She had gone and opened the door, but he did not leave.  That was her way now of binding him more closely to her.  For no reason whatever, at the slightest approach to a quarrel she would tell him he might stop or go as he liked, and she would accompany her permission with a flood of odious reflections.  She said she could always find better than he; she had only too many from whom to choose; men in any quantity could be picked up in the street, and men a good deal smarter, too, whose blood boiled in their veins.  At this he would hang his head and wait for those gentler moods when she wanted money.  She would then become affectionate, and he would forget it all, one night of tender dalliance making up for the tortures of a whole week.  His reconciliation with his wife had rendered his home unbearable.  Fauchery, having again fallen under Rose’s dominion, the countess was running madly after other loves.  She was entering on the forties, that restless, feverish time in the life of women, and ever hysterically nervous, she now filled her mansion with the maddening whirl of her fashionable life.  Estelle, since her marriage, had seen nothing of her father; the undeveloped, insignificant girl had suddenly become a woman of iron will, so imperious withal that Daguenet trembled in her presence.  In these days he accompanied her to mass:  he was converted, and he raged against his father-in-law for ruining them with a courtesan.  M. Venot alone still remained kindly inclined toward the count, for he was biding his time.  He had even succeeded in getting into Nana’s immediate circle.  In fact, he frequented both houses, where you encountered his continual smile behind doors.  So Muffat, wretched at home, driven out by ennui and shame, still preferred to live in the Avenue de Villiers, even though he was abused there.

Soon there was but one question between Nana and the count, and that was “money.”  One day after having formally promised her ten thousand francs he had dared keep his appointment empty handed.  For two days past she had been surfeiting him with love, and such a breach of faith, such a waste of caresses, made her ragingly abusive.  She was white with fury.

“So you’ve not got the money, eh?  Then go back where you came from, my little rough, and look sharp about it!  There’s a bloody fool for you!  He wanted to kiss me again!  Mark my words—­no money, no nothing!”

He explained matters; he would be sure to have the money the day after tomorrow.  But she interrupted him violently: 

“And my bills!  They’ll sell me up while Monsieur’s playing the fool.  Now then, look at yourself.  D’ye think I love you for your figure?  A man with a mug like yours has to pay the women who are kind enough to put up with him.  By God, if you don’t bring me that ten thousand francs tonight you shan’t even have the tip of my little finger to suck.  I mean it!  I shall send you back to your wife!”