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Nevertheless, La Faloise had clapped Clarisse Besnus, one of Bordenave's little women, who played Iris in a soft blue dress with a great scarf of the seven colors of the rainbow looped round her waist. "You know, she draws up her chemise to put that on," he said to Fauchery, loud enough to be heard by those around him. "We tried the trick this morning.
The band vanished and returned after standing breathlessly for a second or two round Bordenave's lordly, outstretched form. And then there was a burst of laughter, and when one of them told the rest to be quiet Bordenave's distant snorings became audible. It was close on four o'clock.
And, scarce knowing how to give expression to her overwhelming joy, she hugged and kissed Louiset, whom she now discovered high in the air on Bordenave's shoulder. "Three minutes and fourteen seconds," said the latter as he put his watch back in his pocket. Nana kept hearing her name; the whole plain was echoing it back to her.
Huge and fiery-faced, he was standing with his stiff leg in the doorway, leaning for support on Simonne Cabiroche's shoulder. Simonne was for the time being his mistress. This little creature had had a certain amount of education and could play the piano and talk English. She was a blonde on a tiny, pretty scale and so delicately formed that she seemed to bend under Bordenave's rude weight.
He protested vaguely and at last was able to get out a phrase. "Oh, I don't care a jot for Rose; I'll give her up at once." Nana seemed satisfied on this point. She continued: "Well then, what's bothering you? Bordenave's master here. You'll tell me there's Fauchery after Bordenave " She had sunk her voice, for she was coming to the delicate part of the matter.
Nana is an invention of Bordenave's! It must be a fine one!" He calmed himself, but the emptiness of the house, the dim light of the luster, the churchlike sense of self-absorption which the place inspired, full as it was of whispering voices and the sound of doors banging all these got on his nerves. "No, by Jove," he said all of a sudden, "one's hair turns gray here. I I'm going out.
"Yes," said Rose Mignon, "his foot caught in a trap door, and he's got a fearful sprain. If only you could hear him swearing, with his leg tied up and laid out on a chair!" Thereupon everybody mourned over Bordenave's absence. No one ever gave a good supper without Bordenave.
From the second verse onward people looked at each other all over the house. Was this some jest, some wager on Bordenave's part? Never had a more tuneless voice been heard or one managed with less art. Her manager judged of her excellently; she certainly sang like a squirt.
And everybody turned and looked at the little door which opened out of the main body of the house. At first nothing was visible save Bordenave's round back and beefy neck, which bobbed down and arched up in a series of obsequious obeisances. Then the prince made his appearance.
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