stairs because the porter had refused to allow Lucy Stewart's
carriage to come in at the gate. They could hear Lucy telling the porter
he was a dirty blackguard in the anteroom. But when the footman had
opened the door she came forward with her laughing grace of manner,
announced her name herself, took both Nana's hands in hers and told her
that she had liked her from the very first and considered her talent
splendid. Nana, puffed up by her novel role of hostess, thanked her
and was veritably confused. Nevertheless, from the moment of Fauchery's
arrival she appeared preoccupied, and directly she could get near him
she asked him in a low voice:

"Will he come?"

"No, he did not want to," was the journalist's abrupt reply, for he was
taken by surprise, though he had got ready some sort of tale to explain
Count Muffat's refusal.

Seeing the young woman's sudden pallor, he became conscious of his folly
and tried to retract his words.

"He was unable to; he is taking the countess to the ball at the Ministry
of the Interior tonight."

"All right," murmured Nana, who suspected him of ill will, "you'll pay
me out for that, my pippin."

She turned on her heel, and so did he; they were angry. Just then Mignon
was pushing Steiner up against Nana, and when Fauchery had left her
he said to her in a low voice and with the good-natured cynicism of a
comrade in arms who wishes his friends to be happy:

"He's dying of it, you know, only he's afraid of my wife. Won't you
protect him?"

Nana did not appear to understand. She smiled and looked at Rose, the
husband and the banker and finally said to the latter:

"Monsieur Steiner, you will sit next to me."

With that there came from the anteroom a sound of laughter and
whispering and a burst of merry, chattering voices, which sounded as if
a runaway convent were on the premises. And Labordette appeared, towing
five women in his rear, his boarding school, as Lucy Stewart cruelly
phrased it. There was Gaga, majestic in a blue velvet dress which was
too tight for her, and Caroline Hequet, clad as usual in ribbed black
silk, trimmed with Chantilly lace. Lea de Horn came next, terribly
dressed up, as her wont was, and after her the big Tatan Nene, a
good-humored fair girl with the bosom of a wet nurse, at which people
laughed, and finally little Maria Blond, a young damsel of fifteen, as
thin and vicious as a street child, yet on the high road to success,
owing to her recent first