The Ladies' Paradise (BBC tie-in) (Oxford World's Classics) (30 page)

‘What makes you two so fond of each other, eh?’

Denise, not understanding, began to feel uneasy again. He was coming too close, he was speaking right in her face.

‘It’s true we were talking, Monsieur Jouve,’ she stammered. ‘But there’s no harm in a bit of talking … You’re very kind to me, and I’m very grateful… ’

‘I ought not to be kind to you,’ he said. ‘Justice is the only thing I’m interested in … But you’re so nice that…’

He came even closer. Now she was really afraid. Pauline’s words came back to her; she remembered the stories that were going round, of salesgirls terrorized by old Jouve and having to buy his goodwill. In the shop he was content with little familiarities, such as gently patting the cheeks of obliging girls with his fat fingers, taking their hands in his and keeping them there as if he had forgotten. It was all very paternal, and he only let the bull loose outside, when they consented to have some bread and butter with him at his place in the Rue des Moineaux.

‘Leave me alone,’ she murmured, drawing back.

‘Come on,’ he was saying, ‘you’re not going to be shy with a friend who’s always good to you. Be nice, come and have a cup of tea and a slice of bread and butter this evening. You’re very welcome.’

She was struggling now.

‘No! No!’

The dining-room was still empty, the waiter had not reappeared. Jouve, keeping his ears open for the sound of footsteps, gave a quick glance round, and, very excited, lost control of himself, went beyond his paternal familiarities, and tried to kiss her on the neck.

‘Silly, ungrateful little girl… How can you be so silly with hair like that? Come round tonight, just for fun.’

But she was in a panic, terrified and shocked at the approach of this burning face and the feel of its breath. Suddenly she gave him a push which was so strong that he staggered and almost fell on to the table. Fortunately a chair saved him; but the impact knocked over a carafe of wine, bespattering his white tie and soaking his red ribbon. And he stood there, not wiping himself,
choking with rage at such brutality. When he wasn’t expecting it, wasn’t even trying hard, and was simply giving way to his kind nature!

‘You’ll be sorry for this, I swear, miss!’

Denise had fled. The bell was just ringing; and flustered, still trembling, she forgot about Robineau and went up to her department. She no longer dared to go down again. As the sun fell on the Place Gaillon side of the shop in the afternoon, it was stifling in the rooms on the mezzanine floor in spite of the blinds. A few customers came, bathed the girls in perspiration, and went away without buying anything. The whole department was yawning, watched by Madame Aurélie’s big sleepy eyes. Finally, towards three o’clock, seeing the buyer fall asleep, Denise quietly slipped off and resumed her trip round the shop, trying to look busy. In order to put anyone who might be looking off the scent, she did not go straight down to the silk department; first she pretended she had some business in the lace department, went up to Deloche, and asked him something; then, on the ground floor, she went through the cottons, and was just going into the neckties when she stopped short with a start of surprise. Jean was standing in front of her.

‘What are you doing here?’ she murmured, quite pale.

He was still wearing his overalls and was bare-headed, his fair hair in disorder and his curls falling over his girlish face. Standing before a case full of narrow black ties, he seemed deep in thought.

‘What are you doing here?’ she repeated.

‘What do you think?’ he replied, ‘I was waiting for you! You forbade me to come. But I came in all the same, though I haven’t said a word to anyone. You needn’t worry! Pretend you don’t know me, if you like.’

Some salesmen were already looking at them with surprise. Jean lowered his voice.

‘She wanted to come with me, you know. Yes, she’s in the square, by the fountain … Give me the fifteen francs quickly, or we’re absolutely done for!’

At this, Denise became very agitated. People were grinning, listening to this adventure. As there was a staircase down to the
basement at the back of the tie department, she pushed her brother towards it and quickly made him go down it. Once downstairs he went on with his story, embarrassed, inventing his facts, afraid that she would not believe him.

‘The money isn’t for her. She’s too refined … and as for her husband, he doesn’t care a damn about fifteen francs! He wouldn’t give his wife permission for a million … a glue manufacturer, did I tell you? They’re terribly well off… No, it’s for a scoundrel, a friend of hers who saw us together; and if I don’t give him fifteen francs this evening …’

‘Be quiet,’ murmured Denise. ‘Later… just carry on walking!’

