Presently there was a commotion, for Simonne, while listening to a story Clarisse was telling her, cried out: 

“My!  It’s the Tricon!”

It was indeed the Tricon, wearing the same old curls and looking as like a litigious great lady as ever.

When she saw Nana she went straight up to her.

“No,” said the latter after some rapid phrases had been exchanged, “not now.”  The old lady looked grave.  Just then Prulliere passed by and shook hands with her, while two little chorus girls stood gazing at her with looks of deep emotion.  For a moment she seemed to hesitate.  Then she beckoned to Simonne, and the rapid exchange of sentences began again.

“Yes,” said Simonne at last.  “In half an hour.”

But as she was going upstairs again to her dressing room, Mme Bron, who was once more going the rounds with letters, presented one to her.  Bordenave lowered his voice and furiously reproached the portress for having allowed the Tricon to come in.  That woman!  And on such an evening of all others!  It made him so angry because His Highness was there!  Mme Bron, who had been thirty years in the theater, replied quite sourly.  How was she to know? she asked.  The Tricon did business with all the ladies—­M. le Directeur had met her a score of times without making remarks.  And while Bordenave was muttering oaths the Tricon stood quietly by, scrutinizing the prince as became a woman who weighs a man at a glance.  A smile lit up her yellow face.  Presently she paced slowly off through the crowd of deeply deferential little women.

“Immediately, eh?” she queried, turning round again to Simonne.

Simonne seemed much worried.  The letter was from a young man to whom she had engaged herself for that evening.  She gave Mme Bron a scribbled note in which were the words, “Impossible tonight, darling—­I’m booked.”  But she was still apprehensive; the young man might possibly wait for her in spite of everything.  As she was not playing in the third act, she had a mind to be off at once and accordingly begged Clarisse to go and see if the man were there.  Clarisse was only due on the stage toward the end of the act, and so she went downstairs while Simonne ran up for a minute to their common dressing room.

In Mme Bron’s drinking bar downstairs a super, who was charged with the part of Pluto, was drinking in solitude amid the folds of a great red robe diapered with golden flames.  The little business plied by the good portress must have been progressing finely, for the cellarlike hole under the stairs was wet with emptied heeltaps and water.  Clarisse picked up the tunic of Iris, which was dragging over the greasy steps behind her, but she halted prudently at the turn in the stairs and was content simply to crane forward and peer into the lodge.  She certainly had been quick to scent things out!  Just fancy!  That idiot La Faloise was still there, sitting on the same old chair between the table and the stove!