At the Varietes they were giving the thirty-fourth performance ofthe Blonde Venus. The first act had just finished, and in thegreenroom Simonne, dressed as the little laundress, was standing infront of a console table, surmounted by a looking glass and situatedbetween the two corner doors which opened obliquely on the end ofthe dressing-room passage. No one was with her, and she wasscrutinizing her face and rubbing her finger up and down below hereyes with a view to putting the finishing touches to her make-up.The gas jets on either side of the mirror flooded her with warm,crude light."Has he arrived?" asked Prulliere, entering the room in his Alpineadmiral's costume, which was set off by a big sword, enormous topboots and a vast tuft of plumes."Who d'you mean?" said Simonne, taking no notice of him and laughinginto the mirror in order to see how her lips looked."The prince.""I don't know; I've just come down. Oh, he's certainly due heretonight; he comes every time!"Prulliere had drawn near the hearth opposite the console table,where a coke fire was blazing and two more gas jets were flaringbrightly. He lifted his eyes and looked at the clock and thebarometer on his right hand and on his left. They had gildedsphinxes by way of adornment in the style of the First Empire. Thenhe stretched himself out in a huge armchair with ears, the greenvelvet of which had been so worn by four generations of comediansthat it looked yellow in places, and there he stayed, with movelesslimbs and vacant eyes, in that weary and resigned attitude peculiarto actors who are used to long waits before their turn for going onthe stage.Old Bosc, too, had just made his appearance. He came in draggingone foot behind the other and coughing. He was wrapped in an oldbox coat, part of which had slipped from his shoulder in such a wayas to uncover the gold-laced cloak of King Dagobert. He put hiscrown on the piano and for a moment or two stood moodily stampinghis feet. His hands were trembling slightly with the firstbeginnings of alcoholism, but he looked a sterling old fellow forall that, and a long white beard lent that fiery tippler's face ofhis a truly venerable appearance. Then in the silence of the room,while the shower of hail was whipping the panes of the great windowthat looked out on the courtyard, he shook himself disgustedly."What filthy weather!" he growled.Simonne and Prulliere did not move. Four or five pictures--alandscape, a portrait of the actor Vernet--hung yellowing in the hotglare of the gas, and a bust of Potier, one of the bygone glories ofthe Varietes, stood gazing vacant-eyed from its pedestal. But justthen there was a burst of voices outside. It was Fontan, dressedfor the second act. He was a young dandy, and his habiliments, evento his gloves, were entirely yellow."Now say you don't know!" he shouted, gesticulating. "Today's mypatron saint's day!""What?" asked Simonne, coming up smilingly, as though attracted bythe huge nose and the vast, comic mouth of the man. "D'you answerto the name of Achille?""Exactly so! And I'm going to get 'em to tell Madame Bron to sendup champagne after the second act."For some seconds a bell had been ringing in the distance. The long-drawn sound grew fainter, then louder, and when the bell ceased ashout ran up the stair and down it till it was lost along thepassages. "All on the stage for the second act! All on the stagefor the second act!" The sound drew near, and a little pale-facedman passed by the greenroom doors, outside each of which he yelledat the top of his shrill voice, "On the stage for the second act!""The deuce, it's champagne!" said Prulliere without appearing tohear the din. "You're prospering!""If I were you I should have it in from the cafe," old Bosc slowlyannounced. He was sitting on a bench covered with green velvet,with his head against the wall.But Simonne said that it was one's duty to consider Mme Bron's smallperquisites. She clapped her hands excitedly and devoured Fontanwith her gaze while his long goatlike visage kept up a continuoustwitching of eyes and nose and mouth."Oh, that Fontan!" she murmured. "There's no one like him, no onelike him!"The two greenroom doors stood wide open to the corridor leading tothe wings. And along the yellow wall, which was brightly lit up bya gas lamp out of view, passed a string of rapidly moving shadows--men in costume, women with shawls over their scant attire, in aword, the whole of the characters in the second act, who wouldshortly make their appearance as masqeuraders in the ball at theBoule Noire. And at the end of the corridor became audible ashuffling of feet as these people clattered down the five woodensteps which led to the stage. As the big Clarisse went running bySimonne called to her, but she said she would be back directly.And, indeed, she reappeared almost at once, shivering in the thintunic and scarf which she wore as Iris."God bless me!" she said. "It isn't warm, and I've left my furs inmy dressing room!"Then as she stood toasting her legs in their warm rose-coloredtights in front of the fireplace she resumed:"The prince has arrived.""Oh!" cried the rest with the utmost curiosity."Yes, that's why I ran down: I wanted to see. He's in the firststage box to the right, the same he was in on Thursday. It's thethird time he's been this week, eh? That's Nana; well, she's inluck's way! I was willing to wager he wouldn't come again."Simonne opened her lips to speak, but her remarks were drowned by afresh shout which arose close to the greenroom. In the passage thecallboy was yelling at the top of his shrill voice, "They'veknocked!""Three times!" said Simonne when she was again able to speak. "It'sgetting exciting. You know, he won't go to her place; he takes herto his. And it seems that he has to pay for it too!""Egad! It's a case of when one 'has to go out,'" muttered Prullierewickedly, and he got up to have a last look at the mirror as becamea handsome fellow whom the boxes adored."They've knocked! They've knocked!" the callboy kept repeating intones that died gradually away in the distance as he passed throughthe various stories and corridors.Fontan thereupon, knowing how it had all gone off on the firstoccasion the prince and Nana met, told the two women the whole storywhile they in their turn crowded against him and laughed at the topsof their voices whenever he stooped to whisper certain details intheir ears. Old Bosc had never budged an inch--he was totallyindifferent. That sort of thing no longer interested him now. Hewas stroking a great tortoise-shell cat which was lying curled up onthe bench. He did so quite beautifully and ended by taking her inhis arms with the tender good nature becoming a worn-out monarch.The cat arched its back and then, after a prolonged sniff at the bigwhite beard, the gluey odor of which doubtless disgusted her, sheturned and, curling herself up, went to sleep again on the benchbeside him. Bosc remained grave and absorbed."That's all right, but if I were you I should drink the champagne atthe restaurant--its better there," he said, suddenly addressingFontan when he had finished his recital."The curtain's up!" cried the callboy in cracked and long-drawnaccents "The curtain's up! The curtain's up!"The shout sounded for some moments, during which there had been anoise of rapid footsteps. Through the suddenly opened door of thepassage came a burst of music and a far-off murmur of voices, andthen the door shut to again and you could hear its dull thud as itwedged itself into position once more.A heavy, peaceful, atmosphere again pervaded the greenroom, asthough the place were situated a hundred leagues from the housewhere crowds were applauding. Simonne and Clarisse were still onthe topic of Nana. There was a girl who never hurried herself!Why, yesterday she had again come on too late! But there was asilence, for a tall damsel had just craned her head in at the doorand, seeing that she had made a mistake, had departed to the otherend of the passage. It was Satin. Wearing a hat and a small veilfor the nonce she was affecting the manner of a lady about to pay acall."A pretty trollop!" muttered Prulliere, who had been coming acrossher for a year past at the Cafe des Varietes. And at this Simonnetold them how Nana had recognized in Satin an old schoolmate, hadtaken a vast fancy to her and was now plaguing Bordenave to let hermake a first appearance on the stage."How d'ye do?" said Fontan, shaking hands with Mignon and Fauchery,who now came into the room.Old Bosc himself gave them the tips of his fingers while the twowomen kissed Mignon."A good house this evening?" queried Fauchery."Oh, a splendid one!" replied Prulliere. "You should see 'emgaping.""I say, my little dears," remarked Mignon, "it must be your turn!"Oh, all in good time! They were only at the fourth scene as yet,but Bosc got up in obedience to instinct, as became a rattling oldactor who felt that his cue was coming. At that very moment thecallboy was opening the door."Monsieur Bosc!" he called. "Mademoiselle Simonne!"Simonne flung a fur-lined pelisse briskly over her shoulders andwent out. Bosc, without hurrying at all, went and got his crown,which he settled on his brow with a rap. Then dragging himselfunsteadily along in his greatcoat, he took his departure, grumblingand looking as annoyed as a man who has been rudely disturbed."You were very amiable in your last notice," continued Fontan,addressing Fauchery. "Only why do you say that comedians are vain?""Yes, my little man, why d'you say that?" shouted Mignon, bringingdown his huge hands on the journalist's slender shoulders with suchforce as almost to double him up.Prulliere and Clarisse refrained from laughing aloud. For some timepast the whole company had been deriving amusement from a comedywhich was going on in the wings. Mignon, rendered frantic by hiswife's caprice and annoyed at the thought that this man Faucherybrought nothing but a certain doubiful notoriety to his household,had