Nana made a very bad lunch, for the scene had annoyed her.  Next time the man would have to be definitely got rid of.  A dozen times she had put his money aside for him, but it had as constantly melted away, sometimes in the purchase of flowers, at others in the shape of a subscription got up for the benefit of an old gendarme.  Besides, she was counting on Philippe and was astonished not to see him make his appearance with his two hundred francs.  It was regular bad luck, seeing that the day before yesterday she had again given Satin an outfit, a perfect trousseau this time, some twelve hundred francs’ worth of dresses and linen, and now she had not a louis remaining.

Toward two o’clock, when Nana was beginning to be anxious, Labordette presented himself.  He brought with him the designs for the bed, and this caused a diversion, a joyful interlude which made the young woman forget all her troubles.  She clapped her hands and danced about.  After which, her heart bursting wish curiosity, she leaned over a table in the drawing room and examined the designs, which Labordette proceeded to explain to her.

“You see,” he said, “this is the body of the bed.  In the middle here there’s a bunch of roses in full bloom, and then comes a garland of buds and flowers.  The leaves are to be in yellow and the roses in red-gold.  And here’s the grand design for the bed’s head; Cupids dancing in a ring on a silver trelliswork.”

But Nana interrupted him, for she was beside herself with ecstasy.

“Oh, how funny that little one is, that one in the corner, with his behind in the air!  Isn’t he now?  And what a sly laugh!  They’ve all got such dirty, wicked eyes!  You know, dear boy, I shall never dare play any silly tricks before them!”

Her pride was flattered beyond measure.  The goldsmiths had declared that no queen anywhere slept in such a bed.  However, a difficulty presented itself.  Labordette showed her two designs for the footboard, one of which reproduced the pattern on the sides, while the other, a subject by itself, represented Night wrapped in her veil and discovered by a faun in all her splendid nudity.  He added that if she chose this last subject the goldsmiths intended making Night in her own likeness.  This idea, the taste of which was rather risky, made her grow white with pleasure, and she pictured herself as a silver statuette, symbolic of the warm, voluptuous delights of darkness.

“Of course you will only sit for the head and shoulders,” said Labordette.

She looked quietly at him.

“Why?  The moment a work of art’s in question I don’t mind the sculptor that takes my likeness a blooming bit!”

Of course it must be understood that she was choosing the subject.  But at this he interposed.

“Wait a moment; it’s six thousand francs extra.”

“It’s all the same to me, by Jove!” she cried, bursting into a laugh.  “Hasn’t my little rough got the rhino?”