
ran slowly down his cheeks. His poor, dear child, how she was
suffering!
Francoise remained in the middle of the courtyard. Prussian
soldiers passed, laughing. Some of them spoke to her, uttered jokes
she could not understand. She stared at the door through which her
father had disappeared. With a slow movement she put her hand to
her forehead, as if to prevent it from bursting.
The officer turned upon his heel, saying:
“You have two hours. Try to utilize them.”
She had two hours. This phrase buzzed in her ears. Then
mechanically she quitted the courtyard; she walked straight ahead.
Where should she go?—what should she do? She did not even try to
make a decision because she well understood the inutility of her
efforts. However, she wished to see Dominique. They could have an
understanding together; they might, perhaps, find an expedient. And
amid the confusion of her thoughts she went down to the shore of the
Morelle, which she crossed below the sluice at a spot where there
were huge stones. Her feet led her beneath the first willow, in the
corner of the meadow. As she stooped she saw a pool of blood which
made her turn pale. It was there the murder had been committed.
She followed the track of Dominique in the trodden grass; he must
have run, for she perceived a line of long footprints stretching
across the meadow. Then farther on she lost these traces. But in a
neighboring field she thought she found them again. The new trail
conducted her to the edge of the forest, where every indication was
effaced.
Francoise, nevertheless, plunged beneath the trees. It solaced her
to be alone. She sat down for an instant, but at the thought that
time was passing she leaped to her feet. How long had it been since
she left the mill? Five minutes?—half an hour? She had lost all
conception of time. Perhaps Dominique had concealed himself in a
copse she knew of, where they had one afternoon eaten filberts
together. She hastened to the copse, searched it. Only a blackbird
flew away, uttering its soft, sad note. Then she thought he might
have taken refuge in a hollow of the rocks, where it had sometimes
been his custom to lie in wait for game, but the hollow of the rocks
was empty. What good was it to hunt for him? She would never find
him, but little by little the desire to discover him took entire
possession of her, and she hastened her steps. The idea that he
might have climbed a tree suddenly occurred to her. She advanced
with uplifted eyes, and that he might be made aware of her presence
she called him every fifteen or twenty steps. Cuckoos answered; a
breath of wind which passed through the branches made her believe
that he was there and was descending. Once she even imagined she
saw him; she stopped, almost choked, and wished to fly. What was
she to say to him? Had she come to take him back to be shot? Oh
no, she would not tell him what had happened. She would cry out to
him to escape, not to remain in the neighborhood. Then the thought
that her father was waiting for her gave her a sharp pain. She fell
upon the turf, weeping, crying aloud:
“MON DIEU! MON DIEU! Why am I here?”
She was mad to have come. And as if seized with fear, she ran; she
sought to leave the forest. Three times she deceived herself; she
thought she never again would find the mill, when she entered a
meadow just opposite Rocreuse. As soon as she saw the village she
paused. Was she going to return alone? She was still hesitating
when a voice softly called:
“Francoise! Francoise!”
And she saw Dominique, who had raised his head above the edge of a
ditch. Just God! She had found him! Did heaven wish his death?
She restrained a cry; she let herself glide into the ditch.
“Are you searching for me?” asked the young man.
“Yes,” she answered, her brain in a whirl, not knowing what she
said.
“What has happened?”
She lowered her eyes, stammered:
“Nothing. I was uneasy; I wanted to see you.”
Then, reassured, he explained to her that he had resolved not to go
away. He was doubtful about the safety of herself and her father.
Those Prussian wretches were fully capable of taking vengeance upon
women and old men. But everything was getting on well. He added
with a laugh:
“Our wedding will take place in a week—I am sure of it.”
Then as she remained overwhelmed, he grew grave again and said:
“But what ails you? You are concealing something from me!”
“No; I swear it to you. I am out of breath from running.”
He embraced her, saying that it was imprudent for them to be
talking, and he wished to climb out of the ditch to return to the
forest. She restrained him. She trembled.
“Listen,” she said: “it would, perhaps, be wise for you to remain
where you are. No one is searching for you; you have nothing to
fear.”
“Francoise, you are concealing something from me,” he repeated.
Again she swore that she was hiding nothing. She had simply wished
to know that he was near her. And she stammered forth still further
reasons. She seemed so strange to him that he now could not be
induced to flee. Besides, he had faith in the return of the French.
Troops had been seen in the direction of Sauval.
“Ah, let them hurry; let them get here as soon as possible,” she
murmured fervently.
At that moment eleven o’clock sounded from the belfry of Rocreuse.
The strokes were clear and distinct. She arose with a terrified
look; two hours had passed since she quitted the mill.
“Hear me,” she said rapidly: “if we have need of you I will wave my
handkerchief from my chamber window.”
