Another place was laid. Fauchery found himself next the Countess Sabine, whose liveliness and gaiety surprised him when he remembered her drooping, languid state in the austere Rue Miromesnil drawing room. Daguenet, on the other hand, who was seated on Estelle’s left, seemed slightly put out by his propinquity to that tall, silent girl. The angularity of her elbows was disagreeable to him. Muffat and Chouard had exchanged a sly glance while Vandeuvres continued joking about his coming marriage. “Talking of ladies,” Mme Hugon ended by saying, “I have a new neighbor whom you probably know.” And she mentioned Nana. Vandeuvres affected the liveliest astonishment. “Well, that is strange! Nana’s property near here!” Fauchery and Daguenet indulged in a similar demonstration while the Marquis de Chouard discussed the breast of a chicken without appearing to comprehend their meaning. Not one of the men had smiled. “Certainly,” continued the old lady, “and the person in question arrived at La Mignotte yesterday evening, as I was saying she would. I got my information from the gardener this morning.” At these words the gentlemen could not conceal their very real surprise. They all looked up. Eh? What? Nana had come down! But they were only expecting her next day; they were privately under the impression that they would arrive before her! Georges alone sat looking at his glass with drooped eyelids and a tired expression. Ever since the beginning of lunch he had seemed to be sleeping with open eyes and a vague smile on his lips. “Are you still in pain, my Zizi?” asked his mother, who had been gazing at him throughout the meal. He started and blushed as he said that he was very well now, but the worn-out insatiate expression of a girl who has danced too much did not fade from his face. “What’s the matter with your neck?” resumed Mme Hugon in an alarmed tone. “It’s all red.” He was embarrassed and stammered. He did not know—he had nothing the matter with his neck. Then drawing his shirt collar up: “Ah yes, some insect stung me there!” The Marquis de Chouard had cast a sidelong glance at the little red place. Muffat, too, looked at Georges. The company was finishing lunch and planning various excursions. Fauchery was growing increasingly excited with the Countess Sabine’s laughter. As he was passing her a dish of fruit their hands touched, and for one second she looked at him with eyes so full of dark meaning that he once more thought of the secret which had been communicated to him one evening after an uproarious dinner. Then, too, she was no longer the same woman. Something was more pronounced than of old, and her gray foulard gown which fitted loosely over her shoulders added a touch of license to her delicate, high-strung elegance.