The Ladies' Paradise

“But I didn’t know,” repeated Pauline. “Besides, there’s nothing bad in the letter. Let them gossip; they’re jealous, of course!”

“My dear,” said Denise at last, with her prudent air, “I don’t blame you in any way! You’ve spoken nothing but the truth. I have received a letter, and it is my duty to answer it.”

Deloche went away heart-broken, having understood that the young girl accepted the situation and would keep the appointment that evening. When the two young ladies had lunched in a small room adjoining the large dining-room, and in which the women were served much more comfortably, Pauline had to assist Denise downstairs, for the latter’s foot was worse.

Down below in the afternoon warmth the stock-taking was roaring louder than ever. The moment for the supreme effort had arrived, when before the work, behindhand since the morning, every force was put forth in order to finish that evening. The voices got louder still, one saw nothing but the waving of arms continually emptying the shelves, throwing the goods down, and it was impossible to get along, the tide of the bales and piles of goods on the floor rose as high as the counters. A sea of heads, of brandished fists, of limbs flying about, seemed to extend to the very depths of the departments, like the distant confusion of a riot. It was the last fever of the clearance, the machine nearly ready to burst; whilst along the plate-glass windows, round the closed shop, a few rare pedestrians continued to pass, pale with the stifling boredom of a summer Sunday. On the pavement in the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin were planted three tall girls, bareheaded and sluttish-looking, impudently sticking their faces against the windows, trying to see the curious work going on inside.

When Denise returned to the ready-made department Madame Aurélie left Marguerite to finish calling out the garments. There was still a lot of checking to be done, for which, desirous of silence, she retired into the pattern-room, taking the young girl with her.

“Come with me, we’ll do the checking; then you can add up the totals.”

But as she wished to leave the door open, in order to look after the young ladies, the noise came in, and they could not hear much better. It was a large, square room, furnished simply with some chairs and three long tables. In one corner were the great machine knives, for cutting up the patterns. Entire pieces were consumed; they sent away every year more than sixty thousand francs’ worth of material, cut up in strips. From morning to night, the knives were cutting up silk, wool, and linen, with a scythe-like noise. Then the books had to be got together, gummed or sewn. And there was also between the two windows, a little printing-press for the tickets.

“Not so loud, please!” cried Madame Aurélie, now and again, quite unable to hear Denise reading out the articles.

When the checking of the first lists was finished, she left the young girl at one of the tables, absorbed in the adding-up. But she returned almost immediately, and placed Mademoiselle de Fontenailles near her; the under-linen department not wanting her any longer, had sent her to Madame Aurélie. She could also do some adding-up, it would save time. But the appearance of the marchioness, as Clara ill-naturedly called her, had disturbed the department. They laughed and joked at poor Joseph, their ferocious sallies could be heard in the pattern-room.

“Don’t draw back, you are not at all in my way,” said Denise, seized with pity for the poor girl. “My inkstand will suffice, we’ll dip together.”

Mademoiselle de Fontenailles, dulled and stultified by her unfortunate position, could not even find a word of gratitude. She appeared to be a woman who drank, her thinness had a livid appearance, and her hands alone, white and delicate, attested the distinction of her birth.

The laughter ceased all at once, and the work resumed its regular roar. It was Mouret who was once more going through the departments. But he stopped and looked round for Denise, surprised not to see her there. He made a sign to Madame Aurélie; and both drew aside, talking in a low tone for a moment. He must be questioning her. She indicated with her eyes the pattern-room, then seemed to be making a report. No doubt she was relating that the young girl had been weeping that morning.

“Very good!” said Mouret, aloud, coming nearer. “Show me the lists.”

“This way, sir,” said the first-hand. “We have run away from the noise.”

He followed her into the next room. Clara was not duped by this manouvre, and said they had better go and fetch a bed at once. But Marguerite threw her the garments at a quicker rate, in order to take up her attention and close her mouth. Wasn’t the second-hand a good comrade? Her affairs did not concern any one. The department was becoming an accomplice, the young ladies got more agitated than ever, Lhomme and Joseph affected not to see or hear anything. And Jouve, the inspector, who, passing by, had remarked Madame Aurélie’s tactics, commenced walking up and down before the pattern-room door, with the regular step of a sentry guarding the will and pleasure of a superior.

