averred. Thereupon Diana promised to keep a sharp eye on him and to be
revenged. The duet ended with a comic yodel which Prulliere delivered
very amusingly with the yell of an angry tomcat. He had about him all
the entertaining fatuity of a young leading gentleman whose love affairs
prosper, and he rolled around the most swaggering glances, which excited
shrill feminine laughter in the boxes.

Then the public cooled again, for the ensuing scenes were found
tiresome. Old Bosc, an imbecile Jupiter with head crushed beneath the
weight of an immense crown, only just succeeded in raising a smile among
his audience when he had a domestic altercation with Juno on the subject
of the cook's accounts. The march past of the gods, Neptune, Pluto,
Minerva and the rest, was well-nigh spoiling everything. People grew
impatient; there was a restless, slowly growing murmur; the audience
ceased to take an interest in the performance and looked round at the
house. Lucy began laughing with Labordette; the Count de Vandeuvres
was craning his neck in conversation behind Blanche's sturdy shoulders,
while Fauchery, out of the corners of his eyes, took stock of the
Muffats, of whom the count appeared very serious, as though he had not
understood the allusions, and the countess smiled vaguely, her eyes lost
in reverie. But on a sudden, in this uncomfortable state of things, the
applause of the clapping contingent rattled out with the regularity of
platoon firing. People turned toward the stage. Was it Nana at last?
This Nana made one wait with a vengeance.

It was a deputation of mortals whom Ganymede and Iris had introduced,
respectable middle-class persons, deceived husbands, all of them, and
they came before the master of the gods to proffer a complaint against
Venus, who was assuredly inflaming their good ladies with an excess of
ardor. The chorus, in quaint, dolorous tones, broken by silences full