conceived the idea of revenging himself on the journalist byoverwhelming him with tokens of friendship. Every evening,therefore, when he met him behind scenes he would shower friendlyslaps on his back and shoulders, as though fairly carried away by anoutburst of tenderness, and Fauchery, who was a frail, small man incomparison with such a giant, was fain to take the raps with astrained smile in order not to quarrel with Rose's husband."Aha, my buck, you've insulted Fontan," resumed Mignon, who wasdoing his best to force the joke. "Stand on guard! One--two--gothim right in the middle of his chest!"He lunged and struck the young man with such force that the lattergrew very pale and could not speak for some seconds. With a winkClarisse showed the others where Rose Mignon was standing on thethreshold of the greenroom. Rose had witnessed the scene, and shemarched straight up to the journalist, as though she had failed tonotice her husband and, standing on tiptoe, bare-armed and in babycostume, she held her face up to him with a caressing, infantinepout."Good evening, baby," said Fauchery, kissing her familiarly.Thus he indemnified himself. Mignon, however, did not seem to haveobserved this kiss, for everybody kissed his wife at the theater.But he laughed and gave the journalist a keen little look. Thelatter would assurely have to pay for Rose's bravado.In the passage the tightly shutting door opened and closed again,and a tempest of applause was blown as far as the greenroom.Simonne came in after her scene."Oh, Father Bosc has just scored!" she cried. "The prince waswrithing with laughter and applauded with the rest as though he hadbeen paid to. I say, do you know the big man sitting beside theprince in the stage box? A handsome man, with a very sedateexpression and splendid whiskers!""It's Count Muffat," replied Fauchery. "I know that the prince,when he was at the empress's the day before yesterday, invited himto dinner for tonight. He'll have corrupted him afterward!""So that's Count Muffat! We know his father-in-law, eh, Auguste?"said Rose, addressing her remark to Mignon. "You know the Marquisde Chouard, at whose place I went to sing? Well, he's in the housetoo. I noticed him at the back of a box. There's an old boy foryou!"Prulliere, who had just put on his huge plume of feathers, turnedround and called her."Hi, Rose! Let's go now!"She ran after him, leaving her sentence unfinished. At that momentMme Bron, the portress of the theater, passed by the door with animmense bouquet in her arms. Simonne asked cheerfully if it was forher, but the porter woman did not vouchsafe an answer and onlypointed her chin toward Nana's dressing room at the end of thepassage. Oh, that Nana! They were loading her with flowers! Thenwhen Mme Bron returned she handed a letter to Clarisse, who alloweda smothered oath to escape her. That beggar La Faloise again!There was a fellow who wouldn't let her alone! And when she learnedthe gentleman in question was waiting for her at the porter's lodgeshe shrieked:"Tell him I'm coming down after this act. I'm going to catch himone on the face."Fontan had rushed forward, shouting:"Madame Bron, just listen. Please listen, Madame Bron. I want youto send up six bottles of champagne between the acts."But the callboy had again made his appearance. He was out ofbreath, and in a singsong voice he called out:"All to go on the stage! It's your turn, Monsieur Fontan. Makehaste, make haste!""Yes, yes, I'm going, Father Barillot," replied Fontan in a flurry.And he ran after Mme Bron and continued:"You understand, eh? Six bottles of champagne in the greenroombetween the acts. It's my patron saint's day, and I'm standing theracket."Simonne and Clarisse had gone off with a great rustling of skirts.Everybody was swallowed up in the distance, and when the passagedoor had banged with its usual hollow sound a fresh hail shower washeard beating against the windows in the now-silent greenroom.Barillot, a small, pale-faced ancient, who for thirty years had beena servant in the theater, had advanced familiarly toward Mignon andhad presented his open snuffbox to him. This proffer of a pinch andits acceptance allowed him a minute's rest in his interminablecareer up and down stairs and along the dressing-room passage. Hecertainly had still to look up Mme Nana, as he called her, but shewas one of those who followed her own sweet will and didn't care apin for penalties. Why, if she chose to be too late she was toolate! But he stopped short and murmured in great surprise:"Well, I never! She's ready; here she is! She must know that theprince is here."Indeed, Nana appeared in the corridor. She was dressed as a fishhag: her arms and face were plastered with white paint, and she hada couple of red dabs under her eyes. Without entering the greenroomshe contented herself by nodding to Mignon and Fauchery."How do? You're all right?"Only Mignon shook her outstretched hand, and she hied royally on herway, followed by her dresser, who almost trod on her heels whilestooping to adjust the folds of her skirt. In the rear of thedresser came Satin, closing the procession and trying to look quitethe lady, though she was already bored to death."And Steiner?" asked Mignon sharply."Monsieur Steiner has gone away to the Loiret," said Barillot,preparing to return to the neighborhood of the stage. "I expecthe's gone to buy a country place in those parts.""Ah yes, I know, Nana's country place."Mignon had grown suddenly serious. Oh, that Steiner! He hadpromised Rose a fine house in the old days! Well, well, it wouldn'tdo to grow angry with anybody. Here was a position that would haveto be won again. From fireplace to console table Mignon paced, sunkin thought yet still unconquered by circumstances. There was no onein the greenroom now save Fauchery and himself. The journalist wastired and had flung himself back into the recesses of the bigarmchair. There he stayed with half-closed eyes and as quiet asquiet could be, while the other glanced down at him as he passed.When they were alone Mignon scorned to slap him at every turn. Whatgood would it have done, since nobody would have enjoyed thespectacle? He was far too disinterested to be personallyentertained by the farcical scenes in which he figured as abantering husband. Glad of this short-lived respite, Faucherystretched his feet out languidly toward the fire and let hisupturned eyes wander from the barometer to the clock. In the courseof his march Mignon planted himself in front of Potier's bust,looked at it without seeming to see it and then turned back to thewindow, outside which yawned the darkling gulf of the courtyard.The rain had ceased, and there was now a deep silence in the room,which the fierce heat of the coke fire and the flare of the gas jetsrendered still more oppressive. Not a sound came from the wings:the staircase and the passages were deadly still.That choking sensation of quiet, which behind the scenes immediatelyprecedes the end of an act, had begun to pervade the emptygreenroom. Indeed, the place seemed to be drowsing off through verybreathlessness amid that faint murmur which the stage gives forthwhen the whole troupe are raising the deafening uproar of some grandfinale."Oh, the cows!" Bordenave suddeniy shouted in his hoarse voice.He had only just come up, and he was already howling complaintsabout two chorus girls who had nearly fallen flat on the stagebecause they were playing the fool together. When his eye lit onMignon and Fauchery he called them; he wanted to show themsomething. The prince had just notified a desire to compliment Nanain her dressing room during the next interval. But as he wasleading them into the wings the stage manager passed."Just you find those hags Fernande and Maria!" cried Bordenavesavagely.Then calming down and endeavoring to assume the dignified expressionworn by "heavy fathers," he wiped his face with his pockethandkerchief and added:"I am now going to receive His Highness."The curtain fell amid a long-drawn salvo of applause. Then acrossthe twilight stage, which was no longer lit up by the footlights,there followed a disorderly retreat. Actors and supers and chorusmade haste to get back to their dressing rooms while thesceneshifters rapidly changed the scenery. Simonne and Clarisse,however, had remained "at the top," talking together in whispers.On the stage, in an interval between their lines, they had justsettled a little matter. Clarisse, after viewing the thing in everylight, found she preferred not to see La Faloise, who could neverdecide to leave her for Gaga, and so Simonne was simply to go andexplain that a woman ought not to be palled up to in that fashion!At last she agreed to undertake the mission.Then Simonne, in her theatrical laundress's attire but with fursover her shoulders, ran down the greasy steps of the narrow, windingstairs which led between damp walls to the porter's lodge. Thislodge, situated between the actors' staircase and that of themanagement, was shut in to right and left by large glass partitionsand resembled a huge transparent lantern in which two gas jets wereflaring.There was a set of pigeonholes in the place in which were piledletters and newspapers, while on the table various bouquets layawaiting their recipients in close proximity to neglected heaps ofdirty plates and to an old pair of stays, the eyelets of which theportress was busy mending. And in the middle of this untidy, ill-kept storeroom sat four fashionable, white-gloved society men. Theyoccupied as many ancient straw-bottomed chairs and, with anexpression at once patient and submissive, kept sharply turningtheir heads in Mme Bron's direction every time she came down fromthe theater overhead, for on such occasions she was the bearer ofreplies. Indeed, she had but now handed a note to a young man whohad hurried out to open it beneath the gaslight in the vestibule,where he had grown slightly pale on reading the classic phrase--howoften had others read it in that very place!