“Oh, my dear, you’ve no idea!” she cried, almost throwing herself into Rose’s arms.  “Come and see it.”

All the women had to follow her.  She took their hands coaxingly and drew them along with her willy-nilly, accompanying her action with so frank an outburst of mirth that they all of them began laughing on trust.  The band vanished and returned after standing breathlessly for a second or two round Bordenave’s lordly, outstretched form.  And then there was a burst of laughter, and when one of them told the rest to be quiet Bordenave’s distant snorings became audible.

It was close on four o’clock.  In the dining room a card table had just been set out, at which Vandeuvres, Steiner, Mignon and Labordette had taken their seats.  Behind them Lucy and Caroline stood making bets, while Blanche, nodding with sleep and dissatisfied about her night, kept asking Vandeuvres at intervals of five minutes if they weren’t going soon.  In the drawing room there was an attempt at dancing.  Daguenet was at the piano or “chest of drawers,” as Nana called it.  She did not want a “thumper,” for Mimi would play as many waltzes and polkas as the company desired.  But the dance was languishing, and the ladies were chatting drowsily together in the corners of sofas.  Suddenly, however, there was an outburst of noise.  A band of eleven young men had arrived and were laughing loudly in the anteroom and crowding to the drawing room.  They had just come from the ball at the Ministry of the Interior and were in evening dress and wore various unknown orders.  Nana was annoyed at this riotous entry, called to the waiters who still remained in the kitchen and ordered them to throw these individuals out of doors.  She vowed that she had never seen any of them before.  Fauchery, Labordette, Daguenet and the rest of the men had all come forward in order to enforce respectful behavior toward their hostess.  Big words flew about; arms were outstretched, and for some seconds a general exchange of fisticuffs was imminent.  Notwithstanding this, however, a little sickly looking light-haired man kept insistently repeating: 

“Come, come, Nana, you saw us the other evening at Peters’ in the great red saloon!  Pray remember, you invited us.”

The other evening at Peters’?  She did not remember it all.  To begin with, what evening?

And when the little light-haired man had mentioned the day, which was Wednesday, she distinctly remembered having supped at Peters’ on the Wednesday, but she had given no invitation to anyone; she was almost sure of that.

“However, suppose you have invited them, my good girl,” murmured Labordette, who was beginning to have his doubts.  “Perhaps you were a little elevated.”