“Oh, Father Bosc HAS just scored!” she cried. “The prince was writhing with laughter and applauded with the rest as though he had been paid to. I say, do you know the big man sitting beside the prince in the stage box? A handsome man, with a very sedate expression and splendid whiskers!” “It’s Count Muffat,” replied Fauchery. “I know that the prince, when he was at the empress’s the day before yesterday, invited him to dinner for tonight. He’ll have corrupted him afterward!” “So that’s Count Muffat! We know his father-in-law, eh, Auguste?” said Rose, addressing her remark to Mignon. “You know the Marquis de Chouard, at whose place I went to sing? Well, he’s in the house too. I noticed him at the back of a box. There’s an old boy for you!” Prullière, who had just put on his huge plume of feathers, turned round and called her. “Hi, Rose! Let’s go now!” She ran after him, leaving her sentence unfinished. At that moment Mme Bron, the portress of the theater, passed by the door with an immense bouquet in her arms. Simonne asked cheerfully if it was for her, but the porter woman did not vouchsafe an answer and only pointed her chin toward Nana’s dressing room at the end of the passage. Oh, that Nana! They were loading her with flowers! Then when Mme Bron returned she handed a letter to Clarisse, who allowed a smothered oath to escape her. That beggar La Faloise again! There was a fellow who wouldn’t let her alone! And when she learned the gentleman in question was waiting for her at the porter’s lodge she shrieked: “Tell him I’m coming down after this act. I’m going to catch him one on the face.” Fontan had rushed forward, shouting: “Madame Bron, just listen. Please listen, Madame Bron. I want you to send up six bottles of champagne between the acts.” But the callboy had again made his appearance. He was out of breath, and in a singsong voice he called out: “All to go on the stage! It’s your turn, Monsieur Fontan. Make haste, make haste!” “Yes, yes, I’m going, Father Barillot,” replied Fontan in a flurry. And he ran after Mme Bron and continued: “You understand, eh? Six bottles of champagne in the greenroom between the acts. It’s my patron saint’s day, and I’m standing the racket.”