La Faloise was waiting for Clarisse; Fauchery had promised to catch up Lucy Stewart with Caroline Hequet and her mother.

They came; they took up a whole corner of the entrance hall and were laughing very loudly when the Muffats passed by them with an icy expression.

Bordenave had just then opened a little door and, peeping out, had obtained from Fauchery the formal promise of an article.

He was dripping with perspiration, his face blazed, as though he were drunk with success.
"You're good for two hundred nights," La Faloise said to him with civility.

"The whole of Paris will visit your theater." But Bordenave grew annoyed and, indicating with a jerk of his chin the public who filled the entrance hall--a herd of men with parched lips and ardent eyes, still burning with the enjoyment of Nana--he cried out violently: "Say 'my brothel,' you obstinate devil!".