d out:

"My! It's the Tricon!"

It was indeed the Tricon, wearing the same old curls and looking as like
a litigious great lady as ever.

When she saw Nana she went straight up to her.

"No," said the latter after some rapid phrases had been exchanged, "not
now." The old lady looked grave. Just then Prulliere passed by and shook
hands with her, while two little chorus girls stood gazing at her with
looks of deep emotion. For a moment she seemed to hesitate. Then she
beckoned to Simonne, and the rapid exchange of sentences began again.

"Yes," said Simonne at last. "In half an hour."

But as she was going upstairs again to her dressing room, Mme Bron,
who was once more going the rounds with letters, presented one to her.
Bordenave lowered his voice and furiously reproached the portress for
having allowed the Tricon to come in. That woman! And on such an evening
of all others! It made him so angry because His Highness was there! Mme
Bron, who had been thirty years in the theater, replied quite sourly.
How was she to know? she asked. The Tricon did business with all the
ladies--M. le Directeur had met her a score of times without making
remarks. And while Bordenave was muttering oaths the Tricon stood
quietly by, scrutinizing the prince as became a woman who weighs a man
at a glance. A smile lit up her yellow face. Presently she paced slowly
off through the crowd of deeply deferential little women.

"Immediately, eh?" she queried, turning round again to Simonne.

Simonne seemed much worried. The letter was from a young man to whom she
had engaged herself for that evening. She gave Mme Bron a scribbled note
in which were the words, "Impossible tonight, darling--I'm booked." But
she was still apprehensive; the young man might possibly wait for her in
spite of everything. As she was not playing in the third act, she had a
mind to be off at once and accordingly begged Clarisse to go and see if
the man were there. Clarisse was only due on the stage toward the end of
the act, and so she went downstairs while Simonne ran up for a minute to
their common dressing room.

In Mme Bron's drinking bar downstairs a super, who was charged with the
part of Pluto, was drinking in solitude amid the folds of a great red
robe diapered with golden flames. The little business plied by the good
portress must have been progressing finely, for the cellarlike hole
under the stairs was wet with emptied heeltaps and water. Clarisse
picked up