Prulliere, moreover, began running
after her like a madman, coming in when Fontan was away and pushing her
into corners in order to snatch an embrace. But she used to struggle out
of his grasp, full of indignation and blushing with shame. It disgusted
her to think of him wanting to deceive a friend. Prulliere would
thereupon begin sneering with a wrathful expression. Why, she was
growing jolly stupid nowadays! How could she take up with such an ape?
For, indeed, Fontan was a regular ape with that great swingeing nose of
his. Oh, he had an ugly mug! Besides, the man knocked her about too!
"It's possible I like him as he is," she one day made answer in the
quiet voice peculiar to a woman who confesses to an abominable taste.
Bosc contented himself by dining with them as often as possible. He
shrugged his shoulders behind Prulliere's back--a pretty fellow, to be
sure, but a frivolous! Bosc had on more than one occasion assisted at
domestic scenes, and at dessert, when Fontan slapped Nana, he went on
chewing solemnly, for the thing struck him as being quite in the course
of nature. In order to give some return for his dinner he used always
to go into ecstasies over their happiness. He declared himself a
philosopher who had given up everything, glory included.
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