And Nana, seeing the frightful old woman, the wanton drowned in drink, had a sudden fit of recollection and saw far back amid the shadows of consciousness the vision of Chamont--Irma d'Anglars, the old harlot crowned with years and honors, ascending the steps in front of her chateau amid abjectly reverential villagers.

Then as Satin whistled again, making game of the old hag, who could not see her: "Do leave off; there are the police!" she murmured in changed tones.

"In with us, quick, my pet!" The measured steps were returning, and they shut the window.

Turning round again, shivering, and with the damp of night on her hair, Nana was momentarily astounded at sight of her drawing room.

It seemed as though she had forgotten it and were entering an unknown chamber.