Chapter IX

by Emile Zola

　　The Petite Duchesse was being rehearsed at the Varietes. The firstact had just been carefully gone through, and the second was aboutto begin. Seated in old armchairs in front of the stage, Faucheryand Bordenave were discussing various points while the prompter,Father Cossard, a little humpbacked man perched on a straw-bottomedchair, was turning over the pages of the manuscript, a pencilbetween his lips."Well, what are they waiting for?" cried Bordenave on a sudden,tapping the floor savagely with his heavy cane. "Barillot, whydon't they begin?""It's Monsieur Bosc that has disappeared," replied Barillot, who wasacting as second stage manager.'Then there arose a tempest, and everybody shouted for Bosc whileBordenave swore."Always the same thing, by God! It's all very well ringing for 'em:they're always where they've no business to be. And then theygrumble when they're kept till after four o'clock."But Bosc just then came in with supreme tranquillity."Eh? What? What do they want me for? Oh, it's my turn! You oughtto have said so. All right! Simonne gives the cue: 'Here are theguests,' and I come in. Which way must I come in?""Through the door, of course," cried Fauchery in great exasperation."Yes, but where is the door?"At this Bordenave fell upon Barillot and once more set to workswearing and hammering the boards with his cane."By God! I said a chair was to be put there to stand for the door,and every day we have to get it done again. Barillot! Where'sBarillot? Another of 'em! Why, they're all going!"Nevertheless, Barillot came and planted the chair down in person,mutely weathering the storm as he did so. And the rehearsal beganagain. Simonne, in her hat and furs, began moving about like amaidservant busy arranging furniture. She paused to say:"I'm not warm, you know, so I keep my hands in my muff."Then changing her voice, she greeted Bosc with a little cry:"La, it's Monsieur le Comte. You're the first to come, Monsieur leComte, and Madame will be delighted."Bosc had muddy trousers and a huge yellow overcoat, round the collarof which a tremendous comforter was wound. On his head he wore anold hat, and he kept his hands in his pockets. He did not act butdragged himself along, remarking in a hollow voice:"Don't disturb your mistress, Isabelle; I want to take her bysurprise."The rehearsal took its course. Bordenave knitted his brows. He hadslipped down low in his armchair and was listening with an air offatigue. Fauchery was nervous and kept shifting about in his seat.Every few minutes he itched with the desire to interrupt, but herestrained himself. He heard a whispering in the dark and emptyhouse behind him."Is she there?" he asked, leaning over toward Bordenave.The latter nodded affirmatively. Before accepting the part ofGeraldine, which he was offering her, Nana had been anxious to seethe piece, for she hesitated to play a courtesan's part a secondtime. She, in fact, aspired to an honest woman's part. Accordinglyshe was hiding in the shadows of a corner box in company withLabordette, who was managing matters for her with Bordenave.Fauchery glanced in her direction and then once more set himself tofollow the rehearsal.Only the front of the stage was lit up. A flaring gas burner on asupport, which was fed by a pipe from the footlights, burned infront of a reflector and cast its full brightness over the immediateforeground. It looked like a big yellow eye glaring through thesurrounding semiobscurity, where it flamed in a doubtful, melancholyway. Cossard was holding up his manuscript against the slender stemof this arrangement. He wanted to see more clearly, and in theflood of light his hump was sharply outlined. As to Bordenave andFauchery, they were already drowned in shadow. It was only in theheart of this enormous structure, on a few square yards of stage,that a faint glow suggested the light cast by some lantern nailed upin a railway station. It made the actors look like eccentricphantoms and set their shadows dancing after them. The remainder ofthe stage was full of mist and suggested a house in process of beingpulled down, a church nave in utter ruin. It was littered withladders, with set pieces and with scenery, of which the fadedpainting suggested heaped-up rubbish. Hanging high in air, thescenes had the appearance of great ragged clouts suspended from therafters of some vast old-clothes shop, while above these again a rayof bright sunlight fell from a window and clove the shadow round theflies with a bar of gold.Meanwhile actors were chatting at the back of the stage whileawaiting their cues. Little by little they had raised their voices."Confound it, will you be silent?" howled Bordenave, raging up anddown in his chair. "I can't hear a word. Go outside if you want totalk; we are at work. Barillot, if there's any more talking I clapon fines all round!"They were silent for a second or two. They were sitting in a littlegroup on a bench and some rustic chairs in the corner of a scenicgarden, which was standing ready to be put in position as it wouldbe used in the opening act the same evening. In the middle of thisgroup Fontan and Prulliere were listening to Rose Mignon, to whomthe manager of the Folies-Dramatique Theatre had been makingmagnificent offers. But a voice was heard shouting:"The duchess! Saint-Firmin! The duchess and Saint-Firmin arewanted!"Only when the call was repeated did Prulliere remember that he wasSaint-Firmin! Rose, who was playing the Duchess Helene, was alreadywaiting to go on with him while old Bosc slowly returned to hisseat, dragging one foot after the other over the sonorous anddeserted boards. Clarisse offered him a place on the bench besideher."What's he bawling like that for?" she said in allusion toBordenave. "Things will be getting rosy soon! A piece can't be puton nowadays without its getting on his nerves."Bosc shrugged his shoulders; he was above such storms. Fontanwhispered:"He's afraid of a fiasco. The piece strikes me as idiotic."Then he turned to Clarisse and again referred to what Rose had beentelling them:"D'you believe in the offers of the Folies people, eh? Threehundred francs an evening for a hundred nights! Why not a countryhouse into the bargain? If his wife were to be given three hundredfrancs Mignon would chuck my friend Bordenave and do it jolly sharptoo!"Clarisse was a believer in the three hundred francs. That manFontan was always picking holes in his friends' successes! Justthen Simonne interrupted her. She was shivering with cold. Indeed,they were all buttoned up to the ears and had comforters on, andthey looked up at the ray of sunlight which shone brightly abovethem but did not penetrate the cold gloom of the theater. In thestreets outside there was a frost under a November sky."And there's no fire in the greenroom!" said Simonne. "It'sdisgusting; he is just becoming a skinflint! I want to be off; Idon't want to get seedy.""Silence, I say!" Bordenave once more thundered.Then for a minute or so a confused murmur alone was audible as theactors went on repeating their parts. There was scarcely anyappropriate action, and they spoke in even tones so as not to tirethemselves. Nevertheless, when they did emphasize a particularshade of meaning they cast a glance at the house, which lay beforethem like a yawning gulf. It was suffused with vague, ambientshadow, which resembled the fine dust floating pent in some high,windowless loft. The deserted house, whose sole illumination