Without a word Muffat had gone back to the bench, his face still buried in his handkerchief.

The others burst into exclamations, but they were cut short, for a fresh band passed by, howling, "A BERLIN! A BERLIN! A BERLIN!" Nana dead! Hang it, and such a fine girl too! Mignon sighed and looked relieved, for at last Rose would come down.

A chill fell on the company.

Fontan, meditating a tragic role, had assumed a look of woe and was drawing down the corners of his mouth and rolling his eyes askance, while Fauchery chewed his cigar nervously, for despite his cheap journalistic chaff he was really touched.

Nevertheless, the two women continued to give vent to their feelings of surprise.