He knew her
greatness of heart and pictured her in her widow's weeds, withering
solitarily away at Les Fondettes. But Nana grew ever more despondent,
for now the memory of Zizi lying stretched on the floor, with a red hole
in his shirt, almost drove her senseless.
"He used to be such a darling, so sweet and caressing. Oh, you know, my
pet--I'm sorry if it vexes you--I loved that baby! I can't help saying
so; the words must out. Besides, now it ought not to hurt you at all.
He's gone. You've got what you wanted; you're quite certain never to
surprise us again."
And this last reflection tortured her with such regret that he ended by
turning comforter. Well, well, he said, she ought to be brave; she was
quite right; it wasn't her fault! But she checked her lamentations of
her own accord in order to say:
"Listen, you must run round and bring me news of him. At once! I wish
it!"
He took his hat and went to get news of Georges. When he returned after
some three quarters of an hour he saw Nana leaning anxiously out of a
window, and he shouted up to her from the pavement that the lad was
not dead and that they even hoped to bring him through. At this she
immediately exchanged grief for excess of joy and began to sing
and dance and vote existence delightful.
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