Bordenave was loudly recommending the thick soup when a shout arose, followed by protests and indignant exclamations. The door had just opened, and three late arrivals, a woman and two men, had just come in. Oh dear, no! There was no space for them! Nana, however, without leaving her chair, began screwing up her eyes in the effort to find out whether she knew them. The woman was Louise Violaine, but she had never seen the men before. “This gentleman, my dear,” said Vandeuvres, “is a friend of mine, a naval officer, Monsieur de Foucarmont by name. I invited him.” Foucarmont bowed and seemed very much at ease, for he added: “And I took leave to bring one of my friends with me.” “Oh, it’s quite right, quite right!” said Nana. “Sit down, pray. Let’s see, you—Clarisse—push up a little. You’re a good deal spread out down there. That’s it—where there’s a will—” They crowded more tightly than ever, and Foucarmont and Louise were given a little stretch of table, but the friend had to sit at some distance from his plate and ate his supper through dint of making a long arm between his neighbors’ shoulders. The waiters took away the soup plates and circulated rissoles of young rabbit with truffles and “niokys” and powdered cheese. Bordenave agitated the whole table with the announcement that at one moment he had had the idea of bringing with him Prullière, Fontan and old Bosc. At this Nana looked sedate and remarked dryly that she would have given them a pretty reception. Had she wanted colleagues, she would certainly have undertaken to ask them herself. No, no, she wouldn’t have third-rate play actors. Old Bosc was always drunk; Prullière was fond of spitting too much, and as to Fontan, he made himself unbearable in society with his loud voice and his stupid doings. Then, you know, third-rate play actors were always out of place when they found themselves in the society of gentlemen such as those around her. “Yes, yes, it’s true,” Mignon declared.