ragus soup a la comtesse, clear soup a la Deslignac,"
murmured the waiters, carrying about platefuls in rear of the guests.

Bordenave was loudly recommending the thick soup when a shout arose,
followed by protests and indignant exclamations. The door had just
opened, and three late arrivals, a woman and two men, had just come in.
Oh dear, no! There was no space for them! Nana, however, without leaving
her chair, began screwing up her eyes in the effort to find out whether
she knew them. The woman was Louise Violaine, but she had never seen the
men before.

"This gentleman, my dear," said Vandeuvres, "is a friend of mine, a
naval officer, Monsieur de Foucarmont by name. I invited him."

Foucarmont bowed and seemed very much at ease, for he added:

"And I took leave to bring one of my friends with me."

"Oh, it's quite right, quite right!" said Nana. "Sit down, pray. Let's
see, you--Clarisse--push up a little. You're a good deal spread out down
there. That's it--where there's a will--"

They crowded more tightly than ever, and Foucarmont and Louise were
given a little stretch of table, but the friend had to sit at some
distance from his plate and ate his supper through dint of making a long
arm between his neighbors' shoulders. The waiters took away the soup
plates and circulated rissoles of young rabbit with truffles and
"niokys" and powdered cheese. Bordenave agitated the whole table with
the announcement that at one moment he had had the idea of bringing
with him Prulliere, Fontan and old Bosc. At this Nana looked sedate and
remarked dryly that she would have given them a pretty reception. Had
she wanted colleagues, she would certainly have undertaken to ask them
herself. No, no, she wouldn't have third-rate play actors. Old Bosc was
always drunk; Prulliere was fond of spitting too much, and as to Fontan,
he made himself unbearable in society with his loud voice and his stupid
doings. Then, you know, third-rate play actors were always out of place
when they found themselves in the society of gentlemen such as those
around her.

"Yes, yes, it's true," Mignon declared.

All round the table the gentlemen in question looked unimpeachable in
the extreme, what with their evening dress and their pale features, the
natural distinction of which was still further refined by fatigue. The
old gentleman was as deliberate in his movements and wore as subtle
a smile as though he were presiding over a diplomatic congress, and