House of All Nations by Christina Stead Page A

Verneuil.’
    â€˜I am Mme. Saintspères, then,’ said the girl throatily. She was a strange-looking woman, neither young nor old, or both; her bugle eyes popped as in childhood or senility; they were large, blue, and exorbitant. Her pink skin was deeply flushed and it might have been fever or natural complexion. The mouth was formless, the teeth white and protruding. She laughed gawkily, showing the teeth, and yet she showed no embarrassment or fear in the presence of the splendid Mme. Verneuil. Her dress was bizarre to Continental eyes and took after the American or English unsophisticated adolescent pattern, a cut between Kate Greenaway and a Burne-Jones heroine. They had all seen her round Paris for years and marveled at her persistence in living a life for which they were convinced she had no talent. And here she sat in the Café de la Paix. She took her seat next to Margaret with composure.
    Another girl, seeing the gathering, came nearer with hesitation. Léon looked her over, recklessly beckoned her. The other women of her profession now began to understand what Léon was doing. A good and kind man in his personal relations, his drunkenness was bringing to sudden flower some secret malices and acute perceptions of personality which in his sole passion for money and his merchandising even of love had been dried up, like peas of Pompeii, perhaps, which can still flower after centuries of being buried.
    This new woman was also well known to all frequenters of Paris cafés. Some said she was Russian, some, German. She was tall, ugly, plump, dark, and heavily marked with sadness and poor living, but well built and with a great pride in her manner as tall Russian women often have. She had on a round cap which did not suit her heavy square-built features, a poor black dress which muddied her spoiled olive complexion, black gloves, large feet in low-heeled shoes. She approached with dignity, as if she was meeting the acquaintances of some close friends of hers. Her stone-cut face smiled. She sat down and began settling herself as if richly dressed. The other women feared her for her great poise. Although poor, strange, and ugly, she had many lovers and although she would whore for a piece of bread or to pay her rent, she had lovers for long intervals. Some said she was formerly the Baroness So-and-so of Vienna and her history indicated that she had some secret attraction of history or station, above her present looks. Léon, however, when she came near perceived that she was not the type to amuse him vastly, although he murmured, leaning back and eying her fast, ‘What a woman! Magnificent, eh? Look at her?’
    Aristide looked at her with immense distaste. Léon noticed this and began to laugh. ‘Well, Aristide, speak up! See if you can’t see any friends here. Haven’t you any friends? Why, you live in Paris; and look at me, in ten minutes, look at all the old friends I see here! This is Mme. Verneuil, this is Mme. Saintspères, and what is now your married name, Madame?’
    The noble ogress shook all her teeth in a wide laugh and said sweetly, ‘Anna, that’s all; never mind the Madame. I am your old friend Anna. Don’t you remember I never had any other name?’
    He looked at her vividly, appraising her great proportions, startled. The meeting had now become interesting for all the women, who for the first time, no doubt, had an opportunity of measuring each other’s talents and learning the method and attractions of the others. The waiter had begun to smile, relishing this treat offered to all the hungry women who had been waiting round the café; for although they belonged to a world to which his wife, sister and daughter did not, and although he found them parasitic, the waiter at least liked to see money spent on other than these plump and self-satisfied married women. Léon took a drink of wine.
    â€˜Here are we making whoopee and the Red Army is