Muffat seemed busy examining the eggcup, which he was still turning round and about.
"It's an eggcup," Bordenave obligingly came and remarked.
"Yes, to be sure! It's an eggeup," the count repeated.
"Excuse me, you're covered with dust," continued the manager, putting the thing back on a shelf.

"If one had to dust every day there'd be no end to it, you understand.

But it's hardly clean here--a filthy mess, eh?
Yet you may believe me or not when I tell you there's money in it.
Now look, just look at all that!" He walked Muffat round in front of the pigeonholes and shelves and in the greenish light which filtered through the courtyard, told him the names of different properties, for he was anxious to interest him in his marine-stores inventory, as he jocosely termed it.
Presently, when they had returned into Fauchery's neighborhood, he said carelessly enough: "Listen, since we're all of one mind, we'll finish the matter at once.
Here's Mignon, just when he's wanted." For some little time past Mignon had been prowling in the adjoining passage, and the very moment Bordenave began talking of a modification of their agreement he burst into wrathful protest.

It was infamous--they wanted to spoil his wife's career--he'd go to law about it! Bordenave, meanwhile, was extremely calm and full of reasons.

He did not think the part worthy of Rose, and he preferred to reserve her for an operetta, which was to be put on after the Petite Duchesse.