"Perhaps Madame has not seen the papers. There's a very nice article in
the Figaro."

He had brought the journal. Mme Lerat put on her spectacles and read the
article aloud, standing in front of the window as she did so. She had
the build of a policeman, and she drew herself up to her full height,
while her nostrils seemed to compress themselves whenever she uttered
a gallant epithet. It was a notice by Fauchery, written just after the
performance, and it consisted of a couple of very glowing columns, full
of witty sarcasm about the artist and of broad admiration for the woman.

"Excellent!" Francis kept repeating.

Nana laughed good-humoredly at his chaffing her about her voice! He
was a nice fellow, was that Fauchery, and she would repay him for his
charming style of writing. Mme Lerat, after having reread the notice,
roundly declared that the men all had the devil in their shanks, and she
refused to explain her self further, being fully satisfied with a brisk
allusion of which she alone knew the meaning. Francis finished turning
up and fastening Nana's hair. He bowed and said:

"I'll keep my eye on the evening papers. At half-past five as usual,
eh?"

"Bring me a pot of pomade and a pound of burnt almonds from Boissier's,"
Nana cried to him across the drawing room just as he was shutting the
door after him.

Then the two women, once more alone, recollected that they had not