the bedroom door, which had remained ajar.  Silence reigned, broken only by a sound of whispering.  The Count de Vandeuvres certainly knew who the gentleman was, for they both exchanged a discreet handgrip, but to the questions which the women asked him he replied by a smile only.  Thereupon Caroline Hequet wagered in a low voice that it was an English lord who was on the eve of returning to London to be married.  She knew him quite well—­she had had him.  And this account of the matter went the round of the ladies present, Maria Blond alone asserting that, for her part, she recognized a German ambassador.  She could prove it, because he often passed the night with one of her friends.  Among the men his measure was taken in a few rapid phrases.  A real swell, to judge by his looks!  Perhaps he would pay for the supper!  Most likely.  It looked like it.  Bah!  Provided only the supper was a good one!  In the end the company remained undecided.  Nay, they were already beginning to forget the old white-bearded gentleman when the manager opened the door of the large drawing room.

“Supper is on the table, madame.”

Nana had already accepted Steiner’s proffered arm without noticing a movement on the part of the old gentleman, who started to walk behind her in solitary state.  Thus the march past could not be organized, and men and women entered anyhow, joking with homely good humor over this absence of ceremony.  A long table stretched from one end to the other of the great room, which had been entirely cleared of furniture, and this same table was not long enough, for the plates thereon were touching one another.  Four candelabra, with ten candles apiece, lit up the supper, and of these one was gorgeous in silver plate with sheaves of flowers to right and left of it.  Everything was luxurious after the restaurant fashion; the china was ornamented with a gold line and lacked the customary monogram; the silver had become worn and tarnished through dint of continual washings; the glass was of the kind that you can complete an odd set of in any cheap emporium.

The scene suggested a premature housewarming in an establishment newly smiled on by fortune and as yet lacking the necessary conveniences.  There was no central luster, and the candelabra, whose tall tapers had scarcely burned up properly, cast a pale yellow light among the dishes and stands on which fruit, cakes and preserves alternated symmetrically.

“You sit where you like, you know,” said Nana.  “It’s more amusing that way.”

She remained standing midway down the side of the table.  The old gentleman whom nobody knew had placed himself on her right, while she kept Steiner on her left hand.  Some guests were already sitting down when the sound of oaths came from the little drawing room.  It was Bordenave.  The company had forgotten him, and he was having all the trouble in the world to raise himself out of his two armchairs, for he was howling amain and calling for that cat of a Simonne, who had slipped off with the rest.  The women ran in to him, full of pity for his woes, and Bordenave appeared, supported, nay, almost carried, by Caroline, Clarisse, Tatan Nene and Maria Blond.  And there was much to-do over his installation at the table.