“You’re right, it’s enough to make one kick the bucket here,” said Fauchery to his cousin when he had made good his escape from the circle of ladies.  “We’ll hook it!”

But Steiner, deserted at last by the Count Muffat and the deputy, came up in a fury.  Drops of perspiration stood on his forehead, and he grumbled huskily: 

“Gad!  Let ’em tell me nothing, if nothing they want to tell me.  I shall find people who will talk.”

Then he pushed the journalist into a corner and, altering his tone, said in accents of victory: 

“It’s tomorrow, eh?  I’m of the party, my bully!”

“Indeed!” muttered Fauchery with some astonishment.

“You didn’t know about it.  Oh, I had lots of bother to find her at home.  Besides, Mignon never would leave me alone.”

“But they’re to be there, are the Mignons.”

“Yes, she told me so.  In fact, she did receive my visit, and she invited me.  Midnight punctually, after the play.”

The banker was beaming.  He winked and added with a peculiar emphasis on the words: 

“You’ve worked it, eh?”

“Eh, what?” said Fauchery, pretending not to understand him.  “She wanted to thank me for my article, so she came and called on me.”

“Yes, yes.  You fellows are fortunate.  You get rewarded.  By the by, who pays the piper tomorrow?”

The journalist made a slight outward movement with his arms, as though he would intimate that no one had ever been able to find out.  But Vandeuvres called to Steiner, who knew M. de Bismarck.  Mme du Joncquoy had almost convinced herself of the truth of her suppositions; she concluded with these words: 

“He gave me an unpleasant impression.  I think his face is evil.  But I am quite willing to believe that he has a deal of wit.  It would account for his successes.”

“Without doubt,” said the banker with a faint smile.  He was a Jew from Frankfort.

Meanwhile La Faloise at last made bold to question his cousin.  He followed him up and got inside his guard: 

“There’s supper at a woman’s tomorrow evening?  With which of them, eh?  With which of them?”

Fauchery motioned to him that they were overheard and must respect the conventions here.  The door had just been opened anew, and an old lady had come in, followed by a young man in whom the journalist recognized the truant schoolboy, perpetrator of the famous and as yet unforgotten “tres chic” of the Blonde Venus first night.  This lady’s arrival caused a stir among the company.  The Countess Sabine had risen briskly from her seat in order to go and greet her, and she had taken both her hands in hers and addressed her as her “dear Madame Hugon.”  Seeing that his cousin viewed this little episode with some curiosity, La Faloise sought to arouse his interest and in a few brief phrases explained the position.  Mme Hugon, widow of a notary, lived in retirement at Les Fondettes, an old