“What?” asked Simonne, coming up smilingly, as though attracted by the huge nose and the vast, comic mouth of the man. “D’you answer to the name of Achille?” “Exactly so! And I’m going to get ’em to tell Madame Bron to send up champagne after the second act.” For some seconds a bell had been ringing in the distance. The long-drawn sound grew fainter, then louder, and when the bell ceased a shout ran up the stair and down it till it was lost along the passages. “All on the stage for the second act! All on the stage for the second act!” The sound drew near, and a little pale-faced man passed by the greenroom doors, outside each of which he yelled at the top of his shrill voice, “On the stage for the second act!” “The deuce, it’s champagne!” said Prullière without appearing to hear the din. “You’re prospering!” “If I were you I should have it in from the cafe,” old Bosc slowly announced. He was sitting on a bench covered with green velvet, with his head against the wall. But Simonne said that it was one’s duty to consider Mme Bron’s small perquisites. She clapped her hands excitedly and devoured Fontan with her gaze while his long goatlike visage kept up a continuous twitching of eyes and nose and mouth. “Oh, that Fontan!” she murmured. “There’s no one like him, no one like him!” The two greenroom doors stood wide open to the corridor leading to the wings. And along the yellow wall, which was brightly lit up by a gas lamp out of view, passed a string of rapidly moving shadows—men in costume, women with shawls over their scant attire, in a word, the whole of the characters in the second act, who would shortly make their appearance as masqeuraders in the ball at the Boule Noire. And at the end of the corridor became audible a shuffling of feet as these people clattered down the five wooden steps which led to the stage. As the big Clarisse went running by Simonne called to her, but she said she would be back directly. And, indeed, she reappeared almost at once, shivering in the thin tunic and scarf which she wore as Iris. “God bless me!” she said. “It isn’t warm, and I’ve left my furs in my dressing room!” Then as she stood toasting her legs in their warm rose-colored tights in front of the fireplace she resumed: “The prince has arrived.” “Oh!” cried the rest with the utmost curiosity. “Yes, that’s why I ran down: I wanted to see. He’s in the first stage box to the right, the same he was in on Thursday. It’s the third time he’s been this week, eh? That’s Nana; well, she’s in luck’s way! I was willing to wager he wouldn’t come again.” Simonne opened her lips to speak, but her remarks were drowned by a fresh shout which arose close to the greenroom. In the passage the callboy was yelling at the top of his shrill voice, “They’ve knocked!” “Three times!” said Simonne when she was again able to speak. “It’s getting exciting. You know, he won’t go to her place; he takes her to his. And it seems that he has to pay for it too!”