wasthe twilight radiance of the stage, seemed to slumber in melancholyand mysterious effacement. Near the ceiling dense night smotheredthe frescoes, while from the several tiers of stage boxes on eitherhand huge widths of gray canvas stretched down to protect theneighboring hangings. In fact, there was no end to these coverings;bands of canvas had been thrown over the velvet-covered ledges infront of the various galleries which they shrouded thickly. Theirpale hue stained the surrounding shadows, and of the generaldecorations of the house only the dark recesses of the boxes weredistinguishable. These served to outline the framework of theseveral stories, where the seats were so many stains of red velvetturned black. The chandelier had been let down as far as it wouldgo, and it so filled the region of the stalls with its pendants asto suggest a flitting and to set one thinking that the public hadstarted on a journey from which they would never return.Just about then Rose, as the little duchess who has been misled intothe society of a courtesan, came to the footlights, lifted up herhands and pouted adorably at the dark and empty theater, which wasas sad as a house of mourning."Good heavens, what queer people!" she said, emphasizing the phraseand confident that it would have its effect.Far back in the corner box in which she was hiding Nana satenveloped in a great shawl. She was listening to the play anddevouring Rose with her eyes. Turning toward Labordette, she askedhim in a low tone:"You are sure he'll come?""Quite sure. Without doubt he'll come with Mignon, so as to have anexcuse for coming. As soon as he makes his appearance you'll go upinto Mathilde's dressing room, and I'll bring him to you there."They were talking of Count Muffat. Labordette had arranged thisinterview with him on neutral ground. He had had a serious talkwith Bordenave, whose affairs had been gravely damaged by twosuccessive failures. Accordingly Bordenave had hastened to lend himhis theater and to offer Nana a part, for he was anxious to win thecount's favor and hoped to be able to borrow from him."And this part of Geraldine, what d'you thing of it?" continuedLabordette.But Nana sat motionless and vouchsafed no reply. After the firstact, in which the author showed how the Duc de Beaurivage played hiswife false with the blonde Geraldine, a comic-opera celebrity, thesecond act witnessed the Duchess Helene's arrival at the house ofthe actress on the occasion of a masked ball being given by thelatter. The duchess has come to find out by what magical processladies of that sort conquer and retain their husbands' affections.A cousin, the handsome Oscar de Saint-Firmin, introduces her andhopes to be able to debauch her. And her first lesson causes hergreat surprise, for she hears Geraldine swearing like a hodman atthe duke, who suffers with most ecstatic submissiveness. Theepisode causes her to cry out, "Dear me, if that's the way one oughtto talk to the men!" Geraldine had scarce any other scene in theact save this one. As to the duchess, she is very soon punished forher curiosity, for an old buck, the Baron de Tardiveau, takes herfor a courtesan and becomes very gallant, while on her other sideBeaurivage sits on a lounging chair and makes his peace withGeraldine by dint of kisses and caresses. As this last lady's parthad not yet been assigned to anyone, Father Cossard had got up toread it, and he was now figuring away in Bosc's arms and emphasizingit despite himself. At this point, while the rehearsal was draggingmonotonously on, Fauchery suddenly jumped from his chair. He hadrestrained himself up to that moment, but now his nerves got thebetter of him."That's not it!" he cried.The actors paused awkwardly enough while Fontan sneered and asked inhis most contemptuous voice:"Eh? What's not it? Who's not doing it right?""Nobody is! You're quite wrong, quite wrong!" continued Fauchery,and, gesticulating wildly, he came striding over the stage and beganhimself to act the scene."Now look here, you Fontan, do please comprehend the way Tardiveaugets packed off. You must lean forward like this in order to catchhold of the duchess. And then you, Rose, must change your positionlike that but not too soon--only when you hear the kiss."He broke off and in the heat of explanation shouted to Cossard:"Geraldine, give the kiss! Loudly, so that it may be heard!"Father Cossard turned toward Bosc and smacked his lips vigorously."Good! That's the kiss," said Fauchery triumphantly. "Once more;let's have it once more. Now you see, Rose, I've had time to move,and then I give a little cry--so: 'Oh, she's given him a kiss.' Butbefore I do that, Tardiveau must go up the stage. D'you hear,Fontan? You go up. Come, let's try it again, all together."The actors continued the scene again, but Fontan played his partwith such an ill grace that they made no sort of progress. TwiceFauchery had to repeat his explanation, each time acting it out withmore warmth than before. The actors listened to him with melancholyfaces, gazed momentarily at one another, as though he had asked themto walk on their heads, and then awkwardly essayed the passage, onlyto pull up short directly afterward, looking as stiff as puppetswhose strings have just been snapped."No, it beats me; I can't understand it," said Fontan at length,speaking in the insolent manner peculiar to him.Bordenave had never once opened his lips. He had slipped quite downin his armchair, so that only the top of his hat was now visible inthe doubtful flicker of the gaslight on the stand. His cane hadfallen from his grasp and lay slantwise across his waistcoat.Indeed, he seemed to be asleep. But suddenly he sat bolt upright."It's idiotic, my boy," he announced quietly to Fauchery."What d'you mean, idiotic?" cried the author, growing very pale."It's you that are the idiot, my dear boy!"Bordenave began to get angry at once. He repeated the word"idiotic" and, seeking a more forcible expression, hit upon"imbecile" and "damned foolish." The public would hiss, and the actwould never be finished! And when Fauchery, without, indeed, beingvery deeply wounded by these big phrases, which always recurred whena new piece was being put on, grew savage and called the other abrute, Bordenave went beyond all bounds, brandished his cane in theair, snorted like a bull and shouted:"Good God! Why the hell can't you shut up? We've lost a quarter ofan hour over this folly. Yes, folly! There's no sense in it. Andit's so simple, after all's said and done! You, Fontan, mustn'tmove. You, Rose, must make your little movement, just that, nomore; d'ye see? And then you come down. Now then, let's get itdone this journey. Give the kiss, Cossard."Then ensued confusion. The scene went no better than before.Bordenave, in his turn, showed them how to act it about asgracefully as an elephant might have done, while Fauchery sneeredand shrugged pityingly. After that Fontan put his word in, and evenBosc made so bold as to give advice. Rose, thoroughly tired out,had ended by sitting down on the chair which indicated the door. Noone knew where they had got to, and by way of finish to it allSimonne made a premature entry, under the impression that her cuehad been given her, and arrived amid the confusion. This so enragedBordenave that he whirled his stick round in a terrific manner andcaught her a sounding thwack to the rearward. At rehearsal he usedfrequently to drub his former mistress. Simonne ran away, and