They had reached the dispatch department. The slack season was sending the vast cellar to sleep, in the pale light from the ventilators. It was cold there, silence was seeping down from the ceiling. Nevertheless, a porter was collecting the few parcels for the Madeleine district
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from one of the compartments; and on the big sorting table Campion, the head of the department, was sitting and dangling his legs, staring about him.

Jean started up again:

‘The husband, who has a big knife …’

‘Carry on!’ Denise repeated, still pushing him.

They went down one of the narrow corridors, where the gas was kept continually burning. To the right and left, in the depths of dark cellars, the reserve stocks made piles of shadows behind the gates. Finally she stopped in front of one of these wooden screens. Doubtless no one would come; but it was forbidden, and she gave a shudder.

‘If that scoundrel says anything,’ Jean went on, ‘the husband, who has a big knife …’

‘Where do you think I can find fifteen francs?’ Denise burst out in despair. ‘Can’t you behave sensibly? You’re always getting into some silly scrape!’

He beat his chest. In all his romantic inventions, he himself no longer knew what the truth was. He simply dramatized his financial requirements; but behind it there was always some pressing necessity.

‘I swear on everything I hold most sacred, that this time it’s really true … I was holding her like this, and she was kissing me …’

She stopped him once more; tortured, at the end of her tether, she lost her temper.

‘I don’t want to hear about it. Keep your bad behaviour to yourself. It’s too disgusting, do you understand? And you pester me every week, I’m killing myself to keep you supplied with money. Yes, I sit up all night for you … Not to mention the fact that you’re taking the bread out of your brother’s mouth.’

Jean stood gaping, his face pale. What! It was disgusting? He did not understand; he had always treated his sister as a friend, and it seemed quite natural to open his heart to her. What choked him above all was to learn that she sat up all night. The idea that he was killing her and taking Pépé’s share as well affected him so much that he began to cry.

‘You’re right, I’ve been bad,’ he exclaimed. ‘But it isn’t disgusting; really. On the contrary, and that’s why I keep on doing it… This one, you see, is already twenty. She thought it would be fun because I’m only seventeen … Really! I’m furious with myself! I could hit myself!’

He had taken her hands and was kissing them, wetting them with his tears.

‘Give me the fifteen francs, it’ll be the last time, I swear … Or else, no! Don’t give me anything, I’d rather die. If the husband murders me it’ll be good riddance for you.’

And as she was crying as well, he had a twinge of remorse.

‘I say that, but I don’t know. Perhaps he doesn’t want to kill anyone … We’ll manage, I promise, Sis. Goodbye, I’m off.’

But a sound of footsteps at the end of the corridor alarmed them. She pulled him over by the stores again, into a dark corner. For a moment they could hear nothing but the hiss of a gas jet near them. Then the footsteps drew nearer; and, craning her neck, she recognized Jouve, who had just entered the corridor, with his stiff military walk. Was he there by chance? Or had some other supervisor, on duty at the door, tipped him off? She was so overwhelmed with fear that she lost her head; and she pushed Jean out of the dark hole where they were hiding, and drove him in front of her, stammering as she did so:

‘Get out! Get out!’

They both raced along, hearing old Jouve panting behind them, for he had also started to run. They went back through the dispatch department and arrived at the foot of the stairs whose glazed well-hole led out into the Rue de la Michodière.

‘Get out!’ repeated Denise. ‘Get out! If I can I’ll send you the fifteen francs all the same.’

Jean, dazed, scampered away. The shopwalker, who was just reaching the top of the stairs, out of breath, caught sight only of a bit of white overall and some fair curls blowing in the wind. He stood for a moment to catch his breath and to regain his correct bearing. He had a brand new white necktie, which he had taken from the lingerie department, and its knot, which was very wide, was shining like a big snowflake.

‘Well, this is nice behaviour, miss,’ he said, his lips trembling. ‘Yes, it’s nice, very nice … If you think I’m going to tolerate nice things like that in the basement, you’re mistaken.’

And he pursued her with this word while she went upstairs again to the shop, overcome with emotion, unable to think of anything to say in her own defence. She was sorry now that she had run away. Why hadn’t she explained everything and introduced Jean as her brother? Again they would all suppose the worst; and no matter how much she might swear that it was untrue, they would not believe her. Once more she forgot Robineau, and went straight back to the department.

