A footman hired for the evening was ushering the guests into the small drawing room, a narrow slip of a place in which only four armchairs had been left in order the better to pack in the company. From the large drawing room beyond came a sound as of the moving of plates and silver, while a clear and brilliant ray of light shone from under the door. At her entrance Nana found Clarisse Besnus, whom La Faloise had brought, already installed in one of the armchairs. “Dear me, you’re the first of ’em!” said Nana, who, now that she was successful, treated her familiarly. “Oh, it’s his doing,” replied Clarisse. “He’s always afraid of not getting anywhere in time. If I’d taken him at his word I shouldn’t have waited to take off my paint and my wig.” The young man, who now saw Nana for the first time, bowed, paid her a compliment and spoke of his cousin, hiding his agitation behind an exaggeration of politeness. But Nana, neither listening to him nor recognizing his face, shook hands with him and then went briskly toward Rose Mignon, with whom she at once assumed a most distinguished manner. “Ah, how nice of you, my dear madame! I was so anxious to have you here!” “It’s I who am charmed, I assure you,” said Rose with equal amiability. “Pray, sit down. Do you require anything?” “Thank you, no! Ah yes, I’ve left my fan in my pelisse, Steiner; just look in the right-hand pocket.” Steiner and Mignon had come in behind Rose. The banker turned back and reappeared with the fan while Mignon embraced Nana fraternally and forced Rose to do so also. Did they not all belong to the same family in the theatrical world? Then he winked as though to encourage Steiner, but the latter was disconcerted by Rose’s clear gaze and contented himself by kissing Nana’s hand. Just then the Count de Vandeuvres made his appearance with Blanche de Sivry. There was an interchange of profound bows, and Nana with the utmost ceremony conducted Blanche to an armchair. Meanwhile Vandeuvres told them laughingly that Fauchery was engaged in a dispute at the foot of the stairs because the porter had refused to allow Lucy Stewart’s carriage to come in at the gate. They could hear Lucy telling the porter he was a dirty blackguard in the anteroom. But when the footman had opened the door she came forward with her laughing grace of manner, announced her name herself, took both Nana’s hands in hers and told her that she had liked her from the very first and considered her talent splendid. Nana, puffed up by her novel role of hostess, thanked her and was veritably confused. Nevertheless, from the moment of Fauchery’s arrival she appeared preoccupied, and directly she could get near him she asked him in a low voice: “Will he come?” “No, he did not want to,” was the journalist’s abrupt reply, for he was taken by surprise, though he had got ready some sort of tale to explain Count Muffat’s refusal.