A memory he could not forget brought a faint glow to Fanchery's pale cheeks, and in his mind's eye he saw the property room bathed in greenish twilight and filled with dusty bric-a-brac.

And Muffat was there, eggcup in hand, making a clever use of his suspicions.
At this moment Muffat was no longer suspicious, and the last vestige of his dignity was crumbling in ruin.

Fauchery's fears were assuaged, and when he saw the frank gaiety of the countess he was seized with a desire to laugh.

The thing struck him as comic.
"Aha, here she is at last!" cried La Faloise, who did not abandon a jest when he thought it a good one.

"D'you see Nana coming in over there ?" "Hold your tongue, do, you idiot!" muttered Philippe.
"But I tell you, it is Nana! They're playing her waltz for her, by Jove! She's making her entry.