“Give Monsieur Mouret the lists,” said the first-hand.

Denise gave them, and sat there with her eyes raised. She had slightly started, but had conquered herself, and retained a fine calm look, although her cheeks were pale. For a moment, Mouret appeared to be absorbed in the list of articles, without a look for the young girl. A silence reigned, Madame Aurélie then went up to Mademoiselle de Fontenailles, who had not even turned her head, appeared dissatisfied with her counting, and said to her in a half whisper:

“Go and help with the parcels. You are not used to figures.”

The latter got up, and returned to the department, where she was greeted by a whispering on all sides. Joseph, exposed to the laughing eyes of these young minxes, was writing anyhow. Clara, delighted with this assistant who arrived, was yet very rough with her, hating her as she hated all the women in the shop. What an idiotic thing to yield to the love of a workman, when one was a marchioness! And yet she envied her this love.

“Very good!” repeated Mouret, still affecting to read.

However Madame Aurélie hardly knew how to get away in her turn in a decent fashion. She stamped about, went to look at the knives, furious with her husband for not inventing a pretext for calling her; but he was never any good for serious matters, he would have died of thirst close to a pond. It was Marguerite who was intelligent enough to go and ask the first-hand a question.

“I’m coming,” replied the latter.

And her dignity being now protected, having a pretext in the eyes of the young ladies who were watching her, she at last left Denise and Mouret alone together, going out with her imperial air, her profile so noble, that the saleswomen did not even dare to smile. Mouret had slowly laid the lists on the table, and stood looking at the young girl, who had remained seated, pen in hand. She did not avert her gaze, but she had turned paler.

“You will come this evening?” asked he.

“No, sir, I cannot. My brothers are to be at uncle’s to-night, and I have promised to dine with them.”

“But your foot! You walk with such difficulty.”

“Oh, I can get so far very well. I feel much better since the morning.”

He had now turned pale in his turn, before this quiet refusal. A nervous revolt agitated his lips. However, he restrained himself, and resumed with the air of a good-natured master simply interesting himself in one of his young ladies: “Come now, if I begged of you – You know what great esteem I have for you.”

Denise retained her respectful attitude. “I am greatly touched, sir, by your kindness to me, and I thank you for this invitation. But I repeat, I cannot; my brothers expect me.”

She persisted in not understanding. The door remained open, and she felt that the whole shop was pushing her on to yield. Pauline had amicably called her a great simpleton, the others would laugh at her if she refused the invitation. Madame Aurélie, who had gone away, Marguerite, whose rising voice she could hear, Lhomme, with his motionless, discreet attitude, all these people were wishing for her fall, throwing her into the governor’s arms. And the distant roar of the stock-taking, the millions of goods called out on all sides, thrown about in every direction, were like a warm wind, carrying the breath of passion straight towards her. There was a silence. Now and again, Mouret’s voice was drowned by the noise which accompanied him, with the formidable uproar of a kingly fortune gained in battle.

“When will you come, then?” asked he again. “Tomorrow?”

This simple question troubled Denise. She lost her calmness for a moment, and stammered: “I don’t know – I can’t – ”

He smiled, and tried to take her hand, which she withheld. “What are you afraid of?”

But she quickly raised her head, looked him straight in the face, and said, smiling, with her sweet, brave look: “I am afraid of nothing, sir. I can do as I like, can’t I? I don’t wish to, that’s all!”

As she finished speaking, she was surprised by hearing a creaking noise, and on turning round saw the door slowly closing. It was Jouve, the inspector, who had taken upon himself to pull it to. The doors were a part of his duty, none should ever remain open. And he gravely resumed his position as sentinel. No one appeared to have noticed this door being closed in such a simple manner. Clara alone risked a strong remark in Mademoiselle de Fontenailles’s ear, but the latter’s face remained expressionless.

