“That’s what one attains to when one has methodical habits!” said Mignon with an air of conviction, looking at his sons and improving the occasion.

Then everybody said his say.  Labordette thought her extraordinarily well preserved.  Maria Blond let slip a foul expression and vexed Lucy, who declared that one ought to honor gray hairs.  All the women, to sum up, agreed that she was a perfect marvel.  Then the company got into their conveyances again.  From Chamont all the way to La Mignotte Nana remained silent.  She had twice turned round to look back at the house, and now, lulled by the sound of the wheels, she forgot that Steiner was at her side and that Georges was in front of her.  A vision had come up out of the twilight, and the great lady seemed still to be sweeping by with all the majesty of a potent queen, full of years and of honors.

That evening Georges re-entered Les Fondettes in time for dinner.  Nana, who had grown increasingly absent-minded and singular in point of manner, had sent him to ask his mamma’s forgiveness.  It was his plain duty, she remarked severely, growing suddenly solicitous for the decencies of family life.  She even made him swear not to return for the night; she was tired, and in showing proper obedience he was doing no more than his duty.  Much bored by this moral discourse, Georges appeared in his mother’s presence with heavy heart and downcast head.

Fortunately for him his brother Philippe, a great merry devil of a military man, had arrived during the day, a fact which greatly curtailed the scene he was dreading.  Mme Hugon was content to look at him with eyes full of tears while Philippe, who had been put in possession of the facts, threatened to go and drag him home by the scruff of the neck if ever he went back into that woman’s society.  Somewhat comforted, Georges began slyly planning how to make his escape toward two o’clock next day in order to arrange about future meetings with Nana.

Nevertheless, at dinnertime the house party at Les Fondettes seemed not a little embarrassed.  Vandeuvres had given notice of departure, for he was anxious to take Lucy back to Paris with him.  He was amused at the idea of carrying off this girl whom he had known for ten years yet never desired.  The Marquis de Chouard bent over his plate and meditated on Gaga’s young lady.  He could well remember dandling Lili on his knee.  What a way children had of shooting up!  This little thing was becoming extremely plump!  But Count Muffat especially was silent and absorbed.  His cheeks glowed, and he had given Georges one long look.  Dinner over, he went upstairs, intending to shut himself in his bedroom, his pretext being a slight feverish attack.  M. Venot had rushed after him, and upstairs in the bedroom a scene ensued.  The count threw himself upon the bed and strove to stifle a fit of nervous sobbing in the folds of the pillow while M. Venot, in a soft voice, called him brother and advised him to implore heaven for mercy.  But he heard nothing:  there was a rattle in his throat.  Suddenly he sprang off the bed and stammered: