“What’s up?” she demanded curtly.

“Nothing,” said her husband.  “Bordenave here is giving ten thousand francs in order to get you to give up your part.”

She grew tremulous with anger and very pale, and she clenched her little fists.  For some moments she stared at him, her whole nature in revolt.  Ordinarily in matters of business she was wont to trust everything obediently to her husband, leaving him to sign agreements with managers and lovers.  Now she could but cry: 

“Oh, come, you’re too base for anything!”

The words fell like a lash.  Then she sped away, and Mignon, in utter astonishment, ran after her.  What next?  Was she going mad?  He began explaining to her in low tones that ten thousand francs from one party and fifteen thousand from the other came to twenty-five thousand.  A splendid deal!  Muffat was getting rid of her in every sense of the word; it was a pretty trick to have plucked him of this last feather!  But Rose in her anger vouchsafed no answer.  Whereupon Mignon in disdain left her to her feminine spite and, turning to Bordenave, who was once more on the stage with Fauchery and Muffat, said: 

“We’ll sign tomorrow morning.  Have the money in readiness.”

At this moment Nana, to whom Labordette had brought the news, came down to the stage in triumph.  She was quite the honest woman now and wore a most distinguished expression in order to overwhelm her friends and prove to the idiots that when she chose she could give them all points in the matter of smartness.  But she nearly got into trouble, for at the sight of her Rose darted forward, choking with rage and stuttering: 

“Yes, you, I’ll pay you out!  Things can’t go on like this; d’you understand?” Nana forgot herself in face of this brisk attack and was going to put her arms akimbo and give her what for.  But she controlled herself and, looking like a marquise who is afraid of treading on an orange peel, fluted in still more silvery tones.

“Eh, what?” said she.  “You’re mad, my dear!”

And with that she continued in her graceful affectation while Rose took her departure, followed by Mignon, who now refused to recognize her.  Clarisse was enraptured, having just obtained the part of Geraldine from Bordenave.  Fauchery, on the other hand, was gloomy; he shifted from one foot to the other; he could not decide whether to leave the theater or no.  His piece was bedeviled, and he was seeking how best to save it.  But Nana came up, took him by both hands and, drawing him toward her, asked whether he thought her so very atrocious after all.  She wasn’t going to eat his play—­not she!  Then she made him laugh and gave him to understand that he would be foolish to be angry with her, in view of his relationship to the Muffats.  If, she said, her memory failed her she would take her lines from the prompter.  The house, too, would be packed in such a way as to ensure applause.  Besides, he was mistaken about her, and he would soon