“Upstairs in a dressing room. Yes, she has, indeed, and with such distinction! She’s got a way of glancing at you as she goes by you—something like this, you know!”
And eggcup in hand, he endeavored to imitate Nana, quite forgetting his dignity in his frantic desire to convince the others. Fauchery gazed at him in a state of stupefaction. He understood it all now, and his anger had ceased. The count felt that he was looking at him mockingly and pityingly, and he paused with a slight blush on his face.
“Egad, it’s quite possible!” muttered the author complaisantly. “Perhaps she would do very well, only the part’s been assigned. We can’t take it away from Rose.”
“Oh, if that’s all the trouble,” said Bordenave, “I’ll undertake to arrange matters.”
But presently, seeing them both against him and guessing that Bordenave had some secret interest at stake, the young man thought to avoid aquiescence by redoubling the violence of his refusal. The consultation was on the verge of being broken up.
“Oh, dear! No, no! Even if the part were unassigned I should never give it her! There, is that plain? Do let me alone; I have no wish to ruin my play!”
He lapsed into silent embarrassment. Bordenave, deeming himself DE TROP, went away, but the count remained with bowed head. He raised it with an effort and said in a breaking voice:
“Supposing, my dear fellow, I were to ask this of you as a favor?”
“I cannot, I cannot,” Fauchery kept repeating as he writhed to get free.
Muffat’s voice became harder.