“Vandeuvres—oh, let him be. He’s a gone coon!” La Faloise disdainfully rejoined. “He jolly well choused himself, he did, if he thought he could make us sit up with his roast-meat story! Not a soul mentions it now. Blotted out, done for, buried—that’s what’s the matter with Vandeuvres! Here’s to the next man!”
Then as Steiner shook hands with him:
“You know Nana’s just arrived. Oh, my boys, it was a state entry. It was too brilliant for anything! First of all she kissed the countess. Then when the children came up she gave them her blessing and said to Daguenet, ‘Listen, Paul, if you go running after the girls you’ll have to answer for it to me.’ What, d’you mean to say you didn’t see that? Oh, it WAS smart. A success, if you like!”
The other two listened to him, openmouthed, and at last burst out laughing. He was enchanted and thought himself in his best vein.
“You thought it had really happened, eh? Confound it, since Nana’s made the match! Anyway, she’s one of the family.”
The young Hugons were passing, and Philippe silenced him. And with that they chatted about the marriage from the male point of view. Georges was vexed with La Faloise for telling an anecdote. Certainly Nana had fubbed off on Muffat one of her old flames as son-in-law; only it was not true that she had been to bed with Daguenet as lately as yesterday. Foucarmont made bold to shrug his shoulders. Could anyone ever tell when Nana was in bed with anyone? But Georges grew excited and answered with an “I can tell, sir!” which set them all laughing. In a word, as Steiner put it, it was all a very funny kettle of fish!
The buffet was gradually invaded by the crowd, and, still keeping together, they vacated their positions there. La Faloise stared brazenly at the women as though he believed himself to be Mabille. At the end of a garden walk the little band was surprised to find M. Venot busily conferring with Daguenet, and with that they indulged in some facile pleasantries which made them very merry. He was confessing him, giving him advice about the bridal night! Presently they returned in front of one of the drawing-room doors, within which a polka was sending the couples whirling to and fro till they seemed to leave a wake behind them among the crowd of men who remained standing about. In the slight puffs of air which came from outside the tapers flared up brilliantly, and when a dress floated by in time to the rat-tat of the measure, a little gust of wind cooled the sparkling heat which streamed down from the lusters.
“Egad, they’re not cold in there!” muttered La Faloise.
They blinked after emerging from the mysterious shadows of the garden. Then they pointed out to one another the Marquis de Chouard where he stood apart, his tall figure towering over the bare shoulders which surrounded him. His face was pale and very stern, and beneath its crown of scant white hair it wore an expression of lofty dignity. Scandalized by Count Muffat’s conduct, he had publicly broken off all intercourse with him and was by way of never again setting foot in the house. If he had consented to put in an appearance that evening it was because his granddaughter had begged him to. But he disapproved of her marriage and had inveighed indignantly against the way in which the government classes were being disorganized by the shameful compromises engendered by modern debauchery.
“Ah, it’s the end of all things,” Mme du Joncquoy whispered in Mme Chantereau’s ear as she sat near the fireplace. “That bad woman has bewitched the unfortunate man. And to think we once knew him such a true believer, such a noblehearted gentleman!”