--"Impossible tonight,my dearie! I'm booked!" La Faloise sat on one of these chairs atthe back of the room, between the table and the stove. He seemedbent on passing the evening there, and yet he was not quite happy.Indeed, he kept tucking up his long legs in his endeavors to escapefrom a whole litter of black kittens who were gamboling wildly roundthem while the mother cat sat bolt upright, staring at him withyellow eyes."Ah, it's you, Mademoiselle Simonne! What can I do for you?" askedthe portress.Simonne begged her to send La Faloise out to her. But Mme Bron wasunable to comply with her wishes all at once. Under the stairs in asort of deep cupboard she kept a little bar, whither the supers werewont to descend for drinks between the acts, and seeing that just atthat moment there were five or six tall lubbers there who, stilldressed as Boule Noire masqueraders, were dying of thirst and in agreat hurry, she lost her head a bit. A gas jet was flaring in thecupboard, within which it was possible to descry a tin-covered tableand some shelves garnished with half-emptied bottles. Whenever thedoor of this coalhole was opened a violent whiff of alcohol mingledwith the scent of stale cooking in the lodge, as well as with thepenetrating scent of the flowers upon the table."Well now," continued the portress when she had served the supers,"is it the little dark chap out there you want?""No, no; don't be silly!" said Simonne. "It's the lanky one by theside of the stove. Your cat's sniffing at his trouser legs!"And with that she carried La Faloise off into the lobby, while theother gentlemen once more resigned themselves to their fate and tosemisuffocation and the masqueraders drank on the stairs andindulged in rough horseplay and guttural drunken jests.On the stage above Bordenave was wild with the sceneshifters, whoseemed never to have done changing scenes. They appeared to beacting of set purpose--the prince would certainly have some setpiece or other tumbling on his head."Up with it! Up with it!" shouted the foreman.At length the canvas at the back of the stage was raised intoposition, and the stage was clear. Mignon, who had kept his eye onFauchery, seized this opportunity in order to start his pummelingmatches again. He hugged him in his long arms and cried:"Oh, take care! That mast just missed crushing you!"And he carried him off and shook him before setting him down again.In view of the sceneshifters' exaggerated mirth, Fauchery grewwhite. His lips trembled, and he was ready to flare up in angerwhile Mignon, shamming good nature, was clapping him on the shoulderwith such affectionate violence as nearly to pulverize him."I value your health, I do!" he kept repeating. "Egad! I should bein a pretty pickle if anything serious happened to you!"But just then a whisper ran through their midst: "The prince! Theprince! And everybody turned and looked at the little door whichopened out of the main body of the house. At first nothing wasvisible save Bordenave's round back and beefy neck, which bobbeddown and arched up in a series of obsequious obeisances. Then theprince made his appearance. Largely and strongly built, light ofbeard and rosy of hue, he was not lacking in the kind of distinctionpeculiar to a sturdy man of pleasure, the square contours of whoselimbs are clearly defined by the irreproachable cut of a frock coat.Behind him walked Count Muffat and the Marquis de Chouard, but thisparticular corner of the theater being dark, the group were lost toview amid huge moving shadows.In order fittingly to address the son of a queen, who would somedayoccupy a throne, Bordenave had assumed the tone of a man exhibitinga bear in the street. In a voice tremulous with false emotion hekept repeating:"If His Highness will have the goodness to follow me--would HisHighness deign to come this way? His Highness will take care!"The prince did not hurry in the least. On the contrary, he wasgreatly interested and kept pausing in order to look at thesceneshifters' maneuvers. A batten had just been lowered, and thegroup of gaslights high up among its iron crossbars illuminated thestage with a wide beam of light. Muffat, who had never yet beenbehind scenes at a theater, was even more astonished than the rest.An uneasy feeling of mingled fear and vague repugnance tookpossession of him. He looked up into the heights above him, wheremore battens, the gas jets on which were burning low, gleamed likegalaxies of little bluish stars amid a chaos of iron rods,connecting lines of all sizes, hanging stages and canvases spreadout in space, like huge cloths hung out to dry."Lower away!" shouted the foreman unexpectedly.And the prince himself had to warn the count, for a canvas wasdescending. They were setting the scenery for the third act, whichwas the grotto on Mount Etna. Men were busy planting masts in thesockets, while others went and took frames which were leaningagainst the walls of the stage and proceeded to lash them withstrong cords to the poles already in position. At the back of thestage, with a view to producing the bright rays thrown by Vulcan'sglowing forge, a stand had been fixed by a limelight man, who wasnow lighting various burners under red glasses. The scene was oneof confusion, verging to all appearances on absolute chaos, butevery little move had been prearranged. Nay, amid all the scurrythe whistle blower even took a few turns, stepping short as he didso, in order to rest his legs."His Highness overwhelms me," said Bordenave, still bowing low."The theater is not large, but we do what we can. Now if HisHighness deigns to follow me--"Count Muffat was already making for the dressing-room passage. Thereally sharp downward slope of the stage had surprised himdisagreeably, and he owed no small part of his present anxiety to afeeling that its boards were moving under his feet. Through theopen sockets gas was descried burning in the "dock." Human voicesand blasts of air, as from a vault, came up thence, and, lookingdown into the depths of gloom, one became aware of a wholesubterranean existence. But just as the count was going up thestage a small incident occurred to stop him. Two little women,dressed for the third act, were chatting by the peephole in thecurtain. One of them, straining forward and widening the hole withher fingers in order the better to observe things, was scanning thehouse beyond."I see him," said she sharply. "Oh, what a mug!"Horrified, Bordenave had much ado not to give her a kick. But theprince smiled and looked pleased and excited by the remark. Hegazed warmly at the little woman who did not care a button for HisHighness, and she, on her part, laughed unblushingly. Bordenave,however, persuaded the prince to follow him. Muffat was beginningto perspire; he had taken his hat off. What inconvenienced him mostwas the stuffy, dense, overheated air of the place with its strong,haunting smell, a smell peculiar to this part of a theater, and, assuch, compact of the reek of gas, of the glue used in themanufacture of the scenery, of dirty dark nooks and corners and ofquestionably clean chorus girls. In the passage the air was stillmore suffocating, and one seemed to breathe a poisoned atmosphere,which was occasionally relieved by the acid scents of toilet watersand the perfumes of various soaps emanating from the dressing rooms.The count lifted his eyes as he passed and glanced up the staircase,for he was well-nigh startled by the keen flood of light and warmthwhich flowed down upon his back and shoulders. High up above himthere was a clicking of ewers and basins, a sound of laughter and ofpeople calling to one another, a banging of doors, which in theircontinual opening and shutting allowed an odor of womankind toescape--a musky scent of oils and essences mingling with the naturalpungency exhaled from human tresses. He did not stop. Nay, hehastened his walk: he almost ran, his skin tingling with the breathof that fiery approach to a world he knew nothing of."A theater's a curious sight, eh?" said the Marquis de Chouard withthe enchanted expression of a man who once more finds himself amidfamiliar surroundings.But Bordenave had at length reached Nana's dressing room at the endof the passage. He quietly turned the door handle; then, cringingagain:"If His Highness will have the goodness to enter--"They heard the cry of a startled woman and caught sight of Nana as,stripped to the waist, she slipped behind a curtain while herdresser, who had been in the act of drying her, stood, towel in air,before them."Oh, it is silly to come in that way!" cried Nana from her hidingplace. "Don't come in; you see you mustn't come in!"Bordenave did not seem to relish this sudden flight."Do stay where you were, my dear. Why, it doesn't matter," he said."It's His Highness. Come, come, don't be childish."And when she still refused to make her appearance--for she wasstartled as yet, though she had begun to laugh--he added in peevish,paternal tones:"Good heavens, these gentlemen know perfectly well what a womanlooks like. They won't eat you.""I'm not so sure of that," said the prince wittily.With that the whole company began laughing in an exaggerated mannerin order to pay him proper court."An exquisitely witty speech--an altogether Parisian speech," asBordenave remarked.Nana vouchsafed no further reply, but the curtain began moving.Doubtless she was making up her mind. Then Count Muffat, withglowing cheeks, began to take stock of the dressing room. It was asquare room with a very low ceiling, and it was entirely hung with alight-colored Havana stuff. A curtain of the same material dependedfrom a copper rod and formed a sort of recess at the end of theroom, while two large windows opened on the courtyard of the theaterand were faced, at a distance of three yards at most, by a leprous-looking wall against which the panes cast squares of yellow lightamid the surrounding darkness. A large dressing glass faced a whitemarble toilet table, which was