Denise, however, had got up. Mouret was saying to her in a low and trembling voice: “Listen, Denise, I love you. You have long known it, pray don’t be so cruel as to play the ignorant. And don’t fear anything. Many a time I’ve thought of calling you into my office. We should have been alone, I should only have had to lock the door. But I did not wish to; you see I speak to you here, where any one can enter. I love you, Denise!” She was standing up, very pale, listening to him, still looking straight into his face. “Tell me. Why do you refuse? Have you no wants? Your brothers are a heavy burden. Anything you might ask me, anything you might require of me – ”

With a word, she stopped him: “Thanks, I now earn more than I want.”

“But it’s perfect liberty that I am offering you, an existence of pleasure and luxury. I will set you up in a home of your own. I will assure you a little fortune.”

“No, thanks; I should soon get tired of doing nothing. I earned my own living before I was ten years old.”

He was almost mad. This was the first one who did not yield. He had only had to stoop to pick up the others, they all awaited his pleasure like submissive slaves; and this one said no, without even giving a reasonable pretext. His desire, long restrained, goaded by resistance, became stronger than ever. Perhaps he had not offered enough, he thought, and he doubled his offers; he pressed her more and more.

“No, no, thanks,” replied she each time, without faltering. Then he allowed this cry from his heart to escape him: “But don’t you see that I am suffering! Yes, it’s stupid, but I am suffering like a child!”

Tears came into his eyes. A fresh silence reigned. They could still hear behind the closed door the softened roar of the stock-taking. It was like a dying note of triumph, the accompaniment became more discreet, in this defeat of the master. “And yet if I liked – ” said he in an ardent voice, seizing her hands.

She left them in his, her eyes turned pale, her whole strength was deserting her. A warmth came from this man’s burning hands, filling her with a delicious cowardice. Good heavens! how she loved him, and with what delight she could have hung on his neck and remained there!

“I will! I will!” repeated he, in his passionate excitement “I expect you to-night, otherwise I will take measures.”

He was becoming brutal. She set up a low cry; the pain she felt at her wrists restored her courage. With an angry shake she disengaged herself. Then, very stiff, looking taller in her weakness: “No, leave me alone! I am not a Clara, to be thrown over in a day. Besides, you love another; yes, that lady who comes here. Stay with her. I do not accept half an affection.”

He was struck with surprise. What was she saying, and what did she want? The girls he had picked up in the shop had never asked to be loved. He ought to have laughed at such an idea, and this attitude of tender pride completely conquered his heart.

“Now, sir, please open the door,” resumed she. “It is not proper to be shut up together in this way.”

He obeyed; and with his temples throbbing, hardly knowing how to conceal his anguish, he recalled Madame Aurélie, and broke out angrily about the stock of cloaks, saying that the prices must be lowered, until every one had been got rid of. Such was the rule of the house – a clean sweep was made every year, they sold at sixty per cent, loss rather than keep an old model or any stale material. At that moment, Bourdoncle, seeking Mouret, was waiting for him outside, stopped before the closed door by Jouve, who had said a word in his ear with a grave air. He got very impatient, without, however, summoning up the courage to interrupt the governor’s tête-à-tête. Was it possible? such a day too, and with that puny creature! And when Mouret at last came out Bourdoncle spoke to him about the fancy silks, of which the stock left on hand would be enormous. This was a relief for Mouret, who could now cry out at his ease. What the devil was Bouthemont thinking about? He went off, declaring that he could not allow a buyer to display such a want of sense as to buy beyond the requirements of the business.

“What is the matter with him?” murmured Madame Aurélie, quite overcome by his reproaches.

And the young ladies looked at each other with a surprised air. At six o’clock the stock-taking was finished. The sun was still shining – a blonde summer sun, of which the golden reflection streamed through the glazed roofs of the halls. In the heavy air of the streets, tired families were already returning from the suburbs, loaded with bouquets, dragging their children along. One by one, the departments had become silent. Nothing was now heard in the depths of the galleries but the lingering calls of a few men clearing a last shelf. Then even these voices ceased, and there remained of the bustle of the day nothing but a shivering, above the formidable piles of goods. The shelves, cupboards, boxes, and band-boxes, were now empty: not a yard of stuff, not an object of any sort had remained in its place. The vast establishment presented nothing but the carcase of its usual appearance, the woodwork was absolutely bare, as on the day of entering into possession. This nakedness was the visible proof of the complete and exact taking of the stock. And on the ground was sixteen million francs’ worth of goods, a rising sea, which had finished by submerging the tables and counters. The shopmen, drowned up to the shoulders, had commenced to put each article back into its place. They expected to finish about ten o’clock.

