Then as they did not hurry in the least, for they were paralyzed:
“D’you mean to say I’m acting like a fool, eh? It’s likely enough! But you’ve bored me too much! And, hang it all, I’ve had enough of swelldom! If I die of what I’m doing—well, it’s my fancy!”
They sought to calm her; they begged her to listen to reason.
“Now then, once, twice, thrice! Won’t you go? Very well! Look there! I’ve got company.”
And with a brisk movement she flung wide the bedroom door. Whereupon in the middle of the tumbled bed the two men caught sight of Fontan. He had not expected to be shown off in this situation; nevertheless, he took things very easily, for he was used to sudden surprises on the stage. Indeed, after the first shock he even hit upon a grimace calculated to tide him honorably over his difficulty; he “turned rabbit,” as he phrased it, and stuck out his lips and wrinkled up his nose, so as completely to transform the lower half of his face. His base, satyrlike head seemed to exude incontinence. It was this man Fontan then whom Nana had been to fetch at the Varieties every day for a week past, for she was smitten with that fierce sort of passion which the grimacing ugliness of a low comedian is wont to inspire in the genus courtesan.
“There!” she said, pointing him out with tragic gesture.
Muffat, who hitherto had pocketed everything, rebelled at this affront.
“Bitch!” he stammered.
But Nana, who was once more in the bedroom, came back in order to have the last word.
“How am I a bitch? What about your wife?”