Jouve went immediately to the manager’s office to report the matter. But the porter on duty told him that the governor was with Monsieur Bourdoncle and Monsieur Robineau; the three of them had been talking for a quarter of an hour. The door was half open; Mouret could be heard gaily asking Robineau if he had had a good holiday; there was not the slightest question of a dismissal—on the contrary, the conversation was about certain measures to be taken in the department.

‘Do you want something, Monsieur Jouve?’ shouted Mouret. ‘Do come in!’

But some instinct forewarned the shopwalker. As Bourdoncle had come out, Jouve preferred to tell him the whole story. They walked slowly through the shawl gallery, side by side, one leaning forward and speaking in a very low voice,
the other listening, not a line of his hard face betraying his impressions.

‘Very well,’ Bourdoncle said at last.

And as they had arrived outside the ladieswear department, he went in. At that moment Madame Aurélie was scolding Denise. Where had she been now? She couldn’t say that she had gone up to the work-room this time. Really, these continual disappearances could not be tolerated any longer.

‘Madame Aurélie,’ called Bourdoncle.

He had decided to force the issue; he did not want to consult Mouret, for fear that he might be weak. The buyer advanced, and once more the story was related in hushed tones. The whole department was waiting, scenting a catastrophe.

Finally Madame Aurélie turned round with a grave air.

‘Mademoiselle Baudu …’

Her bloated imperial mask had the inexorable immobility of omnipotence.

‘Go and collect your wages!’

The terrible sentence rang out very loudly through the department, which was empty of customers. Denise had remained erect and white, holding her breath. Then she stammered:

‘Me! Me! But why? What have I done?’

Bourdoncle replied harshly that she knew very well what she had done and would do well not to press for an explanation: and he spoke of the neckties, and said that it would be a fine thing if all the girls went to meet men in the basement.

‘But it was my brother!’ she cried, with the heartfelt anger of an outraged virgin.

Marguerite and Clara started to laugh, while Madame Frédéric, usually so discreet, shook her head with an air of incredulity. Always saying it was her brother! It really was very silly! Then Denise looked at them all: at Bourdoncle who, from the first day, had not wanted her; at Jouve, who had stayed there to give evidence, and from whom she could expect no justice; and then at the girls, whom she had been unable to soften in spite of nine months of smiling courage, who were happy to push her out at last. What was the point of struggling? Why try to impose herself on them when no one liked her? And she went away without a word, not even casting a last glance at this room where she had struggled for so long.

But, as soon as she was alone by the hall balustrade, her heart was filled with a deeper sense of suffering. No one liked her, and the sudden thought of Mouret had just filled her with resolve. No! she couldn’t accept a dismissal like that. Perhaps he would believe that foul story about an assignation with a man down in the cellars. This thought tortured her with shame, with an anguish such as she had never experienced before. She wanted to go and find him; she would explain things to him, simply to let him know the truth; for she was ready to leave once he knew it. And her old fear, the chill which froze her in his presence, suddenly developed into a passionate need to see him and not to leave the shop without swearing to him that she had never belonged to another man.

It was almost five o’clock; the shop was coming slowly to life again in the cool evening air. She hurried off towards Mouret’s office. But when she arrived at the door she was once more overwhelmed with a hopeless feeling of sadness. She was tongue-tied; the crushing weight of existence once more fell upon her. He would not believe her, he would laugh like the others; and this fear destroyed her resolve. It was all over; she would be better off alone, out of the way, dead. And so, without even letting Deloche and Pauline know, she went at once to the pay-desk.

‘You’ve got twenty-two days, miss,’ said the clerk, ‘that makes eighteen francs seventy, to which must be added seven francs percentage and bonus … That’s right, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, sir … Thank you.’

And Denise was going away with her money when, at last, she met Robineau. He had already heard of her dismissal, and promised to try to find the necktie dealer. He tried to console her in a whisper, but got carried away with anger. What an existence! To be at the continual mercy of a whim! To be thrown out at an hour’s notice, without even being able to claim a full month’s wages! Denise went upstairs to inform Madame Cabin that she would try to send someone for her trunk that evening. Five o’clock was striking when she found herself on the pavement in the Place Gaillon, dazed in the midst of the cabs and the crowd.