When Madame Aurélie, who went to the first dinner, returned to the dining-room, she announced the amount of business done during the year, which the totals of the various departments had just given. The figure was eighty million francs, ten millions more than the preceding year. The only real decrease was on the fancy silks.

“If Monsieur Mouret is not satisfied, I should like to know what more he wants,” added the first-hand. “See! he’s over there, at the top of the grand staircase, looking furious.”

The young ladies went to look at him. He was standing alone, with a sombre countenance, above the millions scattered at his feet.

“Madame,” said Denise, at this moment, “would you kindly let me go away now? I can’t do any more good on account of my foot, and as I am to dine at my uncle’s with my brothers – ”

They were all astonished. She had not yielded, then! Madame Aurélie hesitated, and seemed inclined to prohibit her going out, her voice sharp and disagreeable; whilst Clara shrugged her shoulders, full of incredulity. That wouldn’t do! it was very simple – the governor no longer wanted her! When Pauline learnt this, she was in the baby-linen department with Deloche, and the sudden joy exhibited by the young man made her very angry. That did him a lot of good, didn’t it? Perhaps he was pleased to see that his friend had been stupid enough to miss a fortune? And Bourdoncle, who did not dare to approach Mouret in his ferocious isolation, marched up and down amidst these rumours, in despair also, and full of anxiety. However, Denise went downstairs. As she arrived at the bottom of the left-hand staircase, slowly, supporting herself by the banister, she came upon a group of grinning salesmen. Her name was pronounced, and she felt that they were talking about her adventure. They had not noticed her.

“Oh! all that’s put on, you know,” Favier was saying. “She’s full of vice! Yes, I know some one she wanted to take by force.”

And he looked at Hutin, who, in order to preserve his dignity as second-hand, was standing a certain distance apart, without joining in their conversation. But he was so flattered by the air of envy with which the others were contemplating him, that he deigned to murmur: “She was a regular nuisance to me, that girl!”

Denise, wounded to the heart, clung to the banister. They must have seen her, for they all disappeared, laughing. He was right, she thought, and she accused herself of her former ignorance, when she used to think about him. But what a coward he was, and how she scorned him now! A great trouble had seized her: was it not strange that she should have found the strength just now to repulse a man whom she adored, when she used to feel herself so feeble in bygone days before this worthless fellow, whom she had only dreamed off? Her sense of reason and her bravery foundered before these contradictions of her being, in which she could not read clearly. She hastened to cross the hall. Then a sort of instinct prompted her to raise her head, whilst an inspector opened the door, closed since the morning. And she perceived Mouret, who was still at the top of the stairs, on the great central landing, dominating the gallery. But he had forgotten the stock-taking, he did not see his empire, this building bursting with riches. Everything had disappeared, his former glorious victories, his future colossal fortune. With a desponding look he was watching Denise’s departure, and when she had passed the door everything disappeared, a darkness came over the house.

CHAPTER XI

That day Bouthemont was the first to arrive at Madame Desforges’s four o’clock tea. Still alone in her large Louis XVI. drawing-room, the brasses and brocatelle of which shone out with a clear gaiety, the latter rose with an air of impatience, saying, “Well?”

“Well,” replied the young man, “when I told him I should doubtless call on you he formally promised me to come.”

“You made him thoroughly understand that I counted on the baron to-day?”

“Certainly. That’s what appeared to decide him.”

They were speaking of Mouret, who the year before had suddenly taken such a liking to Bouthemont that he had admitted him to share his pleasures, and had even introduced him to Henriette, glad to have an agreeable fellow always at hand to enliven an intimacy of which he was getting tired. It was thus that Bouthemont had ultimately become the confidant of his governor and of the handsome widow; he did their little errands, talked of the one to the other, and sometimes reconciled them. Henriette, in her jealous fits, abandoned herself to a familiarity which sometimes surprised and embarrassed him, for she lost all her lady-like prudence, using all her art to save appearances.

