For some moments past La Faloise’s face opposite had excited his displeasure. He began sneering and giving vent to disagreeable witticisms. La Faloise, whose brain was in a whirl, was behaving very restlessly and squeezing up against Gaga. But at length he became the victim of anxiety; somebody had just taken his handkerchief, and with drunken obstinacy he demanded it back again, asked his neighbors about it, stooped down in order to look under the chairs and the guests’ feet. And when Gaga did her best to quiet him: “It’s a nuisance,” he murmured, “my initials and my coronet are worked in the corner. They may compromise me.” “I say, Monsieur Falamoise, Lamafoise, Mafaloise!” shouted Foucarmont, who thought it exceedingly witty thus to disfigure the young man’s name ad infinitum. But La Faloise grew wroth and talked with a stutter about his ancestry. He threatened to send a water bottle at Foucarmont’s head, and Count de Vandeuvres had to interfere in order to assure him that Foucarmont was a great joker. Indeed, everybody was laughing. This did for the already flurried young man, who was very glad to resume his seat and to begin eating with childlike submissiveness when in a loud voice his cousin ordered him to feed. Gaga had taken him back to her ample side; only from time to time he cast sly and anxious glances at the guests, for he ceased not to search for his handkerchief. Then Foucarmont, being now in his witty vein, attacked Labordette right at the other end of the table. Louise Violaine strove to make him hold his tongue, for, she said, “when he goes nagging at other people like that it always ends in mischief for me.” He had discovered a witticism which consisted in addressing Labordette as “Madame,” and it must have amused him greatly, for he kept on repeating it while Labordette tranquilly shrugged his shoulders and as constantly replied: “Pray hold your tongue, my dear fellow; it’s stupid.” But as Foucarmont failed to desist and even became insulting without his neighbors knowing why, he left off answering him and appealed to Count Vandeuvres. “Make your friend hold his tongue, monsieur. I don’t wish to become angry.” Foucarmont had twice fought duels, and he was in consequence most politely treated and admitted into every circle. But there was now a general uprising against him. The table grew merry at his sallies, for they thought him very witty, but that was no reason why the evening should be spoiled. Vandeuvres, whose subtle countenance was darkening visibly, insisted on his restoring Labordette his sex. The other men—Mignon, Steiner and Bordenave—who were by this time much exalted, also intervened with shouts which drowned his voice. Only the old gentleman sitting forgotten next to Nana retained his stately demeanor and, still smiling in his tired, silent way, watched with lackluster eyes the untoward finish of the dessert.