Seeing the young woman’s sudden pallor, he became conscious of his folly and tried to retract his words. “He was unable to; he is taking the countess to the ball at the Ministry of the Interior tonight.” “All right,” murmured Nana, who suspected him of ill will, “you’ll pay me out for that, my pippin.” She turned on her heel, and so did he; they were angry. Just then Mignon was pushing Steiner up against Nana, and when Fauchery had left her he said to her in a low voice and with the good-natured cynicism of a comrade in arms who wishes his friends to be happy: “He’s dying of it, you know, only he’s afraid of my wife. Won’t you protect him?” Nana did not appear to understand. She smiled and looked at Rose, the husband and the banker and finally said to the latter: “Monsieur Steiner, you will sit next to me.” With that there came from the anteroom a sound of laughter and whispering and a burst of merry, chattering voices, which sounded as if a runaway convent were on the premises. And Labordette appeared, towing five women in his rear, his boarding school, as Lucy Stewart cruelly phrased it. There was Gaga, majestic in a blue velvet dress which was too tight for her, and Caroline Hequet, clad as usual in ribbed black silk, trimmed with Chantilly lace. Léa de Horn came next, terribly dressed up, as her wont was, and after her the big Tatan Nene, a good-humored fair girl with the bosom of a wet nurse, at which people laughed, and finally little Maria Blond, a young damsel of fifteen, as thin and vicious as a street child, yet on the high road to success, owing to her recent first appearance at the Folies. Labordette had brought the whole collection in a single fly, and they were still laughing at the way they had been squeezed with Maria Blond on her knees. But on entering the room they pursed up their lips, and all grew very conventional as they shook hands and exchanged salutations. Gaga even affected the infantile and lisped through excess of genteel deportment. Tatan Nene alone transgressed. They had been telling her as they came along that six absolutely naked Negroes would serve up Nana’s supper, and she now grew anxious about them and asked to see them. Labordette called her a goose and besought her to be silent. “And Bordenave?” asked Fauchery. “Oh, you may imagine how miserable I am,” cried Nana; “he won’t be able to join us.” “Yes,” said Rose Mignon, “his foot caught in a trap door, and he’s got a fearful sprain. If only you could hear him swearing, with his leg tied up and laid out on a chair!” Thereupon everybody mourned over Bordenave’s absence. No one ever gave a good supper without Bordenave. Ah well, they would try and do without him, and they were already talking about other matters when a burly voice was heard: “What, eh, what? Is that the way they’re going to write my obituary notice?”