The two men bowed and seated themselves.  A blind of embroidered tulle kept the little room in twilight.  It was the most elegant chamber in the flat, for it was hung with some light-colored fabric and contained a cheval glass framed in inlaid wood, a lounge chair and some others with arms and blue satin upholsteries.  On the toilet table the bouquets—­roses, lilacs and hyacinths—­appeared like a very ruin of flowers.  Their perfume was strong and penetrating, while through the dampish air of the place, which was full of the spoiled exhalations of the washstand, came occasional whiffs of a more pungent scent, the scent of some grains or dry patchouli ground to fine powder at the bottom of a cup.  And as she gathered herself together and drew up her dressing jacket, which had been ill fastened, Nana had all the appearance of having been surprised at her toilet:  her skin was still damp; she smiled and looked quite startled amid her frills and laces.

“Madame, you will pardon our insistence,” said the Count Muffat gravely.  “We come on a quest.  Monsieur and I are members of the Benevolent Organization of the district.”

The Marquis de Chouard hastened gallantly to add: 

“When we learned that a great artiste lived in this house we promised ourselves that we would put the claims of our poor people before her in a very special manner.  Talent is never without a heart.”

Nana pretended to be modest.  She answered them with little assenting movements of her head, making rapid reflections at the same time.  It must be the old man that had brought the other one:  he had such wicked eyes.  And yet the other was not to be trusted either:  the veins near his temples were so queerly puffed up.  He might quite well have come by himself.  Ah, now that she thought of it, it was this way:  the porter had given them her name, and they had egged one another on, each with his own ends in view.

“Most certainly, gentlemen, you were quite right to come up,” she said with a very good grace.

But the electric bell made her tremble again.  Another call, and that Zoe always opening the door!  She went on: 

“One is only too happy to be able to give.”

At bottom she was flattered.

“Ah, madame,” rejoined the marquis, “if only you knew about it! there’s such misery!  Our district has more than three thousand poor people in it, and yet it’s one of the richest.  You cannot picture to yourself anything like the present distress—­children with no bread, women ill, utterly without assistance, perishing of the cold!”

“The poor souls!” cried Nana, very much moved.

Such was her feeling of compassion that tears flooded her fine eyes.  No longer studying deportment, she leaned forward with a quick movement, and under her open dressing jacket her neck became visible, while the bent position of her knees served to outline the rounded contour of the thigh under the thin fabric of her skirt.  A little flush of blood appeared in the marquis’s cadaverous cheeks.  Count Muffat, who was on the point of speaking, lowered his eyes.  The air of that little room was too hot:  it had the close, heavy warmth of a greenhouse.  The roses were withering, and intoxicating odors floated up from the patchouli in the cup.