When he returned to the prince’s presence the latter asked what was the matter.

“Oh, nothing at all,” he murmured quietly.

Nana was standing wrapped in furs, talking to these gentlemen while awaiting her cue.  As Count Muffat was coming up in order to peep between two of the wings at the stage, he understood from a sign made him by the stage manager that he was to step softly.  Drowsy warmth was streaming down from the flies, and in the wings, which were lit by vivid patches of light, only a few people remained, talking in low voices or making off on tiptoe.  The gasman was at his post amid an intricate arrangement of cocks; a fireman, leaning against the side lights, was craning forward, trying to catch a glimpse of things, while on his seat, high up, the curtain man was watching with resigned expression, careless of the play, constantly on the alert for the bell to ring him to his duty among the ropes.  And amid the close air and the shuffling of feet and the sound of whispering, the voices of the actors on the stage sounded strange, deadened, surprisingly discordant.  Farther off again, above the confused noises of the band, a vast breathing sound was audible.  It was the breath of the house, which sometimes swelled up till it burst in vague rumors, in laughter, in applause.  Though invisible, the presence of the public could be felt, even in the silences.

“There’s something open,” said Nana sharply, and with that she tightened the folds of her fur cloak.  “Do look, Barillot.  I bet they’ve just opened a window.  Why, one might catch one’s death of cold here!”

Barillot swore that he had closed every window himself but suggested that possibly there were broken panes about.  The actors were always complaining of drafts.  Through the heavy warmth of that gaslit region blasts of cold air were constantly passing—­it was a regular influenza trap, as Fontan phrased it.

“I should like to see you in a low-cut dress,” continued Nana, growing annoyed.

“Hush!” murmured Bordenave.

On the stage Rose rendered a phrase in her duet so cleverly that the stalls burst into universal applause.  Nana was silent at this, and her face grew grave.  Meanwhile the count was venturing down a passage when Barillot stopped him and said he would make a discovery there.  Indeed, he obtained an oblique back view of the scenery and of the wings which had been strengthened, as it were, by a thick layer of old posters.  Then he caught sight of a corner of the stage, of the Etna cave hollowed out in a silver mine and of Vulcan’s forge in the background.  Battens, lowered from above, lit up a sparkling substance which had been laid on with large dabs of the brush.  Side lights with red glasses and blue were so placed as to produce the appearance of a fiery brazier, while on the floor of the stage, in the far background, long lines of gaslight had been laid down in order to throw a wall of dark rocks into sharp relief.  Hard by on a gentle, “practicable” incline, amid little points of light resembling the illumination lamps scattered about in the grass on the night of a public holiday, old Mme Drouard, who played Juno, was sitting dazed and sleepy, waiting for her cue.