him.  The courtesans, as Vandeuvres used to say, avenged public morality by emptying his moneybags.  A big operation in the saltworks of the Landes had rendered him powerful on ’change, and so for six weeks past the Mignons had been getting a pretty slice out of those same saltworks.  But people were beginning to lay wagers that the Mignons would not finish their slice, for Nana was showing her white teeth.  Once again Steiner was in the toils, and so deeply this time that as he sat by Nana’s side he seemed stunned; he ate without appetite; his lip hung down; his face was mottled.  She had only to name a figure.  Nevertheless, she did not hurry but continued playing with him, breathing her merry laughter into his hairy ear and enjoying the little convulsive movements which kept traversing his heavy face.  There would always be time enough to patch all that up if that ninny of a Count Muffat were really to treat her as Joseph did Potiphar’s wife.

“Leoville or Chambertin?” murmured a waiter, who came craning forward between Nana and Steiner just as the latter was addressing her in a low voice.

“Eh, what?” he stammered, losing his head.  “Whatever you like—­I don’t care.”

Vandeuvres gently nudged Lucy Stewart, who had a very spiteful tongue and a very fierce invention when once she was set going.  That evening Mignon was driving her to exasperation.

“He would gladly be bottleholder, you know,” she remarked to the count.  “He’s in hopes of repeating what he did with little Jonquier.  You remember:  Jonquier was Rose’s man, but he was sweet on big Laure.  Now Mignon procured Laure for Jonquier and then came back arm in arm with him to Rose, as if he were a husband who had been allowed a little peccadillo.  But this time the thing’s going to fail.  Nana doesn’t give up the men who are lent her.”

“What ails Mignon that he should be looking at his wife in that severe way?” asked Vandeuvres.

He leaned forward and saw Rose growing exceedingly amorous toward Fauchery.  This was the explanation of his neighbor’s wrath.  He resumed laughingly: 

“The devil, are you jealous?”

“Jealous!” said Lucy in a fury.  “Good gracious, if Rose is wanting Leon I give him up willingly—­for what he’s worth!  That’s to say, for a bouquet a week and the rest to match!  Look here, my dear boy, these theatrical trollops are all made the same way.  Why, Rose cried with rage when she read Leon’s article on Nana; I know she did.  So now, you understand, she must have an article, too, and she’s gaining it.  As for me, I’m going to chuck Leon downstairs—­you’ll see!”

She paused to say “Leoville” to the waiter standing behind her with his two bottles and then resumed in lowered tones: 

“I don’t want to shout; it isn’t my style.  But she’s a cocky slut all the same.  If I were in her husband’s place I should lead her a lovely dance.  Oh, she won’t be very happy over it.  She doesn’t know my Fauchery:  a dirty gent he is, too, palling up with women like that so as to get on in the world.  Oh, a nice lot they are!”