n,
who cried, "I've hit on a plan!" The rest of the act did not seem
very clear. The inquiry ended in a final galop after which Jupiter,
breathless, streaming with perspiration and minus his crown, declared
that the little women of Earth were delicious and that the men were all
to blame.

The curtain was falling, when certain voices, rising above the storm of
bravos, cried uproariously:

"All! All!"

Thereupon the curtain rose again; the artistes reappeared hand in hand.
In the middle of the line Nana and Rose Mignon stood side by side,
bowing and curtsying. The audience applauded; the clappers shouted
acclamations. Then little by little the house emptied.

"I must go and pay my respects to the Countess Muffat," said La Faloise.
"Exactly so; you'll present me," replied Fauchery; "we'll go down
afterward."

But it was not easy to get to the first-tier boxes. In the passage at
the top of the stairs there was a crush. In order to get forward at all
among the various groups you had to make yourself small and to slide
along, using your elbows in so doing. Leaning under a copper lamp, where
a jet of gas was burning, the bulky critic was sitting in judgment
on the piece in presence of an attentive circle. People in passing
mentioned his name to each other in muttered tones. He had laughed
the whole act through--that was the rumor going the round of the
passages--nevertheless, he was now very severe and spoke of taste and
morals. Farther off the thin-lipped critic was brimming over with a
benevolence which had an unpleasant aftertaste, as of milk turned sour.

Fauchery glanced along, scrutinizing the boxes through the round
openings in each door. But the Count de Vandeuvres stopped him with a
question, and when he was informed that the two cousins were going to
pay their respects to the Muffats, he pointed out to them box seven,
from which he had just emerged. Then bending down and whispering in the
journalist's ear:

"Tell me, my dear fellow," he said, "this Nana--surely she's the girl we
saw one evening at the corner of the Rue de Provence?"

"By Jove, you're right!" cried Fauchery. "I was saying that I had come
across her!"

La Faloise presented his cousin to Count Muffat de Beuville, who
appeared very frigid. But on hearing the name Fauchery the countess
raised her head and with a certain reserve complimented the paragraphist
on his articles in the Figaro. Leaning on the velvet-covered support
in front of her,