And she departed on a run, while Dominique, very uneasy, stretched
himself out upon the edge of the ditch to watch the mill. As she
was about to enter Rocreuse, Francoise met an old beggar, Pere
Bontemps, who knew everybody in the district. He bowed to her; he
had just seen the miller in the midst of the Prussians; then, making
the sign of the cross and muttering broken words, he went on his
way.
“The two hours have passed,” said the officer when Francoise
appeared.
Pere Merlier was there, seated upon the bench beside the well. He
was smoking. The young girl again begged, wept, sank on her knees.
She wished to gain time. The hope of seeing the French return had
increased in her, and while lamenting she thought she heard in the
distance, the measured tramp of an army. Oh, if they would come, if
they would deliver them all?
“Listen, monsieur,” she said: “an hour, another hour; you can grant
us another hour!”
But the officer remained inflexible. He even ordered two men to
seize her and take her away, that they might quietly proceed with
the execution of the old man. Then a frightful struggle took place
in Francoise’s heart. She could not allow her father to be thus
assassinated. No, no; she would die rather with Dominique. She was
running toward her chamber when Dominique himself entered the
courtyard.
The officer and the soldiers uttered a shout of triumph. But the
young man, calmly, with a somewhat severe look, went up to
Francoise, as if she had been the only person present.
“You did wrong,” he said. “Why did you not bring me back? It
remained for Pere Bontemps to tell me everything. But I am here!”
THE RETURN OF THE FRENCH
It was three o’clock in the afternoon. Great black clouds, the
trail of some neighboring storm, had slowly filled the sky. The
yellow heavens, the brass covered uniforms, had changed the valley
of Rocreuse, so gay in the sunlight, into a den of cutthroats full
of sinister gloom. The Prussian officer had contented himself with
causing Dominique to be imprisoned without announcing what fate he
reserved for him. Since noon Francoise had been torn by terrible
anguish. Despite her father’s entreaties she would not quit the
courtyard. She was awaiting the French. But the hours sped on;
night was approaching, and she suffered the more as all the time
gained did not seem to be likely to change the frightful denouement.
About three o’clock the Prussians made their preparations for
departure. For an instant past the officer had, as on the previous
day, shut himself up with Dominique. Francoise realized that the
young man’s life was in balance. She clasped her hands; she prayed.
Pere Merlier, beside her, maintained silence and the rigid attitude
of an old peasant who does not struggle against fate.
“Oh, MON DIEU! Oh, MON DIEU!” murmured Francoise. “They are going
to kill him!”
The miller drew her to him and took her on his knees as if she had
been a child.
At that moment the officer came out, while behind him two men
brought Dominique.
“Never! Never!” cried the latter. “I am ready to die!”
“Think well,” resumed the officer. “The service you refuse me
another will render us. I am generous: I offer you your life. I
want you simply to guide us through the forest to Montredon. There
must be pathways leading there.”
Dominique was silent.
“So you persist in your infatuation, do you?”
“Kill me and end all this!” replied the young man.
Francoise, her hands clasped, supplicated him from afar. She had
forgotten everything; she would have advised him to commit an act of
cowardice. But Pere Merlier seized her hands that the Prussians
might not see her wild gestures.
“He is right,” he whispered: “it is better to die!”
The platoon of execution was there. The officer awaited a sign of
weakness on Dominique’s part. He still expected to conquer him. No
one spoke. In the distance violent crashes of thunder were heard.
Oppressive heat weighed upon the country. But suddenly, amid the
silence, a cry broke forth:
“The French! The French!”
Yes, the French were at hand. Upon the Sauval highway, at the edge
of the wood, the line of red pantaloons could be distinguished. In
the mill there was an extraordinary agitation. The Prussian
soldiers ran hither and thither with guttural exclamations. Not a
shot had yet been fired.
“The French! The French!” cried Francoise, clapping her hands.
She was wild with joy. She escaped from her father’s grasp; she
laughed and tossed her arms in the air. At last they had come and
come in time, since Dominique was still alive!
A terrible platoon fire, which burst upon her ears like a clap of
thunder, caused her to turn. The officer muttered between his
teeth:
“Before everything, let us settle this affair!”
And with his own hand pushing Dominique against the wall of a shed
he ordered his men to fire. When Francoise looked Dominique lay
upon the ground with blood streaming from his neck and shoulders.
She did not weep; she stood stupefied. Her eyes grew fixed, and she
sat down under the shed, a few paces from the body. She stared at
it, wringing her hands. The Prussians had seized Pere Merlier as a
hostage.
It was a stirring combat. The officer had rapidly posted his men,
comprehending that he could not beat a retreat without being cut to
pieces. Hence he would fight to the last. Now the Prussians
Comments (0)