The Ladies' Paradise (BBC tie-in) (Oxford World's Classics) by Emile Zola, Brian Nelson
Authors: Emile Zola, Brian Nelson
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glance to within an ounce.
He served everyone, and even cut the bread. Denise had put Pépé next to her to make sure that he ate properly. But the dark room made her feel uneasy; she felt a lump in her throat as shelooked round, for she was used to the large, well-lit rooms of her native province. A single window opened on to a little inner courtyard which communicated with the street by means of a dark alley by the side of the house. This yard, sodden and filthy, was like the bottom of a well; a circle of sinister light fell into it. In the winter the gas had to be kept burning from morning to night. When the weather allowed them to do without it, the effect was even more depressing. It took several seconds before Denise’s eyes were sufficiently accustomed to the dark to distinguish what was on her plate.
‘There’s a fellow with a good appetite,’ Baudu declared, noticing that Jean had finished his veal. ‘If he works as well as he eats, he’ll get really strong … But what about you, my dear, aren’t you eating? And now that we can talk, tell me why you didn’t get married in Valognes?’
Denise put down the glass she was raising to her mouth. ‘Oh! Uncle, get married? How can you say that? … What about the little ones?’
She was forced to laugh, so strange did the idea seem to her. In any case, would any man have wanted her, without a penny, as thin as a rake and showing no signs of becoming beautiful? No, no, she would never marry, she already had enough with two children.
‘You’re wrong,’ her uncle repeated, ‘a woman always needs a man. If you’d found a decent young chap you wouldn’t have landed on the streets of Paris, you and your brothers, like gypsies.’
He stopped in order to divide, once more, with a parsimony that was scrupulously fair, a dish of bacon and potatoes which the maid had brought in. Then, pointing to Geneviève and Colomban with the spoon, he continued:
‘Those two will be married in the spring if the winter season is good.’
It was a patriarchal tradition in the shop. * The founder, Aristide Finet, had given his daughter Désirée to his first assistant, Hauchecorne; Baudu himself, who had arrived in the Rue de la Michodière with seven francs in his pocket, had married old Hauchecorne’s daughter Elizabeth; and he intended, in his turn, to hand over his daughter Geneviève and the shop to Colomban, as soon as business improved. If that meant having to postponea marriage which had been decided on three years earlier, he did so from scruple, from a stubborn integrity: he had received the business in a prosperous state, and did not wish to pass it on to a son-in-law with fewer customers and worse prospects than when he acquired it.
Baudu went on talking, introducing Colomban, who came from Rambouillet like Madame Baudu’s father; in fact they were distant cousins. He was an excellent worker and for ten years had been slaving away in the shop and had really earned his promotions! Besides, he wasn’t just anybody, his father was that old reveller Colomban, a veterinary surgeon known throughout the Seine-et-Oise, * an artist in his own line, but so fond of food that there was nothing he wouldn’t eat.
‘Thank God!’ said the draper in conclusion. ‘Even if his father does drink and chase skirts, the boy has been able to learn the value of money here.’
While he was talking Denise was studying Colomban and Geneviève. They were sitting close to each other, but remained very quiet, without a blush or a smile. Since his first day in the shop the young man had been counting on this marriage. He had passed through all the different stages, junior assistant, salaried salesman, etc., and had finally been admitted to the confidences and pleasures of the family; and he had gone through it all patiently, like an automaton, looking on Geneviève as an excellent and honest business deal. The certainty that she would be his prevented him from desiring her. And the girl,
He served everyone, and even cut the bread. Denise had put Pépé next to her to make sure that he ate properly. But the dark room made her feel uneasy; she felt a lump in her throat as shelooked round, for she was used to the large, well-lit rooms of her native province. A single window opened on to a little inner courtyard which communicated with the street by means of a dark alley by the side of the house. This yard, sodden and filthy, was like the bottom of a well; a circle of sinister light fell into it. In the winter the gas had to be kept burning from morning to night. When the weather allowed them to do without it, the effect was even more depressing. It took several seconds before Denise’s eyes were sufficiently accustomed to the dark to distinguish what was on her plate.
‘There’s a fellow with a good appetite,’ Baudu declared, noticing that Jean had finished his veal. ‘If he works as well as he eats, he’ll get really strong … But what about you, my dear, aren’t you eating? And now that we can talk, tell me why you didn’t get married in Valognes?’
Denise put down the glass she was raising to her mouth. ‘Oh! Uncle, get married? How can you say that? … What about the little ones?’
She was forced to laugh, so strange did the idea seem to her. In any case, would any man have wanted her, without a penny, as thin as a rake and showing no signs of becoming beautiful? No, no, she would never marry, she already had enough with two children.
‘You’re wrong,’ her uncle repeated, ‘a woman always needs a man. If you’d found a decent young chap you wouldn’t have landed on the streets of Paris, you and your brothers, like gypsies.’
He stopped in order to divide, once more, with a parsimony that was scrupulously fair, a dish of bacon and potatoes which the maid had brought in. Then, pointing to Geneviève and Colomban with the spoon, he continued:
‘Those two will be married in the spring if the winter season is good.’
It was a patriarchal tradition in the shop. * The founder, Aristide Finet, had given his daughter Désirée to his first assistant, Hauchecorne; Baudu himself, who had arrived in the Rue de la Michodière with seven francs in his pocket, had married old Hauchecorne’s daughter Elizabeth; and he intended, in his turn, to hand over his daughter Geneviève and the shop to Colomban, as soon as business improved. If that meant having to postponea marriage which had been decided on three years earlier, he did so from scruple, from a stubborn integrity: he had received the business in a prosperous state, and did not wish to pass it on to a son-in-law with fewer customers and worse prospects than when he acquired it.
Baudu went on talking, introducing Colomban, who came from Rambouillet like Madame Baudu’s father; in fact they were distant cousins. He was an excellent worker and for ten years had been slaving away in the shop and had really earned his promotions! Besides, he wasn’t just anybody, his father was that old reveller Colomban, a veterinary surgeon known throughout the Seine-et-Oise, * an artist in his own line, but so fond of food that there was nothing he wouldn’t eat.
‘Thank God!’ said the draper in conclusion. ‘Even if his father does drink and chase skirts, the boy has been able to learn the value of money here.’
While he was talking Denise was studying Colomban and Geneviève. They were sitting close to each other, but remained very quiet, without a blush or a smile. Since his first day in the shop the young man had been counting on this marriage. He had passed through all the different stages, junior assistant, salaried salesman, etc., and had finally been admitted to the confidences and pleasures of the family; and he had gone through it all patiently, like an automaton, looking on Geneviève as an excellent and honest business deal. The certainty that she would be his prevented him from desiring her. And the girl,
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