garnished with a disorderly array offlasks and glass boxes containing oils, essences and powders. Thecount went up to the dressing glass and discovered that he waslooking very flushed and had small drops of perspiration on hisforehead. He dropped his eyes and came and took up a position infront of the toilet table, where the basin, full of soapy water, thesmall, scattered, ivory toilet utensils and the damp sponges,appeared for some moments to absorb his attention. The feeling ofdizziness which he had experienced when he first visited Nana in theBoulevard Haussmann once more overcame him. He felt the thickcarpet soften under foot, and the gasjets burning by the dressingtable and by the glass seemed to shoot whistling flames about histemples. For one moment, being afraid of fainting away under theinfluence of those feminine odors which he now re-encountered,intensified by the heat under the low-pitched ceiling, he sat downon the edge of a softly padded divan between the two windows. Buthe got up again almost directly and, returning to the dressingtable, seemed to gaze with vacant eyes into space, for he wasthinking of a bouquet of tuberoses which had once faded in hisbedroom and had nearly killed him in their death. When tuberosesare turning brown they have a human smell."Make haste!" Bordenave whispered, putting his head in behind thecurtain.The prince, however, was listening complaisantly to the Marquis deChouard, who had taken up a hare's-foot on the dressing table andhad begun explaining the way grease paint is put on. In a corner ofthe room Satin, with her pure, virginal face, was scanning thegentlemen keenly, while the dresser, Mme Jules by name, was gettingready Venus' tights and tunic. Mme Jules was a woman of no age.She had the parchment skin and changeless features peculiar to oldmaids whom no one ever knew in their younger years. She had indeedshriveled up in the burning atmosphere of the dressing rooms andamid the most famous thighs and bosoms in all Paris. She woreeverlastingly a faded black dress, and on her flat and sexless chesta perfect forest of pins clustered above the spot where her heartshould have been."I beg your pardon, gentlemen," said Nana, drawing aside thecurtain, "but you took me by surprise."They all turned round. She had not clothed herself at all, had, infact, only buttoned on a little pair of linen stays which halfrevealed her bosom. When the gentlemen had put her to flight shehad scarcely begun undressing and was rapidly taking off herfishwife's costume. Through the opening in her drawers behind acorner of her shift was even now visible. There she stood, bare-armed, bare-shouldered, bare-breasted, in all the adorable glory ofher youth and plump, fair beauty, but she still held the curtainwith one hand, as though ready to draw it to again upon theslightest provocation."Yes, you took me by surprise! I never shall dare--" she stammeredin pretty, mock confusion, while rosy blushes crossed her neck andshoulders and smiles of embarrassment played about her lips."Oh, don't apologize," cried Bordenave, "since these gentlemenapprove of your good looks!"But she still tried the hesitating, innocent, girlish game, and,shivering as though someone were tickling her, she continued:"His Highness does me too great an honor. I beg His Highness willexcuse my receiving him thus--""It is I who am importunate," said the prince, "but, madame, I couldnot resist the desire of complimenting you."Thereupon, in order to reach her dressing table, she walked veryquietly and just as she was through the midst of the gentlemen, whomade way for her to pass.She had strongly marked hips, which filled her drawers out roundly,while with swelling bosom she still continued bowing and smiling herdelicate little smile. Suddenly she seemed to recognize CountMuffat, and she extended her hand to him as an old friend. Then shescolded him for not having come to her supper party. His Highnessdeigned to chaff Muffat about this, and the latter stammered andthrilled again at the thought that for one second he had held in hisown feverish clasp a little fresh and perfumed hand. The count haddined excellently at the prince's, who, indeed, was a heroic eaterand drinker. Both of them were even a little intoxicated, but theybehaved very creditably. To hide the commotion within him Muffatcould only remark about the heat."Good heavens, how hot it is here!" he said. "How do you manage tolive in such a temperature, madame?"And conversation was about to ensue on this topic when noisy voiceswere heard at the dressing-room door. Bordenave drew back the slideover a grated peephole of the kind used in convents. Fontan wasoutside with Prulliere and Bosc, and all three had bottles undertheir arms and their hands full of glasses. He began knocking andshouting out that it was his patron saint's day and that he wasstanding champagne round. Nana consulted the prince with a glance.Eh! Oh dear, yes! His Highness did not want to be in anyone's way;he would be only too happy! But without waiting for permissionFontan came in, repeating in baby accents:"Me not a cad, me pay for champagne!"Then all of a sudden he became aware of the prince's presence ofwhich he had been totally ignorant. He stopped short and, assumingan air of farcical solemnity, announced:"King Dagobert is in the corridor and is desirous of drinking thehealth of His Royal Highness."The prince having made answer with a smile, Fontan's sally was votedcharming. But the dressing room was too small to accommodateeverybody, and it became necessary to crowd up anyhow, Satin and MmeJules standing back against the curtain at the end and the menclustering closely round the half-naked Nana. The three actorsstill had on the costumes they had been wearing in the second act,and while Prulliere took off his Alpine admiral's cocked hat, thehuge plume of which would have knocked the ceiling, Bosc, in hispurple cloak and tinware crown, steadied himself on his tipsy oldlegs and greeted the prince as became a monarch receiving the son ofa powerful neighbor. The glasses were filled, and the company beganclinking them together."I drink to Your Highness!" said ancient Bosc royally."To the army!" added Prulliere."To Venus!" cried Fontan.The prince complaisantly poised his glass, waited quietly, bowedthrice and murmured:"Madame! Admiral! Your Majesty!"Then he drank it off. Count Muffat and the Marquis de Chouard hadfollowed his example. There was no more jesting now--the companywere at court. Actual life was prolonged in the life of thetheater, and a sort of solemn farce was enacted under the hot flareof the gas. Nana, quite forgetting that she was in her drawers andthat a corner of her shift stuck out behind, became the great lady,the queen of love, in act to open her most private palace chambersto state dignitaries. In every sentence she used the words "RoyalHighness" and, bowing with the utmost conviction, treated themasqueraders, Bosc and Prulliere, as if the one were a sovereign andthe other his attendant minister. And no one dreamed of smiling atthis strange contrast, this real prince, this heir to a throne,drinking a petty actor's champagne and taking his ease amid acarnival of gods, a masquerade of royalty, in the society ofdressers and courtesans, shabby players and showmen of venal beauty.Bordenave was simply ravished by the dramatic aspects of the sceneand began dreaming of the receipts which would have accrued had HisHighness only consented thus to appear in the second act of theBlonde Venus."I say, shall we have our little women down?" he cried, becomingfamiliar.Nana would not hear of it. But notwithstanding this, she was givingway herself. Fontan attracted her with his comic make-up. Shebrushed against him and, eying him as a woman in the family waymight do when she fancies some unpleasant kind of food, she suddenlybecame extremely familiar:"Now then, fill up again, ye great brute!"Fontan charged the glasses afresh, and the company drank, repeatingthe same toasts."To His Highness!""To the army!""To Venus!"But with that Nana made a sign and obtained silence. She raised herglass and cried:"No, no! To Fontan! It's Fontan's day; to Fontan! To Fontan!"Then they clinked glasses a third time and drank Fontan with all thehonors. The prince, who had noticed the young woman devouring theactor with her eyes, saluted him with a "Monsieur Fontan, I drink toyour success!" This he said with his customary courtesy.But meanwhile the tail of his highness's frock coat was sweeping themarble of the dressing table. The place, indeed, was like an alcoveor narrow bathroom, full as it was of the steam of hot water andsponges and of the strong scent of essences which mingled with thetartish, intoxicating fumes of the champagne. The prince and CountMuffat, between whom Nana was wedged, had to lift up their hands soas not to brush against her hips or her breast with every littlemovement. And there stood Mme Jules, waiting, cool and rigid asever, while Satin, marveling in the depths of her vicious soul tosee a prince and two gentlemen in black coats going after a nakedwoman in the society of dressed-up actors, secretly concluded thatfashionable people were not so very particular after all.But Father Barillot's tinkling bell approached along the passage.At the door of the dressing room he stood amazed when he caughtsight of the three actors still clad in the costumes which they hadworn in the second act."Gentlemen, gentlemen," he stammered, "do please make haste.They've just rung the bell in the public foyer.""Bah, the public will have to wait!" said Bordenave placidly.However, as the bottles were now empty, the comedians went upstairsto dress after yet another interchange of civilities. Bosc, havingdipped his beard in the champagne, had taken it off, and under hisvenerable disguise the drunkard had suddenly reappeared. His wasthe haggard, empurpled face of the old actor who has taken to drink.At the foot of the stairs he was heard