She resumed violently, “You ought to have brought him. I should have been sure then.”

“Well,” said he, with a good-natured laugh, “it isn’t my fault if he escapes so frequently now. Oh! he’s very fond of me, all the same. Were it not for him I should be in a bad way at the shop.”

His situation at The Ladies’ Paradise was really menaced since the last stock-taking. It was in vain that he adduced the rainy season; one could not overlook the considerable stock of fancy silks; and as Hutin was improving the occasion, undermining him with the governors with an increase of sly rage, he felt the ground cracking under him. Mouret had condemned him, weary, no doubt, of this witness who prevented him breaking with Henriette, tired of a familiarity which was profitless. But, in accordance with his usual tactics, he was pushing Bourdoncle forward; it was Bourdoncle and the other partners who insisted on his dismissal at each board meeting; whilst he resisted still, according to his account, defending his friend energetically, at the risk of getting into serious trouble with the others.

“Well, I shall wait,” resumed Madame Desforges. “You know that girl is coming here at five o’clock, I want to see them face to face. I must discover their secret.”

And she returned to this long-meditated plan. She repeated in her fever that she had requested Madame Aurélie to send her Denise to look at a mantle which fitted badly. When she had once got the young girl in her room, she would find a means of calling Mouret, and could then act. Bouthemont, who had sat down opposite her, was gazing at her with his fine laughing eyes, which he endeavoured to render grave. This jovial, dissipated fellow, with his coal-black beard, whose warm Gascon blood empurpled his cheeks, was thinking that these fine ladies were not much good, and that they let out a nice lot of secrets, when they opened their hearts. His friend’s mistresses, simple shop-girls, certainly never made more complete confessions.

“Come,” he ventured to say at last, “what does that matter to you? I swear to you there is nothing whatever between them.”

“Just so,” cried she, “because he loves her! I don’t care in the least for the others, chance acquaintances, friends of a day!”

She spoke of Clara with disdain. She was well aware that Mouret, after Denise’s refusal, had fallen back on this tall, redhaired girl, with the horse’s head, doubtless by calculation; for he maintained her in the department, loading her with presents. Not only that, for the last three months he had been leading: a terrible life, squandering his money with a prodigality which caused a great many remarks; he had bought a mansion for a worthless actress, and was being ruined by two or three other jades, who seemed to be struggling to outdo each other in costly, stupid caprices.

“It’s this creature’s fault,” repeated Henriette. “I feel sure he’s ruining himself with the others because she repulses him. Besides, what’s his money to me? I should have loved him better poor. You know how I love him, you who have become our friend.”

She stopped, choked, ready to burst into tears; and with a movement of abandon she held out her two hands to him. It was true, she adored Mouret for his youth and his triumphs, never had any man thus conquered her so entirely in a quiver of her flesh and of her pride; but at the thought of losing him, she also heard the knell of her fortieth year, and she asked herself with terror how she should replace this great love.

“I’ll have my revenge,” murmured she. “I’ll have my revenge, if he behaves badly!”

Bouthemont continued to hold her hands in his. She was still handsome. But she would be a very awkward mistress, thought he, and he did not like that style of woman. The thing, however, deserved thinking over; perhaps it would be worth while risking certain annoyances.

“Why don’t you set up for yourself?” she asked all at once, drawing her hands away.

He was astonished. Then he replied: “But it would require an immense sum. Last year I had an idea in my head. I feel convinced that there are customers enough in Paris for one or two more big shops; but the district would have to be chosen. The Bon Marche has the left side of the river; the Louvre occupies the centre; we monopolise, at The Paradise, the rich west-end district. There remains the north, where a rival to the Place Clichy could be created. And I had discovered a splendid position, near the Opera House – ”

“Well?”

He set up a noisy laugh. “Just fancy. I was stupid enough to go and talk to my father about it Yes, I was simple enough to ask him to find some shareholders at Toulouse.”