But Nana was gathering herself together.  A little thrill of tenderness seemed to have traversed her members.  Her eyes were moist; she tried, as it were, to make herself small, as though she could feel herself better thus.  Then she threw her head and bosom back and, melting, as it were, in one great bodily caress, she rubbed her cheeks coaxingly, first against one shoulder, then against the other.  Her lustful mouth breathed desire over her limbs.  She put out her lips, kissed herself long in the neighborhood of her armpit and laughed at the other Nana who also was kissing herself in the mirror.

Then Muffat gave a long sigh.  This solitary pleasure exasperated him.  Suddenly all his resolutions were swept away as though by a mighty wind.  In a fit of brutal passion he caught Nana to his breast and threw her down on the carpet.

“Leave me alone!” she cried.  “You’re hurting me!”

He was conscious of his undoing; he recognized in her stupidity, vileness and falsehood, and he longed to possess her, poisoned though she was.

“Oh, you’re a fool!” she said savagely when he let her get up.

Nevertheless, she grew calm.  He would go now.  She slipped on a nightgown trimmed with lace and came and sat down on the floor in front of the fire.  It was her favorite position.  When she again questioned him about Fauchery’s article Muffat replied vaguely, for he wanted to avoid a scene.  Besides, she declared that she had found a weak spot in Fauchery.  And with that she relapsed into a long silence and reflected on how to dismiss the count.  She would have liked to do it in an agreeable way, for she was still a good-natured wench, and it bored her to cause others pain, especially in the present instance where the man was a cuckold.  The mere thought of his being that had ended by rousing her sympathies!

“So you expect your wife tomorrow morning?” she said at last.

Muffat had stretched himself in an armchair.  He looked drowsy, and his limbs were tired.  He gave a sign of assent.  Nana sat gazing seriously at him with a dull tumult in her brain.  Propped on one leg, among her slightly rumpled laces she was holding one of her bare feet between her hands and was turning it mechanically about and about.

“Have you been married long?” she asked.

“Nineteen years,” replied the count

“Ah!  And is your wife amiable?  Do you get on comfortably together?”

He was silent.  Then with some embarrassment: 

“You know I’ve begged you never to talk of those matters.”

“Dear me, why’s that?” she cried, beginning to grow vexed directly.  “I’m sure I won’t eat your wife if I do talk about her.  Dear boy, why, every woman’s worth—­”

But she stopped for fear of saying too much.  She contented herself by assuming a superior expression, since she considered herself extremely kind.  The poor fellow, he needed delicate handling!  Besides, she had been struck by a laughable notion, and she smiled as she looked him carefully over.