llow who had once come heavily down on him for asking
whether the countess slept with anyone. But Fauchery, without showing
the very slightest astonishment, looked fixedly at him.

"Get along, you idiot!" he said finally as he shrugged his shoulders.

Then he shook hands with the other gentlemen, while La Faloise, in his
discomfiture, felt rather uncertain whether he had said something funny.
The men chatted. Since the races the banker and Foucarmont had formed
part of the set in the Avenue de Villiers. Nana was going on much
better, and every evening the count came and asked how she did.
Meanwhile Fauchery, though he listened, seemed preoccupied, for during
a quarrel that morning Rose had roundly confessed to the sending of the
letter. Oh yes, he might present himself at his great lady's house;
he would be well received! After long hesitation he had come despite
everything--out of sheer courage. But La Faloise's imbecile pleasantry
had upset him in spite of his apparent tranquillity.

"What's the matter?" asked Philippe. "You seem in trouble."

"I do? Not at all. I've been working: that's why I came so late."

Then coldly, in one of those heroic moods which, although unnoticed, are
wont to solve the vulgar tragedies of existence:

"All the same, I haven't made my bow to our hosts. One must be civil."

He even ventured on a joke, for he turned to La Faloise and said:

"Eh, you idiot?"

And with that he pushed his way through the crowd. The valet's full
voice was no longer shouting out names, but close to the door the count
and countess were still talking, for they were detained by ladies coming
in. At length he joined them, while the gentlemen who were still on
the garden steps stood on tiptoe so as to watch the scene. Nana, they
thought, must have been chattering.

"The count hasn't noticed him," muttered Georges. "Look out! He's
turning round; there, it's done!"

The band had again taken up the waltz in the Blonde Venus. Fauchery
had begun by bowing to the countess, who was still smiling in ecstatic
serenity. After which he had stood motionless a moment, waiting very
calmly behind the count's back. That evening the count's deportment was
one of lofty gravity: he held his head high, as became the official
and the great dignitary. And when at last he lowered his gaze in the
direction of the journalist he seemed still further to emphasize the
majesty of his attitude. For some seconds the two men looked at one