He thought of his wife who was staying in a country house near Macon, where her friend Mme de Chezelles had been ailing a good deal since the autumn.

The carriages in the roadway were rolling through a stream of mud.

The country, he thought, must be detestable in such vile weather.

But suddenly he became anxious and re-entered the hot, close passage down which he strode among the strolling people.

A thought struck him: if Nana were suspicious of his presence there she would be off along the Galerie Montmartre.
After that the count kept a sharp lookout at the very door of the theater, though he did not like this passage end, where he was afraid of being recognized.