She folded up some lace and said slowly: "You're wrong; Madame will manage it all." And then the conversation ended; they said not another word.

Still she did not leave the room.

A long quarter of an hour passed, and she turned round again without seeming to notice the look of exasperation overspreading the lad's face, which was already white with the effects of uncertainty and constraint.

He was casting sidelong glances in the direction of the drawing room.
Maybe Nana was still crying.

The other must have grown savage and have dealt her blows.