thisfurious outcry followed her:"Take that, and, by God, if I'm annoyed again I shut the whole shopup at once!"Fauchery pushed his hat down over his forehead and pretended to begoing to leave the theater. But he stopped at the top of the stageand came down again when he saw Bordenave perspiringly resuming hisseat. Then he, too, took up his old position in the other armchair.For some seconds they sat motionless side by side while oppressivesilence reigned in the shadowy house. The actors waited for nearlytwo minutes. They were all heavy with exhaustion and felt as thoughthey had performed an overwhelming task."Well, let's go on," said Bordenave at last. He spoke in his usualvoice and was perfectly calm."Yes, let's go on," Fauchery repeated. "We'll arrange the scenetomorrow."And with that they dragged on again and rehearsed their parts withas much listlessness and as fine an indifference as ever. Duringthe dispute between manager and author Fontan and the rest had beentaking things very comfortably on the rustic bench and seats at theback of the stage, where they had been chuckling, grumbling andsaying fiercely cutting things. But when Simonne came back, stillsmarting from her blow and choking with sobs, they grew melodramaticand declared that had they been in her place they would havestrangled the swine. She began wiping her eyes and noddingapproval. It was all over between them, she said. She was leavinghim, especially as Steiner had offered to give her a grand start inlife only the day before. Clarisse was much astonished at this, forthe banker was quite ruined, but Prulliere began laughing andreminded them of the neat manner in which that confounded Israelitehad puffed himself alongside of Rose in order to get his Landessaltworks afloat on 'change. Just at that time he was airing a newproject, namely, a tunnel under the Bosporus. Simonne listened withthe greatest interest to this fresh piece of information.As to Clarisse, she had been raging for a week past. Just fancy,that beast La Faloise, whom she had succeeded in chucking intoGaga's venerable embrace, was coming into the fortune of a very richuncle! It was just her luck; she had always been destined to makethings cozy for other people. Then, too, that pig Bordenave hadonce more given her a mere scrap of a part, a paltry fifty lines,just as if she could not have played Geraldine! She was yearningfor that role and hoping that Nana would refuse it."Well, and what about me?" said Prulliere with much bitterness. "Ihaven't got more than two hundred lines. I wanted to give the partup. It's too bad to make me play that fellow Saint-Firmin; why,it's a regular failure! And then what a style it's written in, mydears! It'll fall dead flat, you may be sure."But just then Simonne, who had been chatting with Father Barillot,came back breathless and announced:"By the by, talking of Nana, she's in the house.""Where, where?" asked Clarisse briskly, getting up to look for her.The news spread at once, and everyone craned forward. The rehearsalwas, as it were, momentarily interrupted. But Bordenave emergedfrom his quiescent condition, shouting:"What's up, eh? Finish the act, I say. And be quiet out there;it's unbearable!"Nana was still following the piece from the corner box. TwiceLabordette showed an inclination to chat, but she grew impatient andnudged him to make him keep silent. The second act was drawing to aclose, when two shadows loomed at the back of the theater. Theywere creeping softly down, avoiding all noise, and Nana recognizedMignon and Count Muffat. They came forward and silently shook handswith Bordenave."Ah, there they are," she murmured with a sigh of relief.Rose Mignon delivered the last sentences of the act. ThereuponBordenave said that it was necessary to go through the second againbefore beginning the third. With that he left off attending to therehearsal and greeted the count with looks of exaggeratedpoliteness, while Fauchery pretended to be entirely engrossed withhis actors, who now grouped themselves round him. Mignon stoodwhistling carelessly, with his hands behind his back and his eyesfixed complacently on his wife, who seemed rather nervous."Well, shall we go upstairs?" Labordette asked Nana. "I'll installyou in the dressing room and come down again and fetch him."Nana forthwith left the corner box. She had to grope her way alongthe passage outside the stalls, but Bordenave guessed where she wasas she passed along in the dark and caught her up at the end of thecorridor passing behind the scenes, a narrow tunnel where the gasburned day and night. Here, in order to bluff her into a bargain,he plunged into a discussion of the courtesan's part."What a part it is, eh? What a wicked little part! It's made foryou. Come and rehearse tomorrow."Nana was frigid. She wanted to know what the third act was like."Oh, it's superb, the third act is! The duchess plays the courtesanin her own house and this disgusts Beaurivage and makes him amendhis way. Then there's an awfully funny quid pro quo, when Tardiveauarrives and is under the impression that he's at an opera dancer'shouse.""And what does Geraldine do in it all?" interrupted Nana."Geraldine?" repeated Bordenave in some embarrassment. "She has ascene--not a very long one, but a great success. It's made for you,I assure you! Will you sign?"She looked steadily at him and at length made answer:"We'll see about that all in good time."And she rejoined Labordette, who was waiting for her on the stairs.Everybody in the theater had recognized her, and there was now muchwhispering, especially between Prulliere, who was scandalized at herreturn, and Clarisse who was very desirous of the part. As toFontan, he looked coldly on, pretending unconcern, for he did notthink it becoming to round on a woman he had loved. Deep down inhis heart, though, his old love had turned to hate, and he nursedthe fiercest rancor against her in return for the constant devotion,the personal beauty, the life in common, of which his perverse andmonstrous tastes had made him tire.In the meantime, when Labordette reappeared and went up to thecount, Rose Mignon, whose suspicions Nana's presence had excited,understood it all forthwith. Muffat was bothering her to death, butshe was beside herself at the thought of being left like this. Shebroke the silence which she usually maintained on such subjects inher husband's society and said bluntly:"You see what's going on? My word, if she tries the Steiner trickon again I'll tear her eyes out!"Tranquilly and haughtily Mignon shrugged his shoulders, as became aman from whom nothing could be hidden."Do be quiet," he muttered. "Do me the favor of being quiet, won'tyou?"He knew what to rely on now. He had drained his Muffat dry, and heknew that at a sign from Nana he was ready to lie down and be acarpet under her feet. There is no fighting against passions suchas that. Accordingly, as he knew what men were, he thought ofnothing but how to turn the situation to the best possible account.It would be necessary to wait on the course of events. And hewaited on them."Rose, it's your turn!" shouted Bordenave. "The second act's beingbegun again.""Off with you then," continued Mignon, "and let me arrange matters."Then he began bantering, despite all his troubles, and was pleasedto congratulate Fauchery on his piece. A very strong piece! Onlywhy was his great lady so chaste? It wasn't natural! With that hesneered and asked who had sat for the portrait