conversation, while the good Mme Hugon was falling asleep open-eyed.
Lost among the petticoats, M. Venot was his own small self again and
smiled as of old. Twelve struck slowly in the great solemn room.

"What--what do you mean?" Mme du Joncquoy resumed. "You imagine that
Monsieur de Bismarck will make war on us and beat us! Oh, that's
unbearable!"

Indeed, they were laughing round Mme Chantereau, who had just repeated
an assertion she had heard made in Alsace, where her husband owned a
foundry.

"We have the emperor, fortunately," said Count Muffat in his grave,
official way.

It was the last phrase Fauchery was able to catch. He closed the door
after casting one more glance in the direction of the Countess
Sabine. She was talking sedately with the chief clerk and seemed to be
interested in that stout individual's conversation. Assuredly he must
have been deceiving himself. There was no "little rift" there at all. It
was a pity.

"You're not coming down then?" La Faloise shouted up to him from the
entrance hall.

And out on the pavement, as they separated, they once more repeated:

"Tomorrow, at Nana's."