“You know, dear boy, I think Nana very nice.”

She wanted him to stay in the stage box for the last act, but he made his escape, promising to catch them at the door afterward.  Downstairs in front of the theater Fauchery and La Faloise lit cigarettes.  A great gathering blocked the sidewalk, a stream of men who had come down from the theater steps and were inhaling the fresh night air in the boulevards, where the roar and battle had diminished.

Meanwhile Mignon had drawn Steiner away to the Cafe des Varietes.  Seeing Nana’s success, he had set to work to talk enthusiastically about her, all the while observing the banker out of the corners of his eyes.  He knew him well; twice he had helped him to deceive Rose and then, the caprice being over, had brought him back to her, faithful and repentant.  In the cafe the too numerous crowd of customers were squeezing themselves round the marble-topped tables.  Several were standing up, drinking in a great hurry.  The tall mirrors reflected this thronging world of heads to infinity and magnified the narrow room beyond measure with its three chandeliers, its moleskin-covered seats and its winding staircase draped with red.  Steiner went and seated himself at a table in the first saloon, which opened full on the boulevard, its doors having been removed rather early for the time of year.  As Fauchery and La Faloise were passing the banker stopped them.

“Come and take a bock with us, eh?” they said.

But he was too preoccupied by an idea; he wanted to have a bouquet thrown to Nana.  At last he called a waiter belonging to the cafe, whom he familiarly addressed as Auguste.  Mignon, who was listening, looked at him so sharply that he lost countenance and stammered out: 

“Two bouquets, Auguste, and deliver them to the attendant.  A bouquet for each of these ladies!  Happy thought, eh?”

At the other end of the saloon, her shoulders resting against the frame of a mirror, a girl, some eighteen years of age at the outside, was leaning motionless in front of her empty glass as though she had been benumbed by long and fruitless waiting.  Under the natural curls of her beautiful gray-gold hair a virginal face looked out at you with velvety eyes, which were at once soft and candid.

She wore a dress of faded green silk and a round hat which blows had dinted.  The cool air of the night made her look very pale.

“Egad, there’s Satin,” murmured Fauchery when his eye lit upon her.

La Faloise questioned him.  Oh dear, yes, she was a streetwalker—­she didn’t count.  But she was such a scandalous sort that people amused themselves by making her talk.  And the journalist, raising his voice: 

“What are you doing there, Satin?”

“I’m bogging,” replied Satin quietly without changing position.

The four men were charmed and fell a-laughing.  Mignon assured them that there was no need to hurry; it would take twenty minutes to set up the scenery for the third act.  But the two cousins, having drunk their beer, wanted to go up into the theater again; the cold was making itself felt.  Then Mignon remained alone with Steiner, put his elbows on the table and spoke to him at close quarters.