remarking to Fontan in hisboozy voice:"I pulverized him, eh?"He was alluding to the prince.In Nana's dressing room none now remained save His Highness, thecount and the marquis. Bordenave had withdrawn with Barillot, whomhe advised not to knock without first letting Madame know."You will excuse me, gentlemen?" asked Nana, again setting to workto make up her arms and face, of which she was now particularlycareful, owing to her nude appearance in the third act.The prince seated himself by the Marquis de Chouard on the divan,and Count Muffat alone remained standing. In that suffocating heatthe two glasses of champagne they had drunk had increased theirintoxication. Satin, when she saw the gentlemen thus closetingthemselves with her friend, had deemed it discreet to vanish behindthe curtain, where she sat waiting on a trunk, much annoyed at beingcompelled to remain motionless, while Mme Jules came and wentquietly without word or look."You sang your numbers marvelously," said the prince.And with that they began a conversation, but their sentences wereshort and their pauses frequent. Nana, indeed, was not always ableto reply. After rubbing cold cream over her arms and face with thepalm of her hand she laid on the grease paint with the corner of atowel. For one second only she ceased looking in the glass andsmilingly stole a glance at the prince."His Highness is spoiling me," she murmured without putting down thegrease paint.Her task was a complicated one, and the Marquis de Chouard followedit with an expression of devout enjoyment. He spoke in his turn."Could not the band accompany you more softly?" he said. "It drownsyour voice, and that's an unpardonable crime."This time Nana did not turn round. She had taken up the hare's-footand was lightly manipulating it. All her attention was concentratedon this action, and she bent forward over her toilet table so veryfar that the white round contour of her drawers and the little patchof chemise stood out with the unwonted tension. But she was anxiousto prove that she appreciated the old man's compliment and thereforemade a little swinging movement with her hips.Silence reigned. Mme Jules had noticed a tear in the right leg ofher drawers. She took a pin from over her heart and for a second orso knelt on the ground, busily at work about Nana's leg, while theyoung woman, without seeming to notice her presence, applied therice powder, taking extreme pains as she did so, to avoid puttingany on the upper part of her cheeks. But when the prince remarkedthat if she were to come and sing in London all England would wantto applaud her, she laughed amiably and turned round for a momentwith her left cheek looking very white amid a perfect cloud ofpowder. Then she became suddenly serious, for she had come to theoperation of rouging. And with her face once more close to themirror, she dipped her finger in a jar and began applying the rougebelow her eyes and gently spreading it back toward her temples. Thegentlemen maintained a respectful silence.Count Muffat, indeed, had not yet opened his lips. He was thinkingperforce of his own youth. The bedroom of his childish days hadbeen quite cold, and later, when he had reached the age of sixteenand would give his mother a good-night kiss every evening, he usedto carry the icy feeling of the embrace into the world of dreams.One day in passing a half-open door he had caught sight of amaidservant washing herself, and that was the solitary recollectionwhich had in any way troubled his peace of mind from the days ofpuberty till the time of marriage. Afterward he had found his wifestrictly obedient to her conjugal duties but had himself felt aspecies of religious dislike to them. He had grown to man's estateand was now aging, in ignorance of the flesh, in the humbleobservance of rigid devotional practices and in obedience to a ruleof life full of precepts and moral laws. And now suddenly he wasdropped down in this actress's dressing room in the presence of thisundraped courtesan.He, who had never seen the Countess Muffat putting on her garters,was witnessing, amid that wild disarray of jars and basins and thatstrong, sweet perfume, the intimate details of a woman's toilet.His whole being was in turmoil; he was terrified by the stealthy,all-pervading influence which for some time past Nana's presence hadbeen exercising over him, and he recalled to mind the pious accountsof diabolic possession which had amused his early years. He was abeliever in the devil, and, in a confused kind of way, Nana was he,with her laughter and her bosom and her hips, which seemed swollenwith many vices. But he promised himself that he would be strong--nay, he would know how to defend himself."Well then, it's agreed," said the prince, lounging quitecomfortably on the divan. "You will come to London next year, andwe shall receive you so cordially that you will never return toFrance again. Ah, my dear Count, you don't value your pretty womenenough. We shall take them all from you!""That won't make much odds to him," murmured the Marquis de Chouardwickedly, for he occasionally said a risky thing among friends."The count is virtue itself."Hearing his virtue mentioned, Nana looked at him so comically thatMuffat felt a keen twinge of annoyance. But directly afterward hewas surprised and angry with himself. Why, in the presence of thiscourtesan, should the idea of being virtuous embarrass him? Hecould have struck her. But in attempting to take up a brush Nanahad just let it drop on the ground, and as she stooped to pick it uphe rushed forward. Their breath mingled for one moment, and theloosened tresses of Venus flowed over his hands. But remorsemingled with his enjoyment, a kind of enjoyment, moreover, peculiarto good Catholics, whom the fear of hell torments in the midst oftheir sin.At this moment Father Barillot's voice was heard outside the door."May I give the knocks, madame? The house is growing impatient.""All in good time," answered Nana quietly.She had dipped her paint brush in a pot of kohl, and with the pointof her nose close to the glass and her left eye closed she passed itdelicately along between her eyelashes. Muffat stood behind her,looking on. He saw her reflection in the mirror, with her roundedshoulders and her bosom half hidden by a rosy shadow. And despiteall his endeavors he could not turn away his gaze from that face somerry with dimples and so worn with desire, which the closed eyerendered more seductive. When she shut her right eye and passed thebrush along it he understood that he belonged to her."They are stamping their feet, madame," the callboy once more cried."They'll end by smashing the seats. May I give the knocks?""Oh, bother!" said Nana impatiently. "Knock away; I don't care! IfI'm not ready, well, they'll have to wait for me!"She grew calm again and, turning to the gentlemen, added with asmile:"It's true: we've only got a minute left for our talk."Her face and arms were now finished, and with her fingers she puttwo large dabs of carmine on her lips. Count Muffat felt moreexcited than ever. He was ravished by the perverse transformationwrought by powders and paints and filled by a lawless yearning forthose young painted charms, for the too-red mouth and the too-whiteface and the exaggerated eyes, ringed round with black and burningand dying for very love. Meanwhile Nana went behind the curtain fora second or two in order to take off her drawers and slip on Venus'tights. After which, with tranquil immodesty, she came out andundid her little linen stays and held out her arms to Mme Jules, whodrew the short-sleeved tunic over them."Make haste; they're growing angry!" she muttered.The prince with half-closed eyes marked the swelling lines of herbosom with an air of connoisseurship, while the Marquis de Chouardwagged his head involuntarily. Muffat gazed at the carpet in ordernot to see any more. At length Venus, with only her gauze veil overher shoulders, was ready to go on the stage. Mme Jules, withvacant, unconcerned eyes and an expression suggestive of a littleelderly wooden doll, still kept circling round her. With briskmovements she took pins out of the inexhaustible pincushion over herheart and pinned up Venus' tunic, but as she ran over all thoseplump nude charms with her shriveled hands, nothing was suggested toher. She was as one whom her sex does not concern."There!" said the young woman, taking a final look at herself in themirror.Bordenave was back again. He was anxious and said the third act hadbegun."Very well! I'm coming," replied Nana. "Here's a pretty fuss!Why, it's usually I that waits for the others."The gentlemen left the dressing room, but they did not say good-by,for the prince had expressed a desire to assist behind the scenes atthe performance of the third act. Left alone, Nana seemed greatlysurprised and looked round her in all directions."Where can she be?" she queried.She was searching for Satin. When she had found her again, waitingon her trunk behind the curtain, Satin quietly replied:"Certainly I didn't want to be in your way with all those menthere!"And she added further that she was going now. But Nana held herback. What a silly girl she was! Now that Bordenave had agreed totake her on! Why, the bargain was to be struck after the play wasover! Satin hesitated. There were too many bothers; she was out ofher element! Nevertheless, she stayed.As the prince was coming down the little wooden staircase a strangesound of smothered oaths and stamping, scuffling feet became audibleon the other side of the theater. The actors waiting for their cueswere being scared by quite a serious episode. For some seconds pastMignon had been renewing his jokes and smothering Fauchery withcaresses. He had at last invented a little game of a novel kind andhad begun flicking the other's nose in order, as he phrased it, tokeep the flies off him. This kind of game naturally diverted theactors to any extent.But success had suddenly thrown Mignon off his balance. He