ned under her diaphanous tunic, bent sharply backward, so
that her bosom was thrown upward and forward, and stretched her arms
out. Applause burst forth on all sides. In the twinkling of an eye she
had turned on her heel and was going up the stage, presenting the nape
of her neck to the spectators' gaze, a neck where the red-gold hair
showed like some animal's fell. Then the plaudits became frantic.

The close of the act was not so exciting. Vulcan wanted to slap Venus.
The gods held a consultation and decided to go and hold an inquiry on
earth before granting the deceived husband satisfaction. It was then
that Diana surprised a tender conversation between Venus and Mars and
vowed that she would not take her eyes off them during the whole of
the voyage. There was also a scene where Love, played by a little
twelve-year-old chit, answered every question put to her with "Yes,
Mamma! No, Mamma!" in a winy-piny tone, her fingers in her nose. At last
Jupiter, with the severity of a master who is growing cross, shut Love
up in a dark closet, bidding her conjugate the verb "I love" twenty
times. The finale was more appreciated: it was a chorus which both
troupe and orchestra performed with great brilliancy. But the curtain
once down, the clappers tried in vain to obtain a call, while the whole
house was already up and making for the doors.

The crowd trampled and jostled, jammed, as it were, between the rows
of seats, and in so doing exchanged expressions. One phrase only went
round:

"It's idiotic." A critic was saying that it would be one's duty to do
a pretty bit of slashing. The piece, however, mattered very little, for
people were talking about Nana before everything else. Fauchery and La
Faloise, being among the earliest to emerge, met Steiner and Mignon in
the passage outside the stalls. In this gaslit gut of a place, which was
as narrow and circumscribed as a gallery in a mine, one was well-nigh
suffocated. They stopped a moment at the foot of the stairs on the
right of the house, protected by the final curve of the balusters.
The audience from the cheap places were coming down the steps with
a continuous tramp of heavy boots; a stream of black dress coats was
passing, while an attendant was making every possible effort to protect
a chair, on which she had piled up coats and cloaks, from the onward
pushing of the crowd.

"Surely I know her," cried Steiner, the moment he perceived Fauchery.
"I'm certain I've seen her