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Four Short Stories By Emile Zola by Émile Zola
page 75 of 734 (10%)
escaped from beneath Francis' hands and ran and bolted the doors. They
might now crowd in there as much as they liked; they would probably
refrain from making a hole through the wall. Zoe could come in and out
through the little doorway leading to the kitchen. However, the electric
bell rang more lustily than ever. Every five minutes a clear, lively
little ting-ting recurred as regularly as if it had been produced by
some well-adjusted piece of mechanism. And Nana counted these rings to
while the time away withal. But suddenly she remembered something.

"I say, where are my burnt almonds?"

Francis, too, was forgetting about the burnt almonds. But now he drew a
paper bag from one of the pockets of his frock coat and presented it to
her with the discreet gesture of a man who is offering a lady a present.
Nevertheless, whenever his accounts came to be settled, he always put
the burnt almonds down on his bill. Nana put the bag between her knees
and set to work munching her sweetmeats, turning her head from time to
time under the hairdresser's gently compelling touch.

"The deuce," she murmured after a silence, "there's a troop for you!"

Thrice, in quick succession, the bell had sounded. Its summonses became
fast and furious. There were modest tintinnabulations which seemed to
stutter and tremble like a first avowal; there were bold rings which
vibrated under some rough touch and hasty rings which sounded through
the house with shivering rapidity. It was a regular peal, as Zoe said,
a peal loud enough to upset the neighborhood, seeing that a whole mob
of men were jabbing at the ivory button, one after the other. That old
joker Bordenave had really been far too lavish with her address. Why,
the whole of yesterday's house was coming!
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