of the Duke ofBeaurivage, Geraldine's wornout roue. Fauchery smiled; he was farfrom annoyed. But Bordenave glanced in Muffat's direction andlooked vexed, and Mignon was struck at this and became seriousagain."Let's begin, for God's sake!" yelled the manager. "Now then,Barillot! Eh? What? Isn't Bosc there? Is he bloody well makinggame of me now?"Bosc, however, made his appearance quietly enough, and the rehearsalbegan again just as Labordette was taking the count away with him.The latter was tremulous at the thought of seeing Nana once more.After the rupture had taken place between them there had been agreat void in his life. He was idle and fancied himself about tosuffer through the sudden change his habits had undergone, andaccordingly he had let them take him to see Rose. Besides, hisbrain had been in such a whirl that he had striven to forgeteverything and had strenuously kept from seeking out Nana whileavoiding an explanation with the countess. He thought, indeed, thathe owed his dignity such a measure of forgetfulness. But mysteriousforces were at work within, and Nana began slowly to reconquer him.First came thoughts of her, then fleshly cravings and finally a newset of exclusive, tender, well-nigh paternal feelings.The abominable events attendant on their last interview weregradually effacing themselves. He no longer saw Fontan; he nolonger heard the stinging taunt about his wife's adultery with whichNana cast him out of doors. These things were as words whose memoryvanished. Yet deep down in his heart there was a poignant smartwhich wrung him with such increasing pain that it nigh choked him.Childish ideas would occur to him; he imagined that she would neverhave betrayed him if he had really loved her, and he blamed himselffor this. His anguish was becoming unbearable; he was really verywretched. His was the pain of an old wound rather than the blind,present desire which puts up with everything for the sake ofimmediate possession. He felt a jealous passion for the woman andwas haunted by longings for her and her alone, her hair, her mouth,her body. When he remembered the sound of her voice a shiver ranthrough him; he longed for her as a miser might have done, withrefinements of desire beggaring description. He was, in fact, sodolorously possessed by his passion that when Labordette had begunto broach the subject of an assignation he had thrown himself intohis arms in obedience to irresistible impulse. Directly afterwardhe had, of course, been ashamed of an act of self-abandonment whichcould not but seem very ridicubus in a man of his position; butLabordette was one who knew when to see and when not to see things,and he gave a further proof of his tact when he left the count atthe foot of the stairs and without effort let slip only these simplewords:"The right-hand passage on the second floor. The door's not shut."Muffat was alone in that silent corner of the house. As he passedbefore the players' waiting room, he had peeped through the opendoors and noticed the utter dilapidation of the vast chamber, whichlooked shamefully stained and worn in broad daylight. But whatsurprised him most as he emerged from the darkness and confusion ofthe stage was the pure, clear light and deep quiet at presentpervading the lofty staircase, which one evening when he had seen itbefore had been bathed in gas fumes and loud with the footsteps ofwomen scampering over the different floors. He felt that thedressing rooms were empty, the corridors deserted; not a soul wasthere; not a sound broke the stillness, while through the squarewindows on the level of the stairs the pale November sunlightfiltered and cast yellow patches of light, full of dancing dust,amid the dead, peaceful air which seemed to descend from the regionsabove.He was glad of this calm and the silence, and he went slowly up,trying to regain breath as he went, for his heart was thumping, andhe was afraid lest he might behave childishly and give way to sighsand tears. Accordingly on the first-floor landing he leaned upagainst a wall--for he was sure of not being observed--and pressedhis handkerchief to his mouth and gazed at the warped steps, theiron balustrade bright with the friction of many hands, the scrapedpaint on the walls--all the squalor, in fact, which that house oftolerance so crudely displayed at the pale afternoon hour whencourtesans are asleep. When he reached the second floor he had tostep over a big yellow cat which was lying curled up on a step.With half-closed eyes this cat was keeping solitary watch over thehouse, where the close and now frozen odors which the women nightlyleft behind them had rendered him somnolent.In the right-hand corridor the door of the dressing room had,indeed, not been closed entirely. Nana was waiting. That littleMathilde, a drab of a young girl, kept her dressing room in a filthystate. Chipped jugs stood about anyhow; the dressing table wasgreasy, and there was a chair covered with red stains, which lookedas if someone had bled over the straw. The paper pasted on wallsand ceiling was splashed from top to bottom with spots of soapywater and this smelled so disagreeably of lavender scent turned sourthat Nana opened the window and for some moments stayed leaning onthe sill, breathing the fresh air and craning forward to catch sightof Mme Bron underneath. She could hear her broom wildly at work onthe mildewed pantiles of the narrow court which was buried inshadow. A canary, whose cage hung on a shutter, was trilling awaypiercingly. The sound of carriages in the boulevard and neighboringstreets was no longer audible, and the quiet and the wide expanse ofsleeping sunlight suggested the country. Looking farther afield,her eye fell on the small buildings and glass roofs of the galleriesin the passage and, beyond these, on the tall houses in the RueVivienne, the backs of which rose silent and apparently desertedover against her. There was a succession of terrace roofs close by,and on one of these a photographer had perched a big cagelikeconstruction of blue glass. It was all very gay, and Nana wasbecoming absorbed in contemplation, when it struck her someone hadknocked at the door.She turned round and shouted:"Come in!"At sight of the count she shut the window, for it was not warm, andthere was no need for the eavesdropping Mme Bron to listen. Thepair gazed at one another gravely. Then as the count still keptstanding stiffly in front of her, looking ready to choke withemotion, she burst out laughing and said:"Well! So you're here again, you silly big beast!"The tumult going on within him was so great that he seemed a manfrozen to ice. He addressed Nana as "madame" and esteemed himselfhappy to see her again. Thereupon she became more familiar thanever in order to bounce matters through."Don't do it in the dignified way! You wanted to see me, didn'tyou? But you didn't intend us to stand looking at one another likea couple of chinaware dogs. We've both been in the wrong--Oh, Icertainly forgive you!"And herewith they agreed not to talk of that affair again, Muffatnodding his assent as Nana spoke. He was calmer now but as yetcould find nothing to say, though a thousand things rosetumultuously to his lips. Surprised at his apparent coldness, shebegan acting a part with much vigor."Come," she continued with a faint smile, "you're a sensible man!Now that we've made our peace let's shake hands and be good friendsin future.""What? Good friends?" he murmured in sudden