“Nothing, only a bouquet.”

Notwithstanding which, the old ladies laughed between two of their tricks when they heard her describe the looks of the creditors in the anteroom after the flowers had arrived.  Madame would find her bouquets on her toilet table.  What a pity it was they cost such a lot and that you could only get ten sous for them!  Oh dear, yes, plenty of money was wasted!

“For my part,” said Mme Maloir, “I should be quite content if every day of my life I got what the men in Paris had spent on flowers for the women.”

“Now, you know, you’re not hard to please,” murmured Mme Lerat.  “Why, one would have only just enough to buy thread with.  Four queens, my dear.”

It was ten minutes to four.  Zoe was astonished, could not understand why her mistress was out so long.  Ordinarily when Madame found herself obliged to go out in the afternoons she got it over in double-quick time.  But Mme Maloir declared that one didn’t always manage things as one wished.  Truly, life was beset with obstacles, averred Mme Lerat.  The best course was to wait.  If her niece was long in coming it was because her occupations detained her; wasn’t it so?  Besides, they weren’t overworked—­it was comfortable in the kitchen.  And as hearts were out, Mme Lerat threw down diamonds.

The bell began again, and when Zoe reappeared she was burning with excitement.

“My children, it’s fat Steiner!” she said in the doorway, lowering her voice as she spoke.  “I’ve put him in the little sitting room.”

Thereupon Mme Maloir spoke about the banker to Mme Lerat, who knew no such gentleman.  Was he getting ready to give Rose Mignon the go-by?  Zoe shook her head; she knew a thing or two.  But once more she had to go and open the door.

“Here’s bothers!” she murmured when she came back.  “It’s the nigger!  ’Twasn’t any good telling him that my lady’s gone out, and so he’s settled himself in the bedroom.  We only expected him this evening.”

At a quarter past four Nana was not in yet.  What could she be after?  It was silly of her!  Two other bouquets were brought round, and Zoe, growing bored looked to see if there were any coffee left.  Yes, the ladies would willingly finish off the coffee; it would waken them up.  Sitting hunched up on their chairs, they were beginning to fall asleep through dint of constantly taking their cards between their fingers with the accustomed movement.  The half-hour sounded.  Something must decidedly have happened to Madame.  And they began whispering to each other.

Suddenly Mme Maloir forgot herself and in a ringing voice announced:  “I’ve the five hundred!  Trumps, Major Quint!”

“Oh, do be quiet!” said Zoe angrily.  “What will all those gentlemen think?” And in the silence which ensued and amid the whispered muttering of the two old women at strife over their game, the sound of rapid footsteps ascended from the back stairs.  It was Nana at last.  Before she had opened the door her breathlessness became audible.  She bounced abruptly in, looking very red in the face.  Her skirt, the string of which must have been broken, was trailing over the stairs, and her flounces had just been dipped in a puddle of something unpleasant which had oozed out on the landing of the first floor, where the servant girl was a regular slut.