come up out of
the twilight, and the great lady seemed still to be sweeping by with all
the majesty of a potent queen, full of years and of honors.

That evening Georges re-entered Les Fondettes in time for dinner.
Nana, who had grown increasingly absent-minded and singular in point of
manner, had sent him to ask his mamma's forgiveness. It was his plain
duty, she remarked severely, growing suddenly solicitous for the
decencies of family life. She even made him swear not to return for the
night; she was tired, and in showing proper obedience he was doing no
more than his duty. Much bored by this moral discourse, Georges appeared
in his mother's presence with heavy heart and downcast head.

Fortunately for him his brother Philippe, a great merry devil of a
military man, had arrived during the day, a fact which greatly curtailed
the scene he was dreading. Mme Hugon was content to look at him with
eyes full of tears while Philippe, who had been put in possession of the
facts, threatened to go and drag him home by the scruff of the neck if
ever he went back into that woman's society. Somewhat comforted, Georges
began slyly planning how to make his escape toward two o'clock next day
in order to arrange about future meetings with Nana.

Nevertheless, at dinnertime the house party at Les Fondettes seemed not
a little embarrassed. Vandeuvres had given notice of departure, for he
was anxious to take Lucy back to Paris with him. 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.
His cheeks glowed, and he had given Georges one long look. Dinner over,
he went upstairs, intending to shut himself in his bedroom, his pretext
being a slight feverish attack. M. Venot had rushed after him, and
upstairs in the bedroom a scene ensued. The count threw himself upon the
bed and strove to stifle a fit of nervous sobbing in the folds of the
pillow while M. Venot, in a soft voice, called him brother and advised
him to implore heaven for mercy. But he heard nothing: there was a
rattle in his throat. Suddenly he sprang off the bed and stammered:

"I am going there. I can't resist any longer."

"Very well," said the old man, "I