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Updated: June 25, 2025
Clarisse was a believer in the three hundred francs. That man Fontan was always picking holes in his friends' successes! Just then Simonne interrupted her. She was shivering with cold. Indeed, they were all buttoned up to the ears and had comforters on, and they looked up at the ray of sunlight which shone brightly above them but did not penetrate the cold gloom of the theater.
Everybody in the theater had recognized her, and there was now much whispering, especially between Prulliere, who was scandalized at her return, and Clarisse who was very desirous of the part. As to Fontan, he looked coldly on, pretending unconcern, for he did not think it becoming to round on a woman he had loved.
That the NC-1 and the NC-3 reached the Azores, but did not make safe landings in the harbor after their long flight, is one of the fortunes of flying which must not reflect upon the American effort as a whole. The French route which Lieutenant Fontan, of the French army, tried twice, and on which he was twice forced to land because of engine trouble, was laid to take advantage of favoring winds.
Fontan, as became a philosophic spirit, declared that all men of fashion were beasts whom it was one's duty to despise. And from that moment forth Nana was full of very real disdain. That same evening they went to the Bouffes-Parisiens Theatre to see a little woman of Fontan's acquaintance make her debut in a part of some ten lines.
On the practicable slope, among the lines of gas jets, the whole of Olympus had rejoined the dozing Mme Drouard. They were waiting for the close of the act. Bosc and Fontan sat on the floor with their knees drawn up to their chins, and Prulliere stretched himself and yawned before going on. Everybody was worn out; their eyes were red, and they were longing to go home to sleep.
A woman leads up to him a tottering being whom she introduces to him. "He's ill, Monsieur Fontan, because he hasn't had enough to eat." "Well now! And I'm ill, too," says Fontan jovially, "but it's because I eat too much." The sergeant takes his leave, touching us with a slight salute. "He's right, that smart gentleman," says Crillon to me.
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.
But that evening she was so afraid of a scene that she affected complete indifference, skimming through the letter with a sulky expression and flinging it aside as soon as read. Fontan had begun beating a tattoo on a windowpane; the thought of going to bed so early bored him, and yet he did not know how to employ his evening.
But with that Nana made a sign and obtained silence. She raised her glass and cried: "No, no! To Fontan! It's Fontan's day; to Fontan! To Fontan!" Then they clinked glasses a third time and drank Fontan with all the honors. The prince, who had noticed the young woman devouring the actor with her eyes, saluted him with a "Monsieur Fontan, I drink to your success!"
Saint-Lazare she pictured as a grave, a dark hole, in which they buried live women after they had cut off their hair. She admitted that it was only necessary to leave Fontan and seek powerful protectors.
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