She shrugged her shoulders with a pitying air. But he jokingly continued to the effect that to be only just gaining enough on ’change to buy ladies bouquets could scarcely be called an income, provided you wanted to look respectable too! His three hundred thousand francs had only lasted him eighteen months! He wanted to be practical, and he was going to marry a girl with a huge dowry and end off as a PREFET, like his father before him! Nana still smiled incredulously. She nodded in the direction of the saloon: “Who are you with in there?” “Oh, a whole gang,” he said, forgetting all about his projects under the influence of returning intoxication. “Just think! Léa is telling us about her trip in Egypt. Oh, it’s screaming! There’s a bathing story—” And he told the story while Nana lingered complaisantly. They had ended by leaning up against the wall in the corridor, facing one another. Gas jets were flaring under the low ceiling, and a vague smell of cookery hung about the folds of the hangings. Now and again, in order to hear each other’s voices when the din in the saloon became louder than ever, they had to lean well forward. Every few seconds, however, a waiter with an armful of dishes found his passage barred and disturbed them. But they did not cease their talk for that; on the contrary, they stood close up to the walls and, amid the uproar of the supper party and the jostlings of the waiters, chatted as quietly as if they were by their own firesides. “Just look at that,” whispered the young man, pointing to the door of the private room through which Muffat had vanished. Both looked. The door was quivering slightly; a breath of air seemed to be disturbing it, and at last, very, very slowly and without the least sound, it was shut to. They exchanged a silent chuckle. The count must be looking charmingly happy all alone in there! “By the by,” she asked, “have you read Fauchery’s article about me?” “Yes, ‘The Golden Fly,’” replied Daguenet; “I didn’t mention it to you as I was afraid of paining you.” “Paining me—why? His article’s a very long one.” She was flattered to think that the Figaro should concern itself about her person. But failing the explanations of her hairdresser Francis, who had brought her the paper, she would not have understood that it was she who was in question. Daguenet scrutinized her slyly, sneering in his chaffing way. Well, well, since she was pleased, everybody else ought to be. “By your leave!” shouted a waiter, holding a dish of iced cheese in both hands as he separated them. Nana had stepped toward the little saloon where Muffat was waiting. “Well, good-by!” continued Daguenet. “Go and find your cuckold again.” But she halted afresh. “Why d’you call him cuckold?” “Because he is a cuckold, by Jove!” She came and leaned against the wall again; she was profoundly interested. “Ah!” she said simply.