hadlaunched forth into extravagant courses and had given the journalista box on the ear, an actual, a vigorous, box on the ear. This timehe had gone too far: in the presence of so many spectators it wasimpossible for Fauchery to pocket such a blow with laughingequanimity. Whereupon the two men had desisted from their farce,had sprung at one another's throats, their faces livid with hate,and were now rolling over and over behind a set of side lights,pounding away at each other as though they weren't breakable."Monsieur Bordenave, Monsieur Bordenave!" said the stage manager,coming up in a terrible flutter.Bordenave made his excuses to the prince and followed him. When herecognized Fauchery and Mignon in the men on the floor he gave ventto an expression of annoyance. They had chosen a nice time,certainly, with His Highness on the other side of the scenery andall that houseful of people who might have overheard the row! Tomake matters worse, Rose Mignon arrived out of breath at the verymoment she was due on the stage. Vulcan, indeed, was giving her thecue, but Rose stood rooted to the ground, marveling at sight of herhusband and her lover as they lay wallowing at her feet, stranglingone another, kicking, tearing their hair out and whitening theircoats with dust. They barred the way. A sceneshifter had evenstopped Fauchery's hat just when the devilish thing was going tobound onto the stage in the middle of the struggle. MeanwhileVulcan, who had been gagging away to amuse the audience, gave Roseher cue a second time. But she stood motionless, still gazing atthe two men."Oh, don't look at them!" Bordenave furiously whispered to her. "Goon the stage; go on, do! It's no business of yours! Why, you'remissing your cue!"And with a push from the manager, Rose stepped over the prostratebodies and found herself in the flare of the footlights and in thepresence of the audience. She had quite failed to understand whythey were fighting on the floor behind her. Trembling from head tofoot and with a humming in her ears, she came down to thefootlights, Diana's sweet, amorous smile on her lips, and attackedthe opening lines of her duet with so feeling a voice that thepublic gave her a veritable ovation.Behind the scenery she could hear the dull thuds caused by the twomen. They had rolled down to the wings, but fortunately the musiccovered the noise made by their feet as they kicked against them."By God!" yelled Bordenave in exasperation when at last he hadsucceeded in separating them. "Why couldn't you fight at home? Youknow as well as I do that I don't like this sort of thing. You,Mignon, you'll do me the pleasure of staying over here on the promptside, and you, Fauchery, if you leave the O.P. side I'll chuck youout of the theater. You understand, eh? Prompt side and O.P. sideor I forbid Rose to bring you here at all."When he returned to the prince's presence the latter asked what wasthe matter."Oh, nothing at all," he murmured quietly.Nana was standing wrapped in furs, talking to these gentlemen whileawaiting her cue. As Count Muffat was coming up in order to peepbetween two of the wings at the stage, he understood from a signmade him by the stage manager that he was to step softly. Drowsywarmth was streaming down from the flies, and in the wings, whichwere lit by vivid patches of light, only a few people remained,talking in low voices or making off on tiptoe. The gasman was athis post amid an intricate arrangement of cocks; a fireman, leaningagainst the side lights, was craning forward, trying to catch aglimpse of things, while on his seat, high up, the curtain man waswatching with resigned expression, careless of the play, constantlyon the alert for the bell to ring him to his duty among the ropes.And amid the close air and the shuffling of feet and the sound ofwhispering, the voices of the actors on the stage sounded strange,deadened, surprisingly discordant. Farther off again, above theconfused noises of the band, a vast breathing sound was audible. Itwas the breath of the house, which sometimes swelled up till itburst in vague rumors, in laughter, in applause. Though invisible,the presence of the public could be felt, even in the silences."There's something open," said Nana sharply, and with that shetightened the folds of her fur cloak. "Do look, Barillot. I betthey've just opened a window. Why, one might catch one's death ofcold here!"Barillot swore that he had closed every window himself but suggestedthat possibly there were broken panes about. The actors were alwayscomplaining of drafts. Through the heavy warmth of that gaslitregion blasts of cold air were constantly passing--it was a regularinfluenza trap, as Fontan phrased it."I should like to see you in a low-cut dress," continued Nana,growing annoyed."Hush!" murmured Bordenave.On the stage Rose rendered a phrase in her duet so cleverly that thestalls burst into universal applause. Nana was silent at this, andher face grew grave. Meanwhile the count was venturing down apassage when Barillot stopped him and said he would make a discoverythere. Indeed, he obtained an oblique back view of the scenery andof the wings which had been strengthened, as it were, by a thicklayer of old posters. Then he caught sight of a corner of thestage, of the Etna cave hollowed out in a silver mine and ofVulcan's forge in the background. Battens, lowered from above, litup a sparkling substance which had been laid on with large dabs ofthe brush. Side lights with red glasses and blue were so placed asto produce the appearance of a fiery brazier, while on the floor ofthe stage, in the far background, long lines of gaslight had beenlaid down in order to throw a wall of dark rocks into sharp relief.Hard by on a gentle, "practicable" incline, amid little points oflight resembling the illumination lamps scattered about in the grasson the night of a public holiday, old Mme Drouard, who played Juno,was sitting dazed and sleepy, waiting for her cue.Presently there was a commotion, for Simonne, while listening to astory Clarisse was telling her, cried out:"My! It's the Tricon!"It was indeed the Tricon, wearing the same old curls and looking aslike a litigious great lady as ever.When she saw Nana she went straight up to her."No," said the latter after some rapid phrases had been exchanged,"not now." The old lady looked grave. Just then Prulliere passedby and shook hands with her, while two little chorus girls stoodgazing at her with looks of deep emotion. For a moment she seemedto hesitate. Then she beckoned to Simonne, and the rapid exchangeof sentences began again."Yes," said Simonne at last. "In half an hour."But as she was going upstairs again to her dressing room, Mme Bron,who was once more going the rounds with letters, presented one toher. Bordenave lowered his voice and furiously reproached theportress for having allowed the Tricon to come in. That woman! Andon such an evening of all others! It made him so angry because HisHighness was there! Mme Bron, who had been thirty years in thetheater, replied quite sourly. How was she to know? she asked. TheTricon did business with all the ladies--M. le Directeur had met hera score of times without making remarks. And while Bordenave wasmuttering oaths the Tricon stood quietly by, scrutinizing the princeas became a woman who weighs a man at a glance. A smile lit up heryellow face. Presently she paced slowly off through the crowd ofdeeply deferential little women."Immediately, eh?" she queried, turning round again to Simonne.Simonne seemed much worried. The letter was from a young man towhom she had engaged herself for that evening. She gave Mme Bron ascribbled note in which were the words, "Impossible tonight,darling--I'm booked." But she was still apprehensive; the young manmight possibly wait for her in spite of everything. As she was notplaying in the third act, she had a mind to be off at once andaccordingly begged Clarisse to go and see if the man were there.Clarisse was only due on the stage toward the end of the act, and soshe went downstairs while Simonne ran up for a minute to theircommon dressing room.In Mme Bron's drinking bar downstairs a super, who was charged withthe part of Pluto, was drinking in solitude amid the folds of agreat red robe diapered with golden flames. The little businessplied by the good portress must have been progressing finely, forthe cellarlike hole under the stairs was wet with emptied heeltapsand water. Clarisse picked up the tunic of Iris, which was draggingover the greasy steps behind her, but she halted prudently at theturn in the stairs and was content simply to crane forward and peerinto the lodge. She certainly had been quick to scent things out!Just fancy! That idiot La Faloise was still there, sitting on thesame old chair between the table and the stove! He had madepretense of sneaking off in front of Simonne and had returned afterher departure. For the matter of that, the lodge was still full ofgentlemen who sat there gloved, elegant, submissive and patient asever. They were all waiting and viewing each other gravely as theywaited. On the table there were now only some dirty plates, MmeBron having recently distributed the last of the bouquets. A singlefallen rose was withering on the floor in the neighborhood of theblack cat, who had lain down and curled herself up while the kittensran wild races and danced fierce gallops among the gentlemen's legs.Clarisse was momentarily inclined to turn La Faloise out. The idiotwasn't fond of animals, and that put the finishing touch to him! Hewas busy drawing in his legs because the cat was there, and hedidn't want to touch her."He'll nip you; take care!" said Pluto, who was a joker, as he wentupstairs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.After that Clarisse gave up the idea of hauling La Faloise over thecoals. She had seen Mme Bron giving the letter to Simonne's youngman, and he had gone out to read it under the gas light in thelobby. "Impossible tonight, darling--I'm