LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

upon a small marble-topped table, while Florent remained on his chair and Lisa behind the counter; Quenu meantime leaning his back against a side of pork. And thereupon Gavard announced that he had at last found a situation for Florent. They would be vastly amused when they heard what it was, and the Government would be nicely caught.

      But all at once he stopped short, for a passing neighbour, Mademoiselle Saget, having seen such a large party gossiping together at the Quenu-Gradelles’, had opened the door and entered the shop. Carrying her everlasting black ribbonless straw hat, which appropriately cast a shadow over her prying white face, she saluted the men with a slight bow and Lisa with a sharp smile.

      She was an acquaintance of the family, and still lived in the house in the Rue Pirouette where she had resided for the last forty years, probably on a small private income; but of that she never spoke. She had, however, one day talked of Cherbourg, mentioning that she had been born there. Nothing further was ever known of her antecedents. All her conversation was about other people; she could tell the whole story of their daily lives, even to the number of things they sent to be washed each month; and she carried her prying curiosity concerning her neighbours’ affairs so far as to listen behind their doors and open their letters. Her tongue was feared from the Rue Saint Denis to the Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau, and from the Rue Saint Honore to the Rue Mauconseil. All day long she went ferreting about with her empty bag, pretending that she was marketing, but in reality buying nothing, as her sole purpose was to retail scandal and gossip, and keep herself fully informed of every trifling incident that happened. Indeed, she had turned her brain into an encyclopaedia brimful of every possible particular concerning the people of the neighbourhood and their homes.

      Quenu had always accused her of having spread the story of his Uncle Gradelle’s death on the chopping-block, and had borne her a grudge ever since. She was extremely well posted in the history of Uncle Gradelle and the Quenus, and knew them, she would say, by heart. For the last fortnight, however, Florent’s arrival had greatly perplexed her, filled her, indeed, with a perfect fever of curiosity. She became quite ill when she discovered any unforeseen gap in her information. And yet she could have sworn that she had seen that tall lanky fellow somewhere or other before.

      She remained standing in front of the counter, examining the dishes one after another, and saying in a shrill voice:

      “I hardly know what to have. When the afternoon comes I feel quite famished for my dinner, and then, later on, I don’t seem able to fancy anything at all. Have you got a cutlet rolled in breadcrumbs left, Madame Quenu?”

      Without waiting for a reply, she removed one of the covers of the heater. It was that of the compartment reserved for the chitterlings, sausages, and black-puddings. However, the chafing-dish was quite cold, and there was nothing left but one stray forgotten sausage.

      “Look under the other cover, Mademoiselle Saget,” said Lisa. “I believe there’s a cutlet there.”

      “No, it doesn’t tempt me,” muttered the little old woman, poking her nose under the other cover, however, all the same. “I felt rather a fancy for one, but I’m afraid a cutlet would be rather too heavy in the evening. I’d rather have something, too, that I need not warm.”

      While speaking she had turned towards Florent and looked at him; then she looked at Gavard, who was beating a tattoo with his fingertips on the marble table. She smiled at them, as though inviting them to continue their conversation.

      “Wouldn’t a little piece of salt pork suit you?” asked Lisa.

      “A piece of salt pork? Yes, that might do.”

      Thereupon she took up the fork with plated handle, which was lying at the edge of the dish, and began to turn all the pieces of pork about, prodding them, lightly tapping the bones to judge of their thickness, and minutely scrutinising the shreds of pinky meat. And as she turned them over she repeated, “No, no; it doesn’t tempt me.”

      “Well, then, have a sheep’s tongue, or a bit of brawn, or a slice of larded veal,” suggested Lisa patiently.

      Mademoiselle Saget, however, shook her head. She remained there for a few minutes longer, pulling dissatisfied faces over the different dishes; then, seeing that the others were determined to remain silent, and that she would not be able to learn anything, she took herself off.

      “No; I rather felt a fancy for a cutlet rolled in breadcrumbs,” she said as she left the shop, “but the one you have left is too fat. I must come another time.”

      Lisa bent forward to watch her through the sausage-skins hanging in the shop-front, and saw her cross the road and enter the fruit market.

      “The old she-goat!” growled Gavard.

      Then, as they were now alone again, he began to tell them of the situation he had found for Florent. A friend of his, he said, Monsieur Verlaque, one of the fish market inspectors, was so ill that he was obliged to take a rest; and that very morning the poor man had told him that he should be very glad to find a substitute who would keep his berth open for him in case he should recover.

      “Verlaque, you know, won’t last another six months,” added Gavard, “and Florent will keep the place. It’s a splendid idea, isn’t it? And it will be such a take-in for the police! The berth is under the Prefecture, you know. What glorious fun to see Florent getting paid by the police, eh?”

      He burst into a hearty laugh; the idea struck him as so extremely comical.

      “I won’t take the place,” Florent bluntly replied. “I’ve sworn I’ll never accept anything from the Empire, and I would rather die of starvation than serve under the Prefecture. It is quite out of the question, Gavard, quite so!”

      Gavard seemed somewhat put out on hearing this. Quenu had lowered his head, while Lisa, turning round, looked keenly at Florent, her neck swollen, her bosom straining her bodice almost to bursting point. She was just going to open her mouth when La Sarriette entered the shop, and there was another pause in the conversation.

      “Dear me!” exclaimed La Sarriette with her soft laugh, “I’d almost forgotten to get any bacon fat. Please, Madame Quenu, cut me a dozen thin strips — very thin ones, you know; I want them for larding larks. Jules has taken it into his head to eat some larks. Ah! how do you do, uncle?”

      She filled the whole shop with her dancing skirts and smiled brightly at everyone. Her face looked fresh and creamy, and on one side her hair was coming down, loosened by the wind which blew through the markets. Gavard grasped her hands, while she with merry impudence resumed: “I’ll bet that you were talking about me just as I came in. Tell me what you were saying, uncle.”

      However, Lisa now called to her, “Just look and tell me if this is thin enough.”

      She was cutting the strips of bacon fat with great care on a piece of board in front of her. Then as she wrapped them up she inquired, “Can I give you anything else?”

      “Well, yes,” replied La Sarriette; “since I’m about it, I think I’ll have a pound of lard. I’m awfully fond of fried potatoes; I can make a breakfast off a penn’orth of potatoes and a bunch of radishes. Yes, I’ll have a pound of lard, please, Madame Quenu.”

      Lisa placed a sheet of stout paper in the pan of the scales. Then she took the lard out of a jar under the shelves with a boxwood spatula, gently adding small quantities to the fatty heap, which began to melt and run slightly. When the plate of the scale fell, she took up the paper, folded it, and rapidly twisted the ends with her fingertips.

      “That makes twenty-four sous,” she said; “the bacon is six sous — thirty sous altogether. There’s nothing else you want, is there?”

      “No,” said La Sarriette, “nothing.” She paid her money, still laughing and showing her teeth, and staring the men in the face. Her grey skirt was all awry, and her loosely fastened red neckerchief allowed a little of her white bosom to appear. Before she went away she stepped up to Gavard again, and pretending to threaten him exclaimed: “So you won’t tell me what you were talking about as I came in? I could see you laughing from the street. Oh, you

Скачать книгу