The two greenroom doors stood wide open to the corridor leading to the wings.  And along the yellow wall, which was brightly lit up by a gas lamp out of view, passed a string of rapidly moving shadows—­men in costume, women with shawls over their scant attire, in a word, the whole of the characters in the second act, who would shortly make their appearance as masqeuraders in the ball at the Boule Noire.  And at the end of the corridor became audible a shuffling of feet as these people clattered down the five wooden steps which led to the stage.  As the big Clarisse went running by Simonne called to her, but she said she would be back directly.  And, indeed, she reappeared almost at once, shivering in the thin tunic and scarf which she wore as Iris.

“God bless me!” she said.  “It isn’t warm, and I’ve left my furs in my dressing room!”

Then as she stood toasting her legs in their warm rose-colored tights in front of the fireplace she resumed: 

“The prince has arrived.”

“Oh!” cried the rest with the utmost curiosity.

“Yes, that’s why I ran down:  I wanted to see.  He’s in the first stage box to the right, the same he was in on Thursday.  It’s the third time he’s been this week, eh?  That’s Nana; well, she’s in luck’s way!  I was willing to wager he wouldn’t come again.”

Simonne opened her lips to speak, but her remarks were drowned by a fresh shout which arose close to the greenroom.  In the passage the callboy was yelling at the top of his shrill voice, “They’ve knocked!”

“Three times!” said Simonne when she was again able to speak.  “It’s getting exciting.  You know, he won’t go to her place; he takes her to his.  And it seems that he has to pay for it too!”

“Egad!  It’s a case of when one ‘has to go out,’” muttered Prulliere wickedly, and he got up to have a last look at the mirror as became a handsome fellow whom the boxes adored.

“They’ve knocked!  They’ve knocked!” the callboy kept repeating in tones that died gradually away in the distance as he passed through the various stories and corridors.

Fontan thereupon, knowing how it had all gone off on the first occasion the prince and Nana met, told the two women the whole story while they in their turn crowded against him and laughed at the tops of their voices whenever he stooped to whisper certain details in their ears.  Old Bosc had never budged an inch—­he was totally indifferent.  That sort of thing no longer interested him now.  He was stroking a great tortoise-shell cat which was lying curled up on the bench.  He did so quite beautifully and ended by taking her in his arms with the tender good nature becoming a worn-out monarch.  The cat arched its back and then, after a prolonged sniff at the big white beard, the gluey odor of which doubtless disgusted her, she turned and, curling herself up, went to sleep again on the bench beside him.  Bosc remained grave and absorbed.