She turned round and shouted: 

“Come in!”

At sight of the count she shut the window, for it was not warm, and there was no need for the eavesdropping Mme Bron to listen.  The pair gazed at one another gravely.  Then as the count still kept standing stiffly in front of her, looking ready to choke with emotion, she burst out laughing and said: 

“Well!  So you’re here again, you silly big beast!”

The tumult going on within him was so great that he seemed a man frozen to ice.  He addressed Nana as “madame” and esteemed himself happy to see her again.  Thereupon she became more familiar than ever in order to bounce matters through.

“Don’t do it in the dignified way!  You wanted to see me, didn’t you?  But you didn’t intend us to stand looking at one another like a couple of chinaware dogs.  We’ve both been in the wrong—­Oh, I certainly forgive you!”

And herewith they agreed not to talk of that affair again, Muffat nodding his assent as Nana spoke.  He was calmer now but as yet could find nothing to say, though a thousand things rose tumultuously to his lips.  Surprised at his apparent coldness, she began acting a part with much vigor.

“Come,” she continued with a faint smile, “you’re a sensible man!  Now that we’ve made our peace let’s shake hands and be good friends in future.”

“What?  Good friends?” he murmured in sudden anxiety.

“Yes; it’s idiotic, perhaps, but I should like you to think well of me.  We’ve had our little explanation out, and if we meet again we shan’t, at any rate look like a pair of boobies.”

He tried to interrupt her with a movement of the hand.

“Let me finish!  There’s not a man, you understand, able to accuse me of doing him a blackguardly turn; well, and it struck me as horrid to begin in your case.  We all have our sense of honor, dear boy.”

“But that’s not my meaning!” he shouted violently.  “Sit down—­listen to me!” And as though he were afraid of seeing her take her departure, he pushed her down on the solitary chair in the room.  Then he paced about in growing agitation.  The little dressing room was airless and full of sunlight, and no sound from the outside world disturbed its pleasant, peaceful, dampish atmosphere.  In the pauses of conversation the shrillings of the canary were alone audible and suggested the distant piping of a flute.

“Listen,” he said, planting himself in front of her, “I’ve come to possess myself of you again.  Yes, I want to begin again.  You know that well; then why do you talk to me as you do?  Answer me; tell me you consent.”

Her head was bent, and she was scratching the blood-red straw of the seat underneath her.  Seeing him so anxious, she did not hurry to answer.  But at last she lifted up her face.  It had assumed a grave expression, and into the beautiful eyes she had succeeded in infusing a look of sadness.

“Oh, it’s impossible, little man.  Never, never, will I live with you again.”