She believed he was in business; yes, a manufacturer of bone buttons. Madame Lerat was greatly impressed.
She turned round and glanced at the gentleman out of the corner of her eye.
“One can see he’s got a deep purse,” she muttered.
“Listen to me, kitten; you must tell me everything.
You have nothing more to fear now.”
Whilst speaking they hastened from shop to shop — to the pork butcher’s, the fruiterer’s, the cook-shop; and the errands in greasy paper were piled up in their hands.
Still they remained amiable, flouncing along and casting bright glances behind them with gusts of gay laughter.
Madame Lerat herself was acting the young girl, on account of the button manufacturer who was still following them.
“He is very distinguished looking,” she declared as they returned into the passage.
“If he only has honorable views — “
Then, as they were going up the stairs she suddenly seemed to remember something.
“By the way, tell me what the girls were whispering to each other — you know, what Sophie said?”
Nana did not make any ceremony.
Only she caught Madame Lerat by the hand, and caused her to descend a couple of steps, for, really, it wouldn’t do to say it aloud, not even on the stairs.
When she whispered it to her, it was so obscene that Madame Lerat could only shake her head, opening her eyes wide, and pursing her lips.
Well, at least her curiosity wasn’t troubling her any longer.
From that day forth Madame Lerat regaled herself with her niece’s first love adventure.
She no longer left her, but accompanied her morning and evening, bringing her responsibility well to the fore.
This somewhat annoyed Nana, but all the same she expanded with pride at seeing herself guarded like a treasure; and the talk she and her aunt indulged in in the street with the button manufacturer behind them flattered her, and rather quickened her desire for new flirtations.
Oh! her aunt understood the feelings of the heart; she even compassionated the button manufacturer, this elderly gentleman, who looked so respectable, for, after all, sentimental feelings are more deeply rooted among people of a certain age.
Still she watched.
And, yes, he would have to pass over her body before stealing her niece.
One evening she approached the gentleman, and told him, as straight as a bullet, that his conduct was most improper.
He bowed to her politely without answering, like an old satyr who was accustomed to hear parents tell him to go about his business.
She really could not be cross with him, he was too well mannered.
Then came lectures on love, allusions to dirty blackguards of men, and all sorts of stories about hussies who had repented of flirtations, which left Nana in a state of pouting, with eyes gleaming brightly in her pale face.
One day, however, in the Rue du Faubourg-Poissonniere the button manufacturer ventured to poke his nose between the aunt and the niece to whisper some things which ought not to have been said.
Thereupon Madame Lerat was so frightened that she declared she no longer felt able to handle the matter and she told the whole business to her brother.
Then came another row.
There were some pretty rumpuses in the Coupeaus’ room.
To begin with, the zinc-worker gave Nana a hiding.
What was that he learnt?
The hussy was flirting with old men.
All right. Only let her be caught philandering out of doors again, she’d be done for; he, her father, would cut off her head in a jiffy.
Had the like ever been seen before!
A dirty nose who thought of beggaring her family!
Thereupon he shook her, declaring in God’s name that she’d have to walk straight, for he’d watch her himself in future.
He now looked her over every night when she came in, even going so far as to sniff at her and make her turn round before him.
One evening she got another hiding because he discovered a mark on her neck that he maintained was the mark of a kiss.
Nana insisted it was a bruise that Leonie had given her when they were having a bit of a rough-house.
Yet at other times her father would tease her, saying she was certainly a choice morsel for men.
Nana began to display the sullen submissiveness of a trapped animal. She was raging inside.
“Why don’t you leave her alone?” repeated Gervaise, who was more reasonable.
“You will end by making her wish to do it by talking to her about it so much.”
Ah! yes, indeed, she did wish to do it.
She itched all over, longing to break loose and gad all the time, as father Coupeau said.
He insisted so much on the subject that even an honest girl would have fired up.
Even when he was abusing her, he taught her a few things she did not know as yet, which, to say the least was astonishing.
Then, little by little she acquired some singular habits.
One morning he noticed her rummaging in a paper bag and rubbing something on her face.