“Yes, yes, it’s true,” Mignon declared.
All round the table the gentlemen in question looked unimpeachable in the extreme, what with their evening dress and their pale features, the natural distinction of which was still further refined by fatigue. The old gentleman was as deliberate in his movements and wore as subtle a smile as though he were presiding over a diplomatic congress, and Vandeuvres, with his exquisite politeness toward the ladies next to him, seemed to be at one of the Countess Muffat’s receptions. That very morning Nana had been remarking to her aunt that in the matter of men one could not have done better—they were all either wellborn or wealthy, in fact, quite the thing. And as to the ladies, they were behaving admirably. Some of them, such as Blanche, Léa and Louise, had come in low dresses, but Gaga’s only was perhaps a little too low, the more so because at her age she would have done well not to show her neck at all. Now that the company were finally settled the laughter and the light jests began to fail. Georges was under the impression that he had assisted at merrier dinner parties among the good folks of Orleans. There was scarcely any conversation. The men, not being mutually acquainted, stared at one another, while the women sat quite quiet, and it was this which especially surprised Georges. He thought them all smugs—he had been under the impression that everybody would begin kissing at once.
The third course, consisting of a Rhine carp à la Chambord and a saddle of venison à l’anglaise, was being served when Blanche remarked aloud:
“Lucy, my dear, I met your Ollivier on Sunday. How he’s grown!”
“Dear me, yes! He’s eighteen,” replied Lucy. “It doesn’t make me feel any younger. He went back to his school yesterday.”
Her son Ollivier, whom she was wont to speak of with pride, was a pupil at the École de Marine. Then ensued a conversation about the young people, during which all the ladies waxed very tender. Nana described her own great happiness. Her baby, the little Louis, she said, was now at the house of her aunt, who brought him round to her every morning at eleven o’clock, when she would take him into her bed, where he played with her griffon dog Lulu. It was enough to make one die of laughing to see them both burying themselves under the clothes at the bottom of the bed. The company had no idea how cunning Louiset had already become.
“Oh, yesterday I did just pass a day!” said Rose Mignon in her turn. “Just imagine, I went to fetch Charles and Henry at their boarding school, and I had positively to take them to the theater at night. They jumped; they clapped their little hands: ‘We shall see Mamma act! We shall see Mamma act!’ Oh, it was a to-do!”
Mignon smiled complaisantly, his eyes moist with paternal tenderness.
“And at the play itself,” he continued, “they were so funny! They behaved as seriously as grown men, devoured Rose with their eyes and asked me why Mamma had her legs bare like that.”
The whole table began laughing, and Mignon looked radiant, for his pride as a father was flattered. He adored his children and had but one object in life, which was to increase their fortunes by administering the money gained by Rose at the theater and elsewhere with the businesslike severity of a faithful steward. When as first fiddle in the music hall where she used to sing he had married her, they had been passionately fond of one another. Now they were good friends. There was an understanding between them: she labored hard to the full extent of her talent and of her beauty; he had given up his violin in order the better to watch over her successes as an actress and as a woman. One could not have found a more homely and united household anywhere!