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Updated: May 16, 2025
Fontan, Bosc and Prulliere, on the other hand, retired at a leisurely pace, joking at the figure cut by the serious, paying admirers who were striding up and down the Galerie des Varietes at a time when the little dears were escaping along the boulevard with the men of their hearts. But Clarisse was especially sly.
"Papa, Papa!" stammered the child. The company overwhelmed him with caresses, but Bosc was bored and talked of sitting down to table. That was the only serious business in life. Nana asked her guests' permission to put Louiset's chair next her own. The dinner was very merry, but Bosc suffered from the near neighborhood of the child, from whom he had to defend his plate. Mme Lerat bored him too.
Is he bloody well making game of me now?" Bosc, however, made his appearance quietly enough, and the rehearsal began again just as Labordette was taking the count away with him. The latter was tremulous at the thought of seeing Nana once more. After the rupture had taken place between them there had been a great void in his life.
The glasses were filled, and the company began clinking them together. "I drink to Your Highness!" said ancient Bosc royally. "To the army!" added Prulliere. "To Venus!" cried Fontan. The prince complaisantly poised his glass, waited quietly, bowed thrice and murmured: "Madame! Admiral! Your Majesty!" Then he drank it off. Count Muffat and the Marquis de Chouard had followed his example.
And conversation was about to ensue on this topic when noisy voices were heard at the dressing-room door. Bordenave drew back the slide over a grated peephole of the kind used in convents. Fontan was outside with Prulliere and Bosc, and all three had bottles under their arms and their hands full of glasses.
"Barillot, why don't they begin?" "It's Monsieur Bosc that has disappeared," replied Barillot, who was acting as second stage manager. Then there arose a tempest, and everybody shouted for Bosc while Bordenave swore. "Always the same thing, by God! It's all very well ringing for 'em: they're always where they've no business to be. And then they grumble when they're kept till after four o'clock."
And the rehearsal began again. Simonne, in her hat and furs, began moving about like a maidservant busy arranging furniture. She paused to say: "I'm not warm, you know, so I keep my hands in my muff." Then changing her voice, she greeted Bosc with a little cry: "La, it's Monsieur le Comte. You're the first to come, Monsieur le Comte, and Madame will be delighted."
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.
This display continued in good condition until the sixteenth of June, in spite of the extreme hot weather at that time, the Anjou, Angouleme, Bosc, Clairgeau, Columbia, Howell and Kieffer keeping extremely well until that date.
At that very moment the callboy was opening the door. "Monsieur Bosc!" he called. "Mademoiselle Simonne!" Simonne flung a fur-lined pelisse briskly over her shoulders and went out. Bosc, without hurrying at all, went and got his crown, which he settled on his brow with a rap.
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