good note paper in her bedroom. An inkstand consisting of a bottle
of ink worth about three sous stood untidily on one of the pieces
of furniture, with a pen deep in rust beside it. The letter was for
Daguenet. Mme Maloir herself wrote in her bold English hand, "My darling
little man," and then she told him not to come tomorrow because "that
could not be" but hastened to add that "she was with him in thought at
every moment of the day, whether she were near or far away."

"And I end with 'a thousand kisses,'" she murmured.

Mme Lerat had shown her approval of each phrase with an emphatic nod.
Her eyes were sparkling; she loved to find herself in the midst of love
affairs. Nay, she was seized with a desire to add some words of her own
and, assuming a tender look and cooing like a dove, she suggested:

"A thousand kisses on thy beautiful eyes."

"That's the thing: 'a thousand kisses on thy beautiful eyes'!" Nana
repeated, while the two old ladies assumed a beatified expression.

Zoe was rung for and told to take the letter down to a commissionaire.
She had just been talking with the theater messenger, who had brought
her mistress the day's playbill and rehearsal arrangements, which he had
forgotten in the morning. Nana had this individual ushered in and got
him to take the latter to Daguenet on his return. Then she put questions
to him. Oh yes! M. Bordenave was very pleased; people had already taken
seats for a week to come; Madame had no idea of the number of people who
had been asking her address since morning. When the man had taken his
departure Nana announced that at most she would only be out half an
hour. If there were any visitors Zoe would make them wait. As she spoke