She was
entering on the forties, that restless, feverish time in the life of
women, and ever hysterically nervous, she now filled her mansion
with the maddening whirl of her fashionable life. Estelle, since her
marriage, had seen nothing of her father; the undeveloped, insignificant
girl had suddenly become a woman of iron will, so imperious withal that
Daguenet trembled in her presence. In these days he accompanied her
to mass: he was converted, and he raged against his father-in-law for
ruining them with a courtesan. M. Venot alone still remained kindly
inclined toward the count, for he was biding his time. He had even
succeeded in getting into Nana's immediate circle. In fact, he
frequented both houses, where you encountered his continual smile behind
doors. So Muffat, wretched at home, driven out by ennui and shame, still
preferred to live in the Avenue de Villiers, even though he was abused
there.
Soon there was but one question between Nana and the count, and that was
"money." One day after having formally promised her ten thousand francs
he had dared keep his appointment empty handed. For two days past she
had been surfeiting him with love, and such a breach of faith, such a
waste of caresses, made her ragingly abusive.
Pages:
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702