in?"

"Through the door, of course," cried Fauchery in great exasperation.

"Yes, but where is the door?"

At this Bordenave fell upon Barillot and once more set to work swearing
and hammering the boards with his cane.

"By God! I said a chair was to be put there to stand for the door, and
every day we have to get it done again. Barillot! Where's Barillot?
Another of 'em! Why, they're all going!"

Nevertheless, Barillot came and planted the chair down in person,
mutely weathering the storm as he did so. And the rehearsal began again.
Simonne, in her hat and furs, began moving about like a maidservant busy
arranging furniture. She paused to say:

"I'm not warm, you know, so I keep my hands in my muff."

Then changing her voice, she greeted Bosc with a little cry:

"La, it's Monsieur le Comte. You're the first to come, Monsieur le
Comte, and Madame will be delighted."

Bosc had muddy trousers and a huge yellow overcoat, round the collar of
which a tremendous comforter was wound. On his head he wore an old hat,
and he kept his hands in his pockets. He did not act but dragged himself
along, remarking in a hollow voice:

"Don't disturb your mistress, Isabelle; I want to take her by surprise."

The rehearsal took its course. Bordenave knitted his brows. He had
slipped down low in his armchair and was listening with an air of
fatigue. Fauchery was nervous and kept shifting about in his seat. Every
few minutes he itched with the desire to interrupt, but he restrained
himself. He heard a whispering in the dark and empty house behind him.

"Is she there?" he asked, leaning over toward Bordenave.

The latter nodded affirmatively. Before accepting the part of Geraldine,
which he was offering her, Nana had been anxious to see the piece, for
she hesitated to play a courtesan's part a second time. She, in fact,
aspired to an honest woman's part. Accordingly she was hiding in the
shadows of a corner box in company with Labordette, who was managing
matters for her with Bordenave. Fauchery glanced in her direction and
then once more set himself to follow the rehearsal.

Only the front of the stage was lit up. A flaring gas burner on a
support, which was fed by a pipe from the footlights, burned in front of
a reflector and cast its full brightness over the immediate foreground.
It looked like a big yellow eye glaring through the surrounding
semiobscurity, where it flamed in a doubtful, melancholy way. Cossard
was holding u