Satin went and lolled back in the depths of a sofa near the fireplace.  She had lit a cigarette, but Vandeuvres began amusing himself by pretending to be ferociously jealous.  Nay, he even threatened to send her his seconds if she still persisted in keeping Nana from her duty.  Philippe and Georges joined him and teased her and badgered her so mercilessly that at last she shouted out: 

“Darling!  Darling!  Do make ’em keep quiet!  They’re still after me!”

“Now then, let her be,” said Nana seriously.  “I won’t have her tormented; you know that quite well.  And you, my pet, why d’you always go mixing yourself up with them when they’ve got so little sense?”

Satin, blushing all over and putting out her tongue, went into the dressing room, through the widely open door of which you caught a glimpse of pale marbles gleaming in the milky light of a gas flame in a globe of rough glass.  After that Nana talked to the four men as charmingly as hostess could.  During the day she had read a novel which was at that time making a good deal of noise.  It was the history of a courtesan, and Nana was very indignant, declaring the whole thing to be untrue and expressing angry dislike to that kind of monstrous literature which pretends to paint from nature.  “Just as though one could describe everything,” she said.  Just as though a novel ought not to be written so that the reader may while away an hour pleasantly!  In the matter of books and of plays Nana had very decided opinions:  she wanted tender and noble productions, things that would set her dreaming and would elevate her soul.  Then allusion being made in the course of conversation to the troubles agitating Paris, the incendiary articles in the papers, the incipient popular disturbances which followed the calls to arms nightly raised at public meetings, she waxed wroth with the Republicans.  What on earth did those dirty people who never washed really want?  Were folks not happy?  Had not the emperor done everything for the people?  A nice filthy lot of people!  She knew ’em; she could talk about ’em, and, quite forgetting the respect which at dinner she had just been insisting should be paid to her humble circle in the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or, she began blackguarding her own class with all the terror and disgust peculiar to a woman who had risen successfully above it.  That very afternoon she had read in the Figaro an account of the proceedings at a public meeting which had verged on the comic.  Owing to the slang words that had been used and to the piggish behavior of a drunken man who had got himself chucked, she was laughing at those proceedings still.

“Oh, those drunkards!” she said with a disgusted air.  “No, look you here, their republic would be a great misfortune for everybody!  Oh, may God preserve us the emperor as long as possible!”

“God will hear your prayer, my dear,” Muffat replied gravely.  “To be sure, the emperor stands firm.”