“Egad! It’s a case of when one ‘has to go out,’” muttered Prullière wickedly, and he got up to have a last look at the mirror as became a handsome fellow whom the boxes adored. “They’ve knocked! They’ve knocked!” the callboy kept repeating in tones that died gradually away in the distance as he passed through the various stories and corridors. Fontan thereupon, knowing how it had all gone off on the first occasion the prince and Nana met, told the two women the whole story while they in their turn crowded against him and laughed at the tops of their voices whenever he stooped to whisper certain details in their ears. Old Bosc had never budged an inch—he was totally indifferent. That sort of thing no longer interested him now. He was stroking a great tortoise-shell cat which was lying curled up on the bench. He did so quite beautifully and ended by taking her in his arms with the tender good nature becoming a worn-out monarch. The cat arched its back and then, after a prolonged sniff at the big white beard, the gluey odor of which doubtless disgusted her, she turned and, curling herself up, went to sleep again on the bench beside him. Bosc remained grave and absorbed. “That’s all right, but if I were you I should drink the champagne at the restaurant—its better there,” he said, suddenly addressing Fontan when he had finished his recital. “The curtain’s up!” cried the callboy in cracked and long-drawn accents “The curtain’s up! The curtain’s up!” The shout sounded for some moments, during which there had been a noise of rapid footsteps. Through the suddenly opened door of the passage came a burst of music and a far-off murmur of voices, and then the door shut to again and you could hear its dull thud as it wedged itself into position once more. A heavy, peaceful, atmosphere again pervaded the greenroom, as though the place were situated a hundred leagues from the house where crowds were applauding. Simonne and Clarisse were still on the topic of Nana. There was a girl who never hurried herself! Why, yesterday she had again come on too late! But there was a silence, for a tall damsel had just craned her head in at the door and, seeing that she had made a mistake, had departed to the other end of the passage. It was Satin. Wearing a hat and a small veil for the nonce she was affecting the manner of a lady about to pay a call. “A pretty trollop!” muttered Prullière, who had been coming across her for a year past at the Café des Variétés. And at this Simonne told them how Nana had recognized in Satin an old schoolmate, had taken a vast fancy to her and was now plaguing Bordenave to let her make a first appearance on the stage. “How d’ye do?” said Fontan, shaking hands with Mignon and Fauchery, who now came into the room. Old Bosc himself gave them the tips of his fingers while the two women kissed Mignon. “A good house this evening?” queried Fauchery. “Oh, a splendid one!” replied Prullière. “You should see ’em gaping.”