anxiety."Yes; it's idiotic, perhaps, but I should like you to think well ofme. We've had our little explanation out, and if we meet again weshan't, at any rate look like a pair of boobies."He tried to interrupt her with a movement of the hand."Let me finish! There's not a man, you understand, able to accuseme of doing him a blackguardly turn; well, and it struck me ashorrid to begin in your case. We all have our sense of honor, dearboy.""But that's not my meaning!" he shouted violently. "Sit down--listen to me!" And as though he were afraid of seeing her take herdeparture, he pushed her down on the solitary chair in the room.Then he paced about in growing agitation. The little dressing roomwas airless and full of sunlight, and no sound from the outsideworld disturbed its pleasant, peaceful, dampish atmosphere. In thepauses of conversation the shrillings of the canary were aloneaudible and suggested the distant piping of a flute."Listen," he said, planting himself in front of her, "I've come topossess myself of you again. Yes, I want to begin again. You knowthat well; then why do you talk to me as you do? Answer me; tell meyou consent."Her head was bent, and she was scratching the blood-red straw of theseat underneath her. Seeing him so anxious, she did not hurry toanswer. But at last she lifted up her face. It had assumed a graveexpression, and into the beautiful eyes she had succeeded ininfusing a look of sadness."Oh, it's impossible, little man. Never, never, will I live withyou again.""Why?" he stuttered, and his face seemed contracted in unspeakablesuffering."Why? Hang it all, because--It's impossible; that's about it. Idon't want to."He looked ardently at her for some seconds longer. Then his legscurved under him and he fell on the floor. In a bored voice sheadded this simple advice:"Ah, don't be a baby!"But he was one already. Dropping at her feet, he had put his armsround her waist and was hugging her closely, pressing his face hardagainst her knees. When he felt her thus--when he once more divinedthe presence of her velvety limbs beneath the thin fabric of herdress--he was suddenly convulsed and trembled, as it were, withfever, while madly, savagely, he pressed his face against her kneesas though he had been anxious to force through her flesh. The oldchair creaked, and beneath the low ceiling, where the air waspungent with stale perfumes, smothered sobs of desire were audible."Well, and after?" Nana began saying, letting him do as he would."All this doesn't help you a bit, seeing that the thing'simpossible. Good God, what a child you are!"His energy subsided, but he still stayed on the floor, nor did herelax his hold of her as he said in a broken voice:"Do at least listen to what I came to offer you. I've already seena town house close to the Parc Monceau--I would gladly realize yoursmallest wish. In order to have you all to myself, I would give mywhole fortune. Yes, that would be my only condition, that I shouldhave you all to myself! Do you understand? And if you were toconsent to be mine only, oh, then I should want you to be theloveliest, the richest, woman on earth. I should give you carriagesand diamonds and dresses!"At each successive offer Nana shook her head proudly. Then seeingthat he still continued them, that he even spoke of settling moneyon her--for he was at loss what to lay at her feet--she apparentlylost patience."Come, come, have you done bargaining with me? I'm a good sort, andI don't mind giving in to you for a minute or two, as your feelingsare making you so ill, but I've had enough of it now, haven't I? Solet me get up. You're tiring me."She extricated herself from his clasp, and once on her feet:"No, no, no!" she said. "I don't want to!"With that he gathered himself up painfully and feebly dropped into achair, in which he leaned back with his face in his hands. Nanabegan pacing up and down in her turn. For a second or two shelooked at the stained wallpaper, the greasy toilet table, the wholedirty little room as it basked in the pale sunlight. Then shepaused in front of the count and spoke with quiet directness."It's strange how rich men fancy they can have everything for theirmoney. Well, and if I don't want to consent--what then? I don'tcare a pin for your presents! You might give me Paris, and yet Ishould say no! Always no! Look here, it's scarcely clean in thisroom, yet I should think it very nice if I wanted to live in it withyou. But one's fit to kick the bucket in your palaces if one isn'tin love. Ah, as to money, my poor pet, I can lay my hands on thatif I want to, but I tell you, I trample on it; I spit on it!"And with that she assumed a disgusted expression. Then she becamesentimental and added in a melancholy tone:"I know of something worth more than money. Oh, if only someonewere to give me what I long for!"He slowly lifted his head, and there was a gleam of hope in his eyes."Oh, you can't give it me," she continued; "it doesn't depend onyou, and that's the reason I'm talking to you about it. Yes, we'rehaving a chat, so I may as well mention to you that I should like toplay the part of the respectable woman in that show of theirs.""What respectable woman?" he muttered in astonishment."Why, their Duchess Helene! If they think I'm going to playGeraldine, a part with nothing in it, a scene and nothing besides--if they think that! Besides, that isn't the reason. The fact isI've had enough of courtesans. Why, there's no end to 'em! They'llbe fancying I've got 'em on the brain; to be sure they will!Besides, when all's said and done, it's annoying, for I can quitesee they seem to think me uneducated. Well, my boy, they're jollywell in the dark about it, I can tell you! When I want to be aperfect lady, why then I am a swell, and no mistake! Just look atthis."And she withdrew as far as the window and then came swelling backwith the mincing gait and circumspect air of a portly hen that fearsto dirty her claws. As to Muffat, he followed her movements witheyes still wet with tears. He was stupefied by this suddentransition from anguish to comedy. She walked about for a moment ortwo in order the more thoroughly to show off her paces, and as shewalked she smiled subtlely, closed her eyes demurely and managed herskirts with great dexterity. Then she posted herself in front ofhim again."I guess I've hit it, eh?""Oh, thoroughly," he stammered with a broken voice and a troubledexpression."I tell you I've got hold of the honest woman! I've tried at my ownplace. Nobody's got my little knack of looking like a duchess whodon't care a damn for the men. Did you notice it when I passed infront of you? Why, the thing's in my blood! Besides, I want toplay the part of an honest woman. I dream about it day and night--I'm miserable about it. I must have the part, d'you hear?"And with that she grew serious, speaking in a hard voice and lookingdeeply moved, for she was really tortured by her stupid, tiresomewish. Muffat, still smarting from her late refusals, sat on withoutappearing to grasp her meaning. There was a silence during whichthe very flies abstained from buzzing through the quiet, empty place."Now, look here," she resumed bluntly, "you're to get them to giveme the part."He was dumfounded, and with a despairing gesture:"Oh, it's impossible! You yourself were saying just now that itdidn't depend on me."She interrupted him with a shrug of the shoulders."You'll just go down, and you'll tell Bordenave you want the part.Now don't be such