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Updated: June 16, 2025
He asked a question. "And Nana, the new star who's going to play Venus, d'you know her?" "There you are; you're beginning again!" cried Fauchery, casting up his arms. "Ever since this morning people have been dreeing me with Nana. I've met more than twenty people, and it's Nana here and Nana there! What do I know? Am I acquainted with all the light ladies in Paris?
"What d'you mean?" he asked, turning round and recognizing La Faloise. "Why, about that supper tomorrow. You might easily have got me invited." Fauchery was at length about to state his reasons when Vandeuvres came back to tell him: "It appears it isn't a girl of Foucarmont's. It's that man's flame out there. She won't be able to come. What a piece of bad luck!
Glad of this short-lived respite, Fauchery stretched his feet out languidly toward the fire and let his upturned eyes wander from the barometer to the clock. In the course of his march Mignon planted himself in front of Potier's bust, looked at it without seeming to see it and then turned back to the window, outside which yawned the darkling gulf of the courtyard.
The little old man was no longer smiling; his face was cadaverous, his eyes bright and keen as steel. "No," replied the count directly, in so decisive a tone that further insistence became impossible. Then the marquis refused with even greater severity of expression. He talked morality. The aristocratic classes ought to set a good example. Fauchery smiled and shook hands with Vandeuvres.
"Well, then, my dearie," she continued, "I don't know what you're getting at with me. For two hours past you've been worrying my life out. Now do just go and find your wife, for she's at it with Fauchery. Yes, it's quite correct; they're in the Rue Taitbout, at the corner of the Rue de Provence. You see, I'm giving you the address."
"He did not think so," replied Fauchery. "At least she had never told him so. Well, you must now imagine my friend at my age or almost there. You must picture him growing gray, tired of life and convinced that he had at last discovered the secret of peace.
She wore a dress of faded green silk and a round hat which blows had dinted. The cool air of the night made her look very pale. "Egad, there's Satin," murmured Fauchery when his eye lit upon her. La Faloise questioned him. Oh dear, yes, she was a streetwalker she didn't count. But she was such a scandalous sort that people amused themselves by making her talk.
The day was covered, and the distance was hidden by a bluish haze which was fraught with a sweet and melancholy peacefulness. "Oh, I'm expecting company," she continued. "We shall be gayer then! The first to come will be two gentlemen whom Georges has invited Monsieur Fauchery and Monsieur Daguenet; you know them, do you not?
Rose had witnessed the scene, and she marched straight up to the journalist, as though she had failed to notice her husband and, standing on tiptoe, bare-armed and in baby costume, she held her face up to him with a caressing, infantine pout. "Good evening, baby," said Fauchery, kissing her familiarly. Thus he indemnified himself.
Then he chaffed Steiner, who was not fond of children, and with quiet audacity informed him that were he a father, he would make a less stupid hash of his fortune. While talking he watched the banker over Blanche's shoulders to see if it was coming off with Nana. But for some minutes Rose and Fauchery, who were talking very near him, had been getting on his nerves.
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