there, was now breathing as lightly
and regularly as a cherub. Nana in reply told her that she was to let
them sleep on. But seeing Daguenet come into the room, she again grew
tender. He had been watching her from the kitchen and was looking very
wretched.

"Come, my sweetie, be reasonable," she said, taking him in her arms
and kissing him with all sorts of little wheedling caresses. "Nothing's
changed; you know that it's sweetie whom I always adore! Eh, dear? I had
to do it. Why, I swear to you we shall have even nicer times now. Come
tomorrow, and we'll arrange about hours. Now be quick, kiss and hug me
as you love me. Oh, tighter, tighter than that!"

And she escaped and rejoined Steiner, feeling happy and once more
possessed with the idea of drinking milk. In the empty room the Count
de Vandeuvres was left alone with the "decorated" man who had recited
"Abraham's Sacrifice." Both seemed glued to the card table; they had
lost count of their whereabouts and never once noticed the broad light
of day without, while Blanche had made bold to put her feet up on a sofa
in order to try and get a little sleep.

"Oh, Blanche is with them!" cried Nana. "We are going to drink milk,
dear. Do come; you'll find Vandeuvres here when we return."

Blanche got up lazily. This time the banker's fiery face grew white with
annoyance at the idea of having to take that big wench with him too. She
was certain to bore him. But the two women had already got him by the
arms and were reiterating:

"We want them to milk the cow before our eyes, you know."

CHAPTER V

At the Varietes they were giving the thirty-fourth performance of the
Blonde Venus. The first act had just finished, and in the greenroom
Simonne, dressed as the little laundress, was standing in front of a
console table, surmounted by a looking glass and situated between the
two corner doors which opened obliquely on the end of the dressing-room
passage. No one was with her, and she was scrutinizing her face and
rubbing her finger up and down below her eyes with a view to putting
the finishing touches to her make-up. The gas jets on either side of the
mirror flooded her with warm, crude light.

"Has he arrived?" asked Prulliere, entering the room in his Alpine
admiral's costume, which was set off by a big sword, enormous top boots
and a vast tuft of plumes.

"Who d'you mean?" said Simonne, taking no notice of him and laughing
into the mirror in order to see how her