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He was amused at the idea of carrying off this girl whom he had known for ten years yet never desired. The Marquis de Chouard bent over his plate and meditated on Gaga's young lady. He could well remember dandling Lili on his knee. What a way children had of shooting up! This little thing was becoming extremely plump! But Count Muffat especially was silent and absorbed.

"I know that the prince, when he was at the empress's the day before yesterday, invited him to dinner for tonight. He'll have corrupted him afterward!" "So that's Count Muffat! We know his father-in-law, eh, Auguste?" said Rose, addressing her remark to Mignon. "You know the Marquis de Chouard, at whose place I went to sing? Well, he's in the house too. I noticed him at the back of a box.

Just you bloody well leave me alone!" It was the Marquis de Chouard who was tumbling down over Satin. The girl had decidedly had enough of the fashionable world!

He did not know he had nothing the matter with his neck. Then drawing his shirt collar up: "Ah yes, some insect stung me there!" The Marquis de Chouard had cast a sidelong glance at the little red place. Muffat, too, looked at Georges. The company was finishing lunch and planning various excursions. Fauchery was growing increasingly excited with the Countess Sabine's laughter.

"You will come to London next year, and we shall receive you so cordially that you will never return to France again. Ah, my dear Count, you don't value your pretty women enough. We shall take them all from you!" "That won't make much odds to him," murmured the Marquis de Chouard wickedly, for he occasionally said a risky thing among friends. "The count is virtue itself."

Count Muffat and the Marquis de Chouard were joining in the conversation, while the good Mme Hugon was falling asleep open-eyed. Lost among the petticoats, M. Venot was his own small self again and smiled as of old. Twelve struck slowly in the great solemn room. "What what do you mean?" Mme du Joncquoy resumed. "You imagine that Monsieur de Bismarck will make war on us and beat us!

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.

"His Highness is spoiling me," she murmured without putting down the grease paint. Her task was a complicated one, and the Marquis de Chouard followed it with an expression of devout enjoyment. He spoke in his turn. "Could not the band accompany you more softly?" he said. "It drowns your voice, and that's an unpardonable crime." This time Nana did not turn round.

Mme Hugon, though weary and absent-minded, had caught some phrases of the conversation, and she now intervened and summed up in her tolerant way by remarking to the Marquis de Chouard, who just then bowed to her: "These ladies are too severe. Existence is so bitter for every one of us! Ought we not to forgive others much, my friend, if we wish to merit forgiveness ourselves?"

In old times she had been a dear friend of the Marquise de Chouard and had assisted at the birth of the countess, who, prior to her marriage, used to stay at her house for months at a time and even now was quite familiarly treated by her. "I have brought Georges to see you," said Mme Hugon to Sabine. "He's grown, I trust."