booked." And with that hehad peaceably departed, as one who was doubtless used to theformula. He, at any rate, knew how to conduct himself! Not so theothers, the fellows who sat there doggedly on Mme Bron's batteredstraw-bottomed chairs under the great glazed lantern, where the heatwas enough to roast you and there was an unpleasant odor. What alot of men it must have held! Clarisse went upstairs again indisgust, crossed over behind scenes and nimbly mounted three flightsof steps which led to the dressing rooms, in order to bring Simonneher reply.Downstairs the prince had withdrawn from the rest and stood talkingto Nana. He never left her; he stood brooding over her throughhalf-shut eyelids. Nana did not look at him but, smiling, noddedyes. Suddenly, however, Count Muffat obeyed an overmasteringimpulse, and leaving Bordenave, who was explaining to him theworking of the rollers and windlasses, he came up in order tointerrupt their confabulations. Nana lifted her eyes and smiled athim as she smiled at His Highness. But she kept her ears opennotwithstanding, for she was waiting for her cue."The third act is the shortest, I believe," the prince began saying,for the count's presence embarrassed him.She did not answer; her whole expression altered; she was suddenlyintent on her business. With a rapid movement of the shoulders shehad let her furs slip from her, and Mme Jules, standing behind, hadcaught them in her arms. And then after passing her two hands toher hair as though to make it fast, she went on the stage in all hernudity."Hush, hush!" whispered Bordenave.The count and the prince had been taken by surprise. There wasprofound silence, and then a deep sigh and the far-off murmur of amultitude became audible. Every evening when Venus entered in hergodlike nakedness the same effect was produced. Then Muffat wasseized with a desire to see; he put his eye to the peephole. Aboveand beyond the glowing arc formed by the footlights the dark body ofthe house seemed full of ruddy vapor, and against this neutral-tinted background, where row upon row of faces struck a pale,uncertain note, Nana stood forth white and vast, so that the boxesfrom the balcony to the flies were blotted from view. He saw herfrom behind, noted her swelling hips, her outstretched arms, whiledown on the floor, on the same level as her feet, the prompter'shead--an old man's head with a humble, honest face--stood on theedge of the stage, looking as though it had been severed from thebody. At certain points in her opening number an undulatingmovement seemed to run from her neck to her waist and to die out inthe trailing border of her tunic. When amid a tempest of applauseshe had sung her last note she bowed, and the gauze floated forthround about her limbs, and her hair swept over her waist as she bentsharply backward. And seeing her thus, as with bending form andwith exaggerated hips she came backing toward the count's peephole,he stood upright again, and his face was very white. The stage haddisappeared, and he now saw only the reverse side of the scenerywith its display of old posters pasted up in every direction. Onthe practicable slope, among the lines of gas jets, the whole ofOlympus had rejoined the dozing Mme Drouard. They were waiting forthe close of the act. Bosc and Fontan sat on the floor with theirknees drawn up to their chins, and Prulliere stretched himself andyawned before going on. Everybody was worn out; their eyes werered, and they were longing to go home to sleep.Just then Fauchery, who had been prowling about on the O.P. sideever since Bordenave had forbidden him the other, came andbuttonholed the count in order to keep himself in countenance andoffered at the same time to show him the dressing rooms. Anincreasing sense of languor had left Muffat without any power ofresistance, and after looking round for the Marquis de Chouard, whohad disappeared, he ended by following the journalist. Heexperienced a mingled feeling of relief and anxiety as he left thewings whence he had been listening to Nana's songs.Fauchery had already preceded him up the staircase, which was closedon the first and second floors by low-paneled doors. It was one ofthose stairways which you find in miserable tenements. Count Muffathad seen many such during his rounds as member of the BenevolentOrganization. It was bare and dilapidated: there was a wash ofyellow paint on its walls; its steps had been worn by the incessantpassage of feet, and its iron balustrade had grown smooth under thefriction of many hands. On a level with the floor on everystairhead there was a low window which resembled a deep, squareventhole, while in lanterns fastened to the walls flaring gas jetscrudely illuminatcd the surrounding squalor and gave out a glowingheat which, as it mounted up the narrow stairwell, grew ever moreintense.When he reached the foot of the stairs the count once more felt thehot breath upon his neck and shoulders. As of old it was laden withthe odor of women, wafted amid floods of light and sound from thedressing rooms above, and now with every upward step he took themusky scent of powders and the tart perfume of toilet vinegarsheated and bewildered him more and more. On the first floor twocorridors ran backward, branching sharply off and presenting a setof doors to view which were painted yellow and numbered with greatwhite numerals in such a way as to suggest a hotel with a badreputation. The tiles on the floor had been many of them unbedded,and the old house being in a state of subsidence, they stuck up likehummocks. The count dashed recklessly forward, glanced through ahalf-open door and saw a very dirty room which resembled a barber'sshop in a poor part of the town. In was furnished with two chairs,a mirror and a small table containing a drawer which had beenblackened by the grease from brushes and combs. A great perspiringfellow with smoking shoulders was changing his linen there, while ina similar room next door a woman was drawing on her glovespreparatory to departure. Her hair was damp and out of curl, asthough she had just had a bath. But Fauchery began calling thecount, and the latter was rushing up without delay when a furious"damn!" burst from the corridor on the right. Mathilde, a littledrab of a miss, had just broken her washhand basin, the soapy waterfrom which was flowing out to the stairhead. A dressing room doorbanged noisily. Two women in their stays skipped across thepassage, and another, with the hem of her shift in her mouth,appeared and immediately vanished from view. Then followed a soundof laughter, a dispute, the snatch of a song which was suddenlybroken off short. All along the passage naked gleams, suddenvisions of white skin and wan underlinen were observable throughchinks in doorways. Two girls were making very merry, showing eachother their birthmarks. One of them, a very young girl, almost achild, had drawn her skirts up over her knees in order to sew up arent in her drawers, and the dressers, catching sight of the twomen, drew some curtains half to for decency's sake. The wildstampede which follows the end of a play had already begun, thegrand removal of white paint and rouge, the reassumption amid cloudsof rice powder of ordinary attire. The strange animal scent came inwhiffs of redoubled intensity through the lines of banging doors.On the third story Muffat abandoned himself to the feeling ofintoxication which was overpowering him. For the chorus girls'dressing room was there, and you saw a crowd of twenty women and awild display of soaps and flasks of lavender water. The placeresembled the common room in a slum lodging house. As he passed byhe heard fierce sounds of washing behind a closed door and a perfectstorm raging in a washhand basin. And as he was mounting up to thetopmost story of all, curiosity led him to risk one more little peepthrough an open loophole. The room was empty, and under the flareof the gas a solitary chamber pot stood forgotten among a heap ofpetticoats trailing on the floor. This room afforded him hisultimate impression. Upstairs on the fourth floor he was well-nighsuffocated. All the scents, all the blasts of heat, had found theirgoal there. The yellow ceiling looked as if it had been baked, anda lamp burned amid fumes of russet-colored fog. For some seconds heleaned upon the iron balustrade which felt warm and damp and well-nigh human to the touch. And he shut his eyes and drew a longbreath and drank in the sexual atmosphere of the place. Hitherto hehad been utterly ignorant of it, but now it beat full in his face."Do come here," shouted Fauchery, who had vanished some moments ago."You're being asked for."At the end of the corridor was the dressing room belonging toClarisse and Simonne. It was a long, ill-built room under the roofwith a garret ceiling and sloping walls. The light penetrated to itfrom two deep-set openings high up in the wall, but at that hour ofthe night the dressing room was lit by flaring gas. It was paperedwith a paper at seven sous a roll with a pattern of roses twiningover green trelliswork. Two boards, placed near one another andcovered with oilcloth, did duty for dressing tables. They wereblack with spilled water, and underneath them was a fine medley ofdinted zinc jugs, slop pails and coarse yellow earthenware crocks.There was an array of fancy articles in the room--a battered, soiledand well-worn array of chipped basins, of toothless combs, of allthose manifold untidy trifles which, in their hurry andcarelessness, two women will leave scattered about when they undressand wash together amid purely temporary surroundings, the dirtyaspect of which has ceased to concern them."Do come here," Fauchery repeated with the good-humored familiaritywhich men adopt among their fallen sisters. "Clarisse is wanting tokiss you."Muffat entered the room at last. But what was his surprise when hefound the Marquis de Chouard snugly enscounced on a chair betweenthe two dressing tables! The marquis