Nevertheless, she grew calm. He would go now. She slipped on a nightgown trimmed with lace and came and sat down on the floor in front of the fire. It was her favorite position. When she again questioned him about Fauchery’s article Muffat replied vaguely, for he wanted to avoid a scene. Besides, she declared that she had found a weak spot in Fauchery. And with that she relapsed into a long silence and reflected on how to dismiss the count. She would have liked to do it in an agreeable way, for she was still a good-natured wench, and it bored her to cause others pain, especially in the present instance where the man was a cuckold. The mere thought of his being that had ended by rousing her sympathies! “So you expect your wife tomorrow morning?” she said at last. Muffat had stretched himself in an armchair. He looked drowsy, and his limbs were tired. He gave a sign of assent. Nana sat gazing seriously at him with a dull tumult in her brain. Propped on one leg, among her slightly rumpled laces she was holding one of her bare feet between her hands and was turning it mechanically about and about. “Have you been married long?” she asked. “Nineteen years,” replied the count “Ah! And is your wife amiable? Do you get on comfortably together?” He was silent. Then with some embarrassment: “You know I’ve begged you never to talk of those matters.” “Dear me, why’s that?” she cried, beginning to grow vexed directly. “I’m sure I won’t eat your wife if I DO talk about her. Dear boy, why, every woman’s worth—” But she stopped for fear of saying too much. She contented herself by assuming a superior expression, since she considered herself extremely kind. The poor fellow, he needed delicate handling! Besides, she had been struck by a laughable notion, and she smiled as she looked him carefully over. “I say,” she continued, “I haven’t told you the story about you that Fauchery’s circulating. There’s a viper, if you like! I don’t bear him any ill will, because his article may be all right, but he’s a regular viper all the same.” And laughing more gaily than ever, she let go her foot and, crawling along the floor, came and propped herself against the count’s knees. “Now just fancy, he swears you were still like a babe when you married your wife. You were still like that, eh? Is it true, eh?” Her eyes pressed for an answer, and she raised her hands to his shoulders and began shaking him in order to extract the desired confession. “Without doubt,” he at last made answer gravely. Thereupon she again sank down at his feet. She was shaking with uproarious laughter, and she stuttered and dealt him little slaps. “No, it’s too funny! There’s no one like you; you’re a marvel. But, my poor pet, you must just have been stupid! When a man doesn’t know—oh, it is so comical! Good heavens, I should have liked to have seen you! And it came off well, did it? Now tell me something about it! Oh, do, do tell me!”