of the theater. The door of the box must have remained open, for the
Marquis de Chouard, who had gone out in order to leave his seat to the
visitors, was back again. He was straightening up his tall, old figure.
His face looked soft and white under a broad-brimmed hat, and with his
restless eyes he followed the movements of the women who passed.

The moment the countess had given her invitation Fauchery took his
leave, feeling that to talk about the play would not be quite the
thing. La Faloise was the last to quit the box. He had just noticed
the fair-haired Labordette, comfortably installed in the Count de
Vandeuvres's stage box and chatting at very close quarters with Blanche
de Sivry.

"Gad," he said after rejoining his cousin, "that Labordette knows all
the girls then! He's with Blanche now."

"Doubtless he knows them all," replied Fauchery quietly. "What d'you
want to be taken for, my friend?"

The passage was somewhat cleared of people, and Fauchery was just about
to go downstairs when Lucy Stewart called him. She was quite at the
other end of the corridor, at the door of her stage box. They were
getting cooked in there, she said, and she took up the whole corridor
in company with Caroline Hequet and her mother, all three nibbling burnt
almonds. A box opener was chatting maternally with them. Lucy fell out
with the journalist. He was a pretty fellow; to be sure! He went up to
see other women and didn't even come and ask if they were thirsty! Then,
changing the subject:

"You know, dear boy, I think Nana very nice."