had withdrawn thither sometime ago. He was spreading his feet apart because a pail wasleaking and letting a whitish flood spread over the floor. He wasvisibly much at his ease, as became a man who knew all the snugcorners, and had grown quite merry in the close dressing room, wherepeople might have been bathing, and amid those quietly immodestfeminine surroundings which the uncleanness of the little placerendered at once natural and poignant."D'you go with the old boy?" Simonne asked Clarisse in a whisper."Rather!" replied the latter aloud.The dresser, a very ugly and extremely familiar young girl, who washelping Simonne into her coat, positively writhed with laughter.The three pushed each other and babbled little phrases whichredoubled their merriment."Come, Clarisse, kiss the gentleman," said Fauchery. "You know,he's got the rhino."And turning to the count:"You'll see, she's very nice! She's going to kiss you!"But Clarisse was disgusted by the men. She spoke in violent termsof the dirty lot waiting at the porter's lodge down below. Besides,she was in a hurry to go downstairs again; they were making her missher last scene. Then as Fauchery blocked up the doorway, she gaveMuffat a couple of kisses on the whiskers, remarking as she did so:"It's not for you, at any rate! It's for that nuisance Fauchery!"And with that she darted off, and the count remained muchembarrassed in his father-in-law's presence. The blood had rushedto his face. In Nana's dressing room, amid all the luxury ofhangings and mirrors, he had not experienced the sharp physicalsensation which the shameful wretchedness of that sorry garretexcited within him, redolent as it was of these two girls' self-abandonment. Meanwhile the marquis had hurried in the rear ofSimonne, who was making off at the top of her pace, and he keptwhispering in her ear while she shook her head in token of refusal.Fauchery followed them, laughing. And with that the count foundhimself alone with the dresser, who was washing out the basins.Accordingly he took his departure, too, his legs almost failingunder him. Once more he put up flights of half-dressed women andcaused doors to bang as he advanced. But amid the disorderly,disbanded troops of girls to be found on each of the four stories,he was only distinctly aware of a cat, a great tortoise-shell cat,which went gliding upstairs through the ovenlike place where the airwas poisoned with musk, rubbing its back against the banisters andkeeping its tail exceedingly erect."Yes, to be sure!" said a woman hoarsely. "I thought they'd keep usback tonight! What a nuisance they are with their calls!"The end had come; the curtain had just fallen. There was averitable stampede on the staircase--its walls rang withexclamations, and everyone was in a savage hurry to dress and beoff. As Count Muffat came down the last step or two he saw Nana andthe prince passing slowly along the passage. The young woman haltedand lowered her voice as she said with a smile:"All right then--by and by!"The prince returned to the stage, where Bordenave was awaiting him.And left alone with Nana, Muffat gave way to an impulse of anger anddesire. He ran up behind her and, as she was on the point ofentering her dressing room, imprinted a rough kiss on her neck amonglittle golden hairs curling low down between her shoulders. It wasas though he had returned the kiss that had been given him upstairs.Nana was in a fury; she lifted her hand, but when she recognized thecount she smiled."Oh, you frightened me," she said simply.And her smile was adorable in its embarrassment and submissiveness,as though she had despaired of this kiss and were happy to havereceived it. But she could do nothing for him either that eveningor the day after. It was a case of waiting. Nay, even if it hadbeen in her power she would still have let herself be desired. Herglance said as much. At length she continued:"I'm a landowner, you know. Yes, I'm buying a country house nearOrleans, in a part of the world to which you sometimes betakeyourself. Baby told me you did--little Georges Hugon, I mean. Youknow him? So come and see me down there."The count was a shy man, and the thought of his roughness hadfrightened him; he was ashamed of what he had done and he bowedceremoniously, promising at the same time to take advantage of herinvitation. Then he walked off as one who dreams.He was rejoining the prince when, passing in front of the foyer, heheard Satin screaming out:"Oh, the dirty old thing! Just you bloody well leave me alone!"It was the Marquis de Chouard who was tumbling down over Satin. Thegirl had decidedly had enough of the fashionable world! Nana hadcertainly introduced her to Bordenave, but the necessity of standingwith sealed lips for fear of allowing some awkward phrase to escapeher had been too much for her feelings, and now she was anxious toregain her freedom, the more so as she had run against an old flameof hers in the wings. This was the super, to whom the task ofimpersonating Pluto had been entrusted, a pastry cook, who hadalready treated her to a whole week of love and flagellation. Shewas waiting for him, much irritated at the things the marquis wassaying to her, as though she were one of those theatrical ladies!And so at last she assumed a highly respectable expression andjerked out this phrase:"My husband's coming! You'll see."Meanwhile the worn-looking artistes were dropping off one after theother in their outdoor coats. Groups of men and women were comingdown the little winding staircase, and the outlines of battered hatsand worn-out shawls were visible in the shadows. They lookedcolorless and unlovely, as became poor play actors who have got ridof their paint. On the stage, where the side lights and battenswere being extinguished, the prince was listening to an anecdoteBordenave was telling him. He was waiting for Nana, and when atlength she made her appearance the stage was dark, and the firemanon duty was finishing his round, lantern in hand. Bordenave, inorder to save His Highness going about by the Passage des Panoramas,had made them open the corridor which led from the porter's lodge tothe entrance hall of the theater. Along this narrow alley littlewomen were racing pell-mell, for they were delighted to escape fromthe men who were waiting for them in the other passage. They wentjostling and elbowing along, casting apprehensive glances behindthem and only breathing freely when they got outside. Fontan, Boscand Prulliere, on the other hand, retired at a leisurely pace,joking at the figure cut by the serious, paying admirers who werestriding up and down the Galerie des Varietes at a time when thelittle dears were escaping along the boulevard with the men of theirhearts. But Clarisse was especially sly. She had her suspicionsabout La Faloise, and, as a matter of fact, he was still in hisplace in the lodge among the gentlemen obstinately waiting on MmeBron's chairs. They all stretched forward, and with that she passedbrazenly by in the wake of a friend. The gentlemen were blinking inbewilderment over the wild whirl of petticoats eddying at the footof the narrow stairs. It made them desperate to think they hadwaited so long, only to see them all flying away like this withoutbeing able to recognize a single one. The litter of little blackcats were sleeping on the oilcloth, nestled against their mother'sbelly, and the latter was stretching her paws out in a state ofbeatitude while the big tortoise-shell cat sat at the other end ofthe table, her tail stretched out behind her and her yellow eyessolemnly following the flight of the women."If His Highness will be good enough to come this way," saidBordenave at the bottom of the stairs, and he pointed to thepassage.Some chorus girls were still crowding along it. The prince beganfollowing Nana while Muffat and the marquis walked behind.It was a long, narrow passage lying between the theater and thehouse next door, a kind of contracted by-lane which had been coveredwith a sloping glass roof. Damp oozed from the walls, and thefootfall sounded as hollow on the tiled floor as in an undergroundvault. It was crowded with the kind of rubbish usually found in agarret. There was a workbench on which the porter was wont to planesuch parts of the scenery as required it, besides a pile of woodenbarriers which at night were placed at the doors of the theater forthe purpose of regulating the incoming stream of people. Nana hadto pick up her dress as she passed a hydrant which, through havingbeen carelessly turned off, was flooding the tiles underfoot. Inthe entrance hall the company bowed and said good-by. And whenBordenave was alone he summed up his opinion of the prince in ashrug of eminently philosophic disdain."He's a bit of a duffer all the same," he said to Fauchery withoutentering on further explanations, and with that Rose Mignon carriedthe journalist off with her husband in order to effect areconciliation between them at home.Muffat was left alone on the sidewalk. His Highness had handed Nanaquietly into his carriage, and the marquis had slipped off afterSatin and her super. In his excitement he was content to followthis vicious pair in vague hopes of some stray favor being grantedhim. Then with brain on fire Muffat decided to walk home. Thestruggle within him had wholly ceased. The ideas and beliefs of thelast forty years were being drowned in a flood of new life. Whilehe was passing along the boulevards the roll of the last carriagesdeafened him with the name of Nana; the gaslights set nude limbsdancing before his eyes--the nude limbs, the lithe arms, the whiteshoulders, of Nana. And he felt that he was hers utterly: he wouldhave abjured everything, sold everything, to possess her for asingle hour that very night. Youth, a lustful puberty of earlymanhood, was stirring within him at last, flaming up suddenly in thechaste heart of the Catholic and amid the dignified traditions ofmiddle age.
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