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Updated: June 16, 2025
Fontan imagined Tardiveau to be a native of Marseilles with a dialect, and he imitated the dialect. He was repeating whole speeches. Was that right? Was this the thing? Apparently he was only submitting ideas to Fauchery of which he was himself uncertain, but as the author seemed cold and raised various objections, he grew angry at once.
It looked like a big yellow eye glaring through the surrounding semiobscurity, where it flamed in a doubtful, melancholy way. Cossard was holding up his manuscript against the slender stem of this arrangement. He wanted to see more clearly, and in the flood of light his hump was sharply outlined. As to Bordenave and Fauchery, they were already drowned in shadow.
"The Count Xavier de Vandeuvres," Fauchery whispered in his companion's ear. The count and the journalist shook hands, while Blanche and Lucy entered into a brisk, mutual explanation. One of them in blue, the other in rose-pink, they stood blocking the way with their deeply flounced skirts, and Nana's name kept repeating itself so shrilly in their conversation that people began to listen to them.
In the front of her box stood the Countess Muffat. Very erect and closely wrapped up in her furs, she stared at the gathering shadows and waited for the crowd to pass away. In the passages the people were jostling the attendants, who hardly knew what to do among the tumbled heaps of outdoor raiment. Fauchery and La Faloise had hurried in order to see the crowd pass out.
Just then Mignon was pushing Steiner up against Nana, and when Fauchery had left her he said to her in a low voice and with the good-natured cynicism of a comrade in arms who wishes his friends to be happy: "He's dying of it, you know, only he's afraid of my wife. Won't you protect him?" Nana did not appear to understand.
To think that he, Prulliere, the idol of the public, should play a part of only two hundred lines! "Why not make me bring in letters on a tray?" he continued bitterly. "Come, come, Prulliere, behave decently," said Bordenave, who was anxious to treat him tenderly because of his influence over the boxes. "Don't begin making a fuss. We'll find some points. Eh, Fauchery, you'll add some points?
Simonne ran away, and this furious outcry followed her: "Take that, and, by God, if I'm annoyed again I shut the whole shop up at once!" Fauchery pushed his hat down over his forehead and pretended to be going to leave the theater. But he stopped at the top of the stage and came down again when he saw Bordenave perspiringly resuming his seat.
He spoke in his usual voice and was perfectly calm. "Yes, let's go on," Fauchery repeated. "We'll arrange the scene tomorrow." And with that they dragged on again and rehearsed their parts with as much listlessness and as fine an indifference as ever.
"I cannot, I cannot," Fauchery kept repeating as he writhed to get free. Muffat's voice became harder. "I pray and beseech you for it! I want it!" And with that he fixed his eyes on him. The young man read menaces in that darkling gaze and suddenly gave way with a splutter of confused phrases: "Do what you like I don't care a pin about it.
For instance, one evening he said a charmingly epigrammatic thing in my presence." La Faloise meanwhile had heard the few rapid sentences thus whisperingly interchanged, and he gazed at Fauchery in hopes of an explanation which was not vouchsafed him. Of whom were they talking, and what were they going to do at midnight tomorrow? He did not leave his cousin's side again.
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