fallen? And stories and jokes, whispered from ear to ear, went the round
of the crowd. The name was a caress in itself; it was a pet name, the
very familiarity of which suited every lip. Merely through enunciating
it thus, the throng worked itself into a state of gaiety and became
highly good natured. A fever of curiosity urged it forward, that kind
of Parisian curiosity which is as violent as an access of positive
unreason. Everybody wanted to see Nana. A lady had the flounce of her
dress torn off; a man lost his hat.

"Oh, you're asking me too many questions about it!" cried Bordenave,
whom a score of men were besieging with their queries. "You're going to
see her, and I'm off; they want me."

He disappeared, enchanted at having fired his public. Mignon shrugged
his shoulders, reminding Steiner that Rose was awaiting him in order to
show him the costume she was about to wear in the first act.

"By Jove! There's Lucy out there, getting down from her carriage," said
La Faloise to Fauchery.

It was, in fact, Lucy Stewart, a plain little woman, some forty years
old, with a disproportionately long neck, a thin, drawn face, a heavy
mouth, but withal of such brightness, such graciousness of manner, that
she was really very charming. She was bringing with her Caroline Hequet
and her mother--Caroline a woman of a cold type of beauty, the mother a
person of a most worthy demeanor, who looked as if she were stuffed with
straw.

"You're coming with us? I've kept a place for you," she said to
Fauchery. "Oh, decidedly not! To see nothing!" he made answer. "I've a