a silly! Bordenave wants money--well, you'll lendhim some, since you can afford to make ducks and drakes of it."And as he still struggled to refuse her, she grew angry."Very well, I understand; you're afraid of making Rose angry. Ididn't mention the woman when you were crying down on the floor--Ishould have had too much to say about it all. Yes, to be sure, whenone has sworn to love a woman forever one doesn't usually take upwith the first creature that comes by directly after. Oh, that'swhere the shoe pinches, I remember! Well, dear boy, there's nothingvery savory in the Mignon's leavings! Oughtn't you to have brokenit off with that dirty lot before coming and squirming on my knees?"He protested vaguely and at last was able to get out a phrase."Oh, I don't care a jot for Rose; I'll give her up at once."Nana seemed satisfied on this point. She continued:"Well then, what's bothering you? Bordenave's master here. You'lltell me there's Fauchery after Bordenave--"She had sunk her voice, for she was coming to the delicate part ofthe matter. Muffat sat silent, his eyes fixed on the ground. Hehad remained voluntarily ignorant of Fauchery's assiduous attentionsto the countess, and time had lulled his suspicions and set himhoping that he had been deceiving himself during that fearful nightpassed in a doorway of the Rue Taitbout. But he still felt a dull,angry repugnance to the man."Well, what then? Fauchery isn't the devil!" Nana repeated, feelingher way cautiously and trying to find out how matters stood betweenhusband and lover. "One can get over his soft side. I promise you,he's a good sort at bottom! So it's a bargain, eh? You'll tell himthat it's for my sake?"The idea of taking such a step disgusted the count."No, no! Never!" he cried.She paused, and this sentence was on the verge of utterance:"Fauchery can refuse you nothing."But she felt that by way of argument it was rather too much of agood thing. So she only smiled a queer smile which spoke as plainlyas words. Muffat had raised his eyes to her and now once morelowered them, looking pale and full of embarrassment."Ah, you're not good natured," she muttered at last."I cannot," he said with a voice and a look of the utmost anguish."I'll do whatever you like, but not that, dear love! Oh, I beg younot to insist on that!"Thereupon she wasted no more time in discussion but took his headbetween her small hands, pushed it back a little, bent down andglued her mouth to his in a long, long kiss. He shivered violently;he trembled beneath her touch; his eyes were closed, and he wasbeside himself. She lifted him to his feet."Go," said she simply.He walked off, making toward the door. But as he passed out shetook him in her arms again, became meek and coaxing, lifted her faceto his and rubbed her cheek against his waistcoat, much as a catmight have done."Where's the fine house?" she whispered in laughing embarrassment,like a little girl who returns to the pleasant things she haspreviously refused."In the Avenue de Villiers.""And there are carriages there?""Yes.""Lace? Diamonds?""Yes.""Oh, how good you are, my old pet! You know it was all jealousyjust now! And this time I solemnly promise you it won't be like thefirst, for now you understand what's due to a woman. You give all,don't you? Well then, I don't want anybody but you! Why, lookhere, there's some more for you! There and there and there!"When she had pushed him from the room after firing his blood with arain of kisses on hands and on face, she panted awhile. Goodheavens, what an unpleasant smell there was in that slut Mathilde'sdressing room! It was warm, if you will, with the tranquil warmthpeculiar to rooms in the south when the winter sun shines into them,but really, it smelled far too strong of stale lavender water, notto mention other less cleanly things! She opened the window and,again leaning on the window sill, began watching the glass roof ofthe passage below in order to kill time.Muffat went staggering downstairs. His head was swimming. Whatshould he say? How should he broach the matter which, moreover, didnot concern him? He heard sounds of quarreling as he reached thestage. The second act was being finished, and Prulliere was besidehimself with wrath, owing to an attempt on Fauchery's part to cutshort one of his speeches."Cut it all out then," he was shouting. "I should prefer that!Just fancy, I haven't two hundred lines, and they're still cuttingme down. No, by Jove, I've had enough of it; I give the part up."He took a little crumpled manuscript book out of his pocket andfingered its leaves feverishly, as though he were just about tothrow it on Cossard's lap. His pale face was convulsed by outragedvanity; his lips were drawn and thin, his eyes flamed; he was quiteunable to conceal the struggle that was going on inside him. Tothink that he, Prulliere, the idol of the public, should play a partof only two hundred lines!"Why not make me bring in letters on a tray?" he continued bitterly."Come, come, Prulliere, behave decently," said Bordenave, who wasanxious to treat him tenderly because of his influence over theboxes. "Don't begin making a fuss. We'll find some points. Eh,Fauchery, you'll add some points? In the third act it would even bepossible to lengthen a scene out.""Well then, I want the last speech of all," the comedian declared."I certainly deserve to have it."Fauchery's silence seemed to give consent, and Prulliere, stillgreatly agitated and discontented despite everything, put his partback into his pocket. Bosc and Fontan had appeared profoundlyindifferent during the course of this explanation. Let each manfight for his own hand, they reflected; the present dispute hadnothing to do with them; they had no interest therein! All theactors clustered round Fauchery and began questioning him andfishing for praise, while Mignon listened to the last of Prulliere'scomplaints without, however, losing sight of Count Muffat, whosereturn he had been on the watch for.Entering in the half-light, the count had paused at the back of thestage, for he hesitated to interrupt the quarrel. But Bordenavecaught sight of him and ran forward."Aren't they a pretty lot?" he muttered. "You can have no idea whatI've got to undergo with that lot, Monsieur le Comte. Each man'svainer than his neighbor, and they're wretched players all the same,a scabby lot, always mixed up in some dirty business or other! Oh,they'd be delighted if I were to come to smash. But I beg pardon--I'm getting beside myself."He ceased speaking, and silence reigned while Muffat sought how tobroach his announcement gently. But he failed and, in order to getout of his difficulty the more quickly, ended by an abruptannouncement:"Nana wants the duchess's part."Bordenave gave a start and shouted:"Come now, it's sheer madness!"Then looking at the count and finding him so pale and so shaken, hewas calm at once."Devil take it!" he said simply.And with that there ensued a fresh silence. At bottom he didn'tcare a pin about it. That great thing Nana playing the duchessmight possibly prove amusing! Besides, now that this had happenedhe had Muffat well in his grasp. Accordingly he was not long incoming to a decision, and so he turned round and called out:"Fauchery!"The count had been on the point of stopping him. But Fauchery didnot hear him, for he had been pinned against the curtain by Fontanand was being compelled to listen patiently to the comedian'sreading of the part of Tardiveau. Fontan imagined