At times
Prulliere and Fontan lolled back in their chairs, losing count of
time in front of the empty table, while with theatrical gestures
and intonation they discussed their former successes till two in the
morning. But he would sit by, lost in thought, finishing the brandy
bottle in silence and only occasionally emitting a little contemptuous
sniff. Where was Talma's tradition? Nowhere. Very well, let them leave
him jolly well alone! It was too stupid to go on as they were doing!
One evening he found Nana in tears. She took off her dressing jacket in
order to show him her back and her arms, which were black and blue. He
looked at her skin without being tempted to abuse the opportunity, as
that ass of a Prulliere would have been. Then, sententiously:
"My dear girl, where there are women there are sure to be ructions. It
was Napoleon who said that, I think. Wash yourself with salt water. Salt
water's the very thing for those little knocks. Tut, tut, you'll get
others as bad, but don't complain so long as no bones are broken. I'm
inviting myself to dinner, you know; I've spotted a leg of mutton."
But Mme Lerat had less philosophy. Every time Nana showed her a fresh
bruise on the white skin she screamed aloud.
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