When he had helped her she sighed and felt more comfortable.  And with that she harked back to the subject.  What a pretty sight a divorce suit would be!  Couldn’t he imagine the advocate of the countess amusing Paris with his remarks about Nana?  Everything would have come out—­her fiasco at the Varietes, her house, her manner of life.  Oh dear, no!  She had no wish for all that amount of advertising.  Some dirty women might, perhaps, have driven him to it for the sake of getting a thundering big advertisement, but she—­she desired his happiness before all else.  She had drawn him down toward her and, after passing her arm around his neck, was nursing his head close to hers on the edge of the pillow.  And with that she whispered softly: 

“Listen, my pet, you shall make it up with your wife.”

But he rebelled at this.  It could never be!  His heart was nigh breaking at the thought; it was too shameful.  Nevertheless, she kept tenderly insisting.

“You shall make it up with your wife.  Come, come, you don’t want to hear all the world saying that I’ve tempted you away from your home?  I should have too vile a reputation!  What would people think of me?  Only swear that you’ll always love me, because the moment you go with another woman—­”

Tears choked her utterance, and he intervened with kisses and said: 

“You’re beside yourself; it’s impossible!”

“Yes, yes,” she rejoined, “you must.  But I’ll be reasonable.  After all, she’s your wife, and it isn’t as if you were to play me false with the firstcomer.”

And she continued in this strain, giving him the most excellent advice.  She even spoke of God, and the count thought he was listening to M. Venot, when that old gentleman endeavored to sermonize him out of the grasp of sin.  Nana, however, did not speak of breaking it off entirely:  she preached indulgent good nature and suggested that, as became a dear, nice old fellow, he should divide his attentions between his wife and his mistress, so that they would all enjoy a quiet life, devoid of any kind of annoyance, something, in fact, in the nature of a happy slumber amid the inevitable miseries of existence.  Their life would be nowise changed:  he would still be the little man of her heart.  Only he would come to her a bit less often and would give the countess the nights not passed with her.  She had got to the end of her strength and left off, speaking under her breath: 

“After that I shall feel I’ve done a good action, and you’ll love me all the more.”

Silence reigned.  She had closed her eyes and lay wan upon her pillow.  The count was patiently listening to her, not wishing her to tire herself.  A whole minute went by before she reopened her eyes and murmured: 

“Besides, how about the money?  Where would you get the money from if you must grow angry and go to law?  Labordette came for the bill yesterday.  As for me, I’m out of everything; I have nothing to put on now.”