Tardiveau to be anative of Marseilles with a dialect, and he imitated the dialect.He was repeating whole speeches. Was that right? Was this thething? Apparently he was only submitting ideas to Fauchery of whichhe was himself uncertain, but as the author seemed cold and raisedvarious objections, he grew angry at once.Oh, very well, the moment the spirit of the part escaped him itwould be better for all concerned that he shouldn't act it at all!"Fauchery!" shouted Bordenave once more.Thereupon the young man ran off, delighted to escape from the actor,who was wounded not a little by his prompt retreat."Don't let's stay here," continued Bordenave. "Come this way,gentlemen."In order to escape from curious listeners he led them into theproperty room behind the scenes, while Mignon watched theirdisappearance in some surprise. They went down a few steps andentered a square room, whose two windows opened upon the courtyard.A faint light stole through the dirty panes and hung wanly under thelow ceiling. In pigeonholes and shelves, which filled the wholeplace up, lay a collection of the most varied kind of bric-a-brac.Indeed, it suggested an old-clothes shop in the Rue de Lappe inprocess of selling off, so indescribable was the hotchpotch ofplates, gilt pasteboard cups, old red umbrellas, Italian jars,clocks in all styles, platters and inkpots, firearms and squirts,which lay chipped and broken and in unrecognizable heaps under alayer of dust an inch deep. An unendurable odor of old iron, ragsand damp cardboard emanated from the various piles, where the debrisof forgotten dramas had been collecting for half a century."Come in," Bordenave repeated. "We shall be alone, at any rate."The count was extremely embarrassed, and he contrived to let themanager risk his proposal for him. Fauchery was astonished."Eh? What?" he asked."Just this," said Bordenave finally. "An idea has occurred to us.Now whatever you do, don't jump! It's most serious. What do youthink of Nana for the duchess's part?"The author was bewildered; then he burst out with:"Ah no, no! You're joking, aren't you? People would laugh far toomuch.""Well, and it's a point gained already if they do laugh! Justreflect, my dear boy. The idea pleases Monsieur le Comte verymuch."In order to keep himself in countenance Muffat had just picked outof the dust on a neighboring shelf an object which he did not seemto recognize. It was an eggcup, and its stem had been mended withplaster. He kept hold of it unconsciously and came forward,muttering:"Yes, yes, it would be capital."Fauchery turned toward him with a brisk, impatient gesture. Thecount had nothing to do with his piece, and he said decisively:"Never! Let Nana play the courtesan as much as she likes, but alady--No, by Jove!""You are mistaken, I assure you," rejoined the count, growingbolder. "This very minute she has been playing the part of a purewoman for my benefit.""Where?" queried Fauchery with growing surprise."Upstairs in a dressing room. Yes, she has, indeed, and with suchdistinction! She's got a way of glancing at you as she goes by you--something like this, you know!"And eggcup in hand, he endeavored to imitate Nana, quite forgettinghis dignity in his frantic desire to convince the others. Faucherygazed at him in a state of stupefaction. He understood it all now,and his anger had ceased. The count felt that he was looking at himmockingly and pityingly, and he paused with a slight blush on hisface."Egad, it's quite possible!" muttered the author complaisantly."Perhaps she would do very well, only the part's been assigned. Wecan't take it away from Rose.""Oh, if that's all the trouble," said Bordenave, "I'll undertake toarrange matters."But presently, seeing them both against him and guessing thatBordenave had some secret interest at stake, the young man thoughtto avoid aquiescence by redoubling the violence of his refusal. Theconsultation was on the verge of being broken up."Oh, dear! No, no! Even if the part were unassigned I should nevergive it her! There, is that plain? Do let me alone; I have no wishto ruin my play!"He lapsed into silent embarrassment. Bordenave, deeming himself detrop, went away, but the count remained with bowed head. He raisedit with an effort and said in a breaking voice:"Supposing, my dear fellow, I were to ask this of you as a favor?""I cannot, I cannot," Fauchery kept repeating as he writhed to getfree.Muffat's voice became harder."I pray and beseech you for it! I want it!"And with that he fixed his eyes on him. The young man read menacesin that darkling gaze and suddenly gave way with a splutter ofconfused phrases:"Do what you like--I don't care a pin about it. Yes, yes, you'reabusing your power, but you'll see, you'll see!"At this the embarrassment of both increased. Fauchery was leaningup against a set of shelves and was tapping nervously on the groundwith his foot. Muffat seemed busy examining the eggcup, which hewas still turning round and about."It's an eggcup," Bordenave obligingly came and remarked."Yes, to be sure! It's an eggeup," the count repeated."Excuse me, you're covered with dust," continued the manager,putting the thing back on a shelf. "If one had to dust every daythere'd be no end to it, you understand. But it's hardly cleanhere--a filthy mess, eh? Yet you may believe me or not when I tellyou there's money in it. Now look, just look at all that!"He walked Muffat round in front of the pigeonholes and shelves andin the greenish light which filtered through the courtyard, told himthe names of different properties, for he was anxious to interesthim in his marine-stores inventory, as he jocosely termed it.Presently, when they had returned into Fauchery's neighborhood, hesaid carelessly enough:"Listen, since we're all of one mind, we'll finish the matter atonce. Here's Mignon, just when he's wanted."For some little time past Mignon had been prowling in the adjoiningpassage, and the very moment Bordenave began talking of amodification of their agreement he burst into wrathful protest. Itwas infamous--they wanted to spoil his wife's career--he'd go to lawabout it! Bordenave, meanwhile, was extremely calm and full ofreasons. He did not think the part worthy of Rose, and he preferredto reserve her for an operetta, which was to be put on after thePetite Duchesse. But when her husband still continued shouting hesuddenly offered to cancel their arrangement in view of the offerswhich the Folies-Dramatiques had been making the singer. At thisMignon was momenrarily put out, so without denying the truth ofthese offers he loudly professed a vast disdain for money. Hiswife, he said, had been engaged to play the Duchess Helene, and shewould play the part even if he, Mignon, were to be ruined over it.His dignity, his honor, were at stake! Starting from this basis,the discussion grew interminable. The manager, however, alwaysreturned to the following argument: since the Folies had offeredRose three hundred francs a night during a hundred performances, andsince she only made a hundred and fifty with him, she would be thegainer by fifteen thousand francs the moment he let her depart. Thehusband, on his part, did not desert the artist's position. Whatwould people say if they saw his wife deprived of her part? Why,that she was not equal to it; that it had been deemed necessary tofind a substitute for her! And this would do great harm to Rose'sreputation as an artist; nay, it would diminish it. Oh no, no!Glory before gain! Then