splendid. Nana, puffed up by her novel role of hostess, thanked her
and was veritably confused. Nevertheless, from the moment of Fauchery's
arrival she appeared preoccupied, and directly she could get near him
she asked him in a low voice:

"Will he come?"

"No, he did not want to," was the journalist's abrupt reply, for he was
taken by surprise, though he had got ready some sort of tale to explain
Count Muffat's refusal.

Seeing the young woman's sudden pallor, he became conscious of his folly
and tried to retract his words.

"He was unable to; he is taking the countess to the ball at the Ministry
of the Interior tonight."

"All right," murmured Nana, who suspected him of ill will, "you'll pay
me out for that, my pippin."

She turned on her heel, and so did he; they were angry. Just then Mignon
was pushing Steiner up against Nana, and when Fauchery had left her
he said to her in a low voice and with the good-natured cynicism of a
comrade in arms who wishes his friends to be happy:

"He's dying of it, you know, only he's afraid of my wife. Won't you
protect him?"

Nana did not appear to understand. She smiled and looked at Rose, the
husband and the banker and finally said to the latter: