“Oh, well and good!” said the countess, laughing.  “If we only can get Monsieur de Vandeuvres!  But he’s too much engaged.”

“And Philippe?” queried Muffat.

“Philippe has asked for a furlough,” replied the old lady, “but without doubt you won’t be at Les Fondettes any longer when he arrives.”

The coffee was served.  Paris was now the subject of conversation, and Steiner’s name was mentioned, at which Mme Hugon gave a little cry.

“Let me see,” she said; “Monsieur Steiner is that stout man I met at your house one evening.  He’s a banker, is he not?  Now there’s a detestable man for you!  Why, he’s gone and bought an actress an estate about a league from here, over Gumieres way, beyond the Choue.  The whole countryside’s scandalized.  Did you know about that, my friend?”

“I knew nothing about it,” replied Muffat.  “Ah, then, Steiner’s bought a country place in the neighborhood!”

Hearing his mother broach the subject, Georges looked into his coffee cup, but in his astonishment at the count’s answer he glanced up at him and stared.  Why was he lying so glibly?  The count, on his side, noticed the young fellow’s movement and gave him a suspicious glance.  Mme Hugon continued to go into details:  the country place was called La Mignotte.  In order to get there one had to go up the bank of the Choue as far as Gumieres in order to cross the bridge; otherwise one got one’s feet wet and ran the risk of a ducking.

“And what is the actress’s name?” asked the countess.

“Oh, I wasn’t told,” murmured the old lady.  “Georges, you were there the morning the gardener spoke to us about it.”

Georges appeared to rack his brains.  Muffat waited, twirling a teaspoon between his fingers.  Then the countess addressed her husband: 

“Isn’t Monsieur Steiner with that singer at the Varietes, that Nana?”

“Nana, that’s the name!  A horrible woman!” cried Mme Hugon with growing annoyance.  “And they are expecting her at La Mignotte.  I’ve heard all about it from the gardener.  Didn’t the gardener say they were expecting her this evening, Georges?”

The count gave a little start of astonishment, but Georges replied with much vivacity: 

“Oh, Mother, the gardener spoke without knowing anything about it.  Directly afterward the coachman said just the opposite.  Nobody’s expected at La Mignotte before the day after tomorrow.”

He tried hard to assume a natural expression while he slyly watched the effect of his remarks on the count.  The latter was twirling his spoon again as though reassured.  The countess, her eyes fixed dreamily on the blue distances of the park, seemed to have lost all interest in the conversation.  The shadow of a smile on her lips, she seemed to be following up a secret thought which had been suddenly awakened within her.  Estelle, on the other hand, sitting stiffly on her chair, had heard all that had been said about Nana, but her white, virginal face had not betrayed a trace of emotion.