The Dancer at the Gai-Moulin Read Online Free PDF Page A

idea. Shut the door, will you, there’s a draught.’
    At that moment, Chabot felt overcome by
     a desire to confide in her, to tell her everything, and in any case to be comforted
     by this woman with the tired eyes, the worn but still-tempting flesh beneath the
     peignoir, and the red satin slippers in which she tripped round the cluttered
     bedroom.
    On the unmade bed, he saw a copy of the
Gazette de Liège
.

3. The Man with Broad
     Shoulders
    Adèle had just got out of bed, and a
     tin of condensed milk had leaked near the burner.
    â€˜So your friend isn’t with
     you?’ she insisted.
    Chabot frowned, as he answered in a
     sulky voice:
    â€˜No, why would he be with
     me?’
    She paid no attention and opened a
     wardrobe, fetching out a pink silk underslip.
    â€˜Is it true his father’s
     this rich factory owner?’
    Jean had not taken a seat, nor even put
     his hat down. He watched her coming and going, with a troubled mixture of feelings,
     part melancholy, part desire, instinctive respect for a woman, and despair.
    She wasn’t beautiful, especially
     now, lounging about in her mules and shabby peignoir. But perhaps, in the
     familiarity of this intimacy, she held even more allure for him.
    How old was she, twenty-five, thirty?
     She’d certainly seen life. She often talked about Paris, Berlin, Ostend. She
     mentioned the names of famous nightclubs.
    But without any excitement or pride,
     without showing off. On the contrary. Her main characteristic seemed to be
     weariness, as could be guessed from the expression in her green eyes, from the
     casual way she held a cigarette in her mouth, from all her movements and smiles.
     Weariness with a smile.
    â€˜What does
     his factory make?’
    â€˜Bikes.’
    â€˜That’s funny, I once knew a
     bicycle manufacturer in Saint-Étienne. How old is he?’
    â€˜Who, the father?’
    â€˜No, René.’
    He frowned even more on hearing his
     friend’s first name on her lips.
    â€˜Eighteen.’
    â€˜Bet he’s a bad
     boy.’
    Their familiarity was complete: she was
     treating Jean Chabot as an equal. By contrast when she talked about René Delfosse,
     there was a hint of respect in her voice.
    Had she guessed that Chabot wasn’t
     rich, that he came from a family probably no better than her own?
    â€˜Sit down. You don’t mind if
     I get dressed? Pass me the cigarettes.’
    He looked around.
    â€˜On the bedside table,
     that’s right.’
    Pale-faced, Jean scarcely dared touch
     the cigarette-case, which he had seen the night before in the hands of the stranger.
     He looked across at Adèle, whose gown had fallen open to reveal her naked body, and
     who was now putting on her stockings.
    This was even more troubling than
     before. He blushed deeply, perhaps because of the cigarette-case, perhaps because of
     the nudity, or more likely a combination of the two. Adèle wasn’t only a
     woman, she was a woman mixed up in a drama, a woman who no doubt had a secret.
    â€˜Well?’
    He held out the
     case.
    â€˜Got a light?’
    His hand shook as he proffered a lighted
     match. Then she burst out laughing.
    â€˜I’ll bet you haven’t
     seen all that many women in your life, have you!’
    â€˜Oh, of course, I’ve had
     women …’
    She laughed harder. And looked him in
     the face, half closing her eyes.
    â€˜You’re a funny fellow. An
     oddball. Pass me my girdle.’
    â€˜Did you get back late last
     night?’
    She looked at him with a hint of
     seriousness.
    â€˜What’s this? Are you in
     love, by any chance? And jealous, what’s more! Now I see why you looked so
     cross when I mentioned René. Come on, turn to the wall.’
    â€˜You haven’t read the
     papers?’
    â€˜I just looked at the
     serial.’
    â€˜That man from last night,
     he’s been killed.’
    â€˜You’re