without a word of warning he pointed out apossible arrangement: Rose, according to the terms of her agreement,was pledged to pay a forfeit of ten thousand francs in case she gaveup the part. Very well then, let them give her ten thousand francs,and she would go to the Folies-Dramatiques. Bordenave was utterlydumfounded while Mignon, who had never once taken his eyes off thecount, tranquilly awaited results."Then everything can be settled," murmured Muffat in tones ofrelief; "we can come to an understanding.""The deuce, no! That would be too stupid!" cried Bordenave,mastered by his commercial instincts. "Ten thousand francs to letRose go! Why, people would make game of me!"But the count, with a multiplicity of nods, bade him accept. Hehesitated, and at last with much grumbling and infinite regret overthe ten thousand francs which, by the by, were not destined to comeout of his own pocket he bluntly continued:"After all, I consent. At any rate, I shall have you off my hands."For a quarter of an hour past Fontan had been listening in thecourtyard. Such had been his curiosity that he had come down andposted himself there, but the moment he understood the state of thecase he went upstairs again and enjoyed the treat of telling Rose.Dear me! They were just haggling in her behalf! He dinned hiswords into her ears; she ran off to the property room. They weresilent as she entered. She looked at the four men. Muffat hung hishead; Fauchery answered her questioning glance with a despairingshrug of the shoulders; as to Mignon, he was busy discussing theterms of the agreement with Bordenave."What's up?" she demanded curtly."Nothing," said her husband. "Bordenave here is giving ten thousandfrancs in order to get you to give up your part."She grew tremulous with anger and very pale, and she clenched herlittle fists. For some moments she stared at him, her whole naturein revolt. Ordinarily in matters of business she was wont to trusteverything obediently to her husband, leaving him to sign agreementswith managers and lovers. Now she could but cry:"Oh, come, you're too base for anything!"The words fell like a lash. Then she sped away, and Mignon, inutter astonishment, ran after her. What next? Was she going mad?He began explaining to her in low tones that ten thousand francsfrom one party and fifteen thousand from the other came to twenty-five thousand. A splendid deal! Muffat was getting rid of her inevery sense of the word; it was a pretty trick to have plucked himof this last feather! But Rose in her anger vouchsafed no answer.Whereupon Mignon in disdain left her to her feminine spite and,turning to Bordenave, who was once more on the stage with Faucheryand Muffat, said:"We'll sign tomorrow morning. Have the money in readiness."At this moment Nana, to whom Labordette had brought the news, camedown to the stage in triumph. She was quite the honest woman nowand wore a most distinguished expression in order to overwhelm herfriends and prove to the idiots that when she chose she could givethem all points in the matter of smartness. But she nearly got intotrouble, for at the sight of her Rose darted forward, choking withrage and stuttering:"Yes, you, I'll pay you out! Things can't go on like this; d'youunderstand?" Nana forgot herself in face of this brisk attack andwas going to put her arms akimbo and give her what for. But shecontrolled herself and, looking like a marquise who is afraid oftreading on an orange peel, fluted in still more silvery tones."Eh, what?" said she. "You're mad, my dear!"And with that she continued in her graceful affectation while Rosetook her departure, followed by Mignon, who now refused to recognizeher. Clarisse was enraptured, having just obtained the part ofGeraldine from Bordenave. Fauchery, on the other hand, was gloomy;he shifted from one foot to the other; he could not decide whetherto leave the theater or no. His piece was bedeviled, and he wasseeking how best to save it. But Nana came up, took him by bothhands and, drawing him toward her, asked whether he thought her sovery atrocious after all. She wasn't going to eat his play--notshe! Then she made him laugh and gave him to understand that hewould be foolish to be angry with her, in view of his relationshipto the Muffats. If, she said, her memory failed her she would takeher lines from the prompter. The house, too, would be packed insuch a way as to ensure applause. Besides, he was mistaken abouther, and he would soon see how she would rattle through her part.By and by it was arranged that the author should make a few changesin the role of the duchess so as to extend that of Prulliere. Thelast-named personage was enraptured. Indeed, amid all the joy whichNana now quite naturally diffused, Fontan alone remained unmoved.In the middle of the yellow lamplight, against which the sharpoutline offa, there were twenty thousand francs' worth of Pointde Venise lace. The furniture was lacquered blue and white underdesigns in silver filigree, and everywhere lay such numbers of whitebearskins that they hid the carpet. This was a luxurious caprice onNana's part, she having never been able to break herself of thehabit of sitting on the floor to take her stockings off. Next doorto the bedroom the little saloon was full of an amusing medley ofexquisitely artistic objects. Against the hangings of pale rose-colored silk--a faded Turkish rose color, embroidered with goldthread--a whole world of them stood sharply outlined. They werefrom every land and in every possible style. There were Italiancabinets, Spanish and Portuguese coffers, models of Chinese pagodas,a Japanese screen of precious workmanship, besides china, bronzes,embroidered silks, his goatlike profile shone out with great distinctness,he stood showing off his figure and affecting the pose of one whohas been cruelly abandoned. Nana went quietly up and shook handswith him."How are you getting on?""Oh, pretty fairly. And how are you?""Very well, thank you."That was all. They seemed to have only parted at the doors of thetheater the day before. Meanwhile the players were waiting about,but Bordenave said that the third act would not be rehearsed. Andso it chanced that old Bosc went grumbling away at the proper time,whereas usually the company were needlessly detained and lost wholeafternoons in consequence. Everyone went off. Down on the pavementthey were blinded by the broad daylight and stood blinking theireyes in a dazed sort of way, as became people who had passed threehours squabbling with tight-strung nerves in the depths of a cellar.The count, with racked limbs and vacant brain, got into a conveyancewith Nana, while Labordette took Fauchery off and comforted him.A month later the first night of the Petite Duchesse provedsupremely disastrous to Nana. She was atrociously bad and displayedsuch pretentions toward high comedy that the public grew mirthful.They did not hiss--they were too amused. From a stage box RoseMignon kept greeting her rival's successive entrances with a shrilllaugh, which set the whole house off. It was the beginning of herrevenge. Accordingly, when at night Nana, greatly chagrined, foundherself alone with Muffat, she said furiously:"What a conspiracy, eh? It's all owing to jealousy. Oh, if theyonly knew how I despise 'em! What do I want them for nowadays?Look here! I'll bet a hundred louis that I'll bring all those whomade fun today and make 'em lick the ground at my feet! Yes, I'llfine-lady your Paris for you, I will!"