“That’s all right, but if I were you I should drink the champagne at the restaurant—­its better there,” he said, suddenly addressing Fontan when he had finished his recital.

“The curtain’s up!” cried the callboy in cracked and long-drawn accents “The curtain’s up!  The curtain’s up!”

The shout sounded for some moments, during which there had been a noise of rapid footsteps.  Through the suddenly opened door of the passage came a burst of music and a far-off murmur of voices, and then the door shut to again and you could hear its dull thud as it wedged itself into position once more.

A heavy, peaceful, atmosphere again pervaded the greenroom, as though the place were situated a hundred leagues from the house where crowds were applauding.  Simonne and Clarisse were still on the topic of Nana.  There was a girl who never hurried herself!  Why, yesterday she had again come on too late!  But there was a silence, for a tall damsel had just craned her head in at the door and, seeing that she had made a mistake, had departed to the other end of the passage.  It was Satin.  Wearing a hat and a small veil for the nonce she was affecting the manner of a lady about to pay a call.

“A pretty trollop!” muttered Prulliere, who had been coming across her for a year past at the Cafe des Varietes.  And at this Simonne told them how Nana had recognized in Satin an old schoolmate, had taken a vast fancy to her and was now plaguing Bordenave to let her make a first appearance on the stage.

“How d’ye do?” said Fontan, shaking hands with Mignon and Fauchery, who now came into the room.

Old Bosc himself gave them the tips of his fingers while the two women kissed Mignon.

“A good house this evening?” queried Fauchery.

“Oh, a splendid one!” replied Prulliere.  “You should see ’em gaping.”

“I say, my little dears,” remarked Mignon, “it must be your turn!”

Oh, all in good time!  They were only at the fourth scene as yet, but Bosc got up in obedience to instinct, as became a rattling old actor who felt that his cue was coming.  At that very moment the callboy was opening the door.

“Monsieur Bosc!” he called.  “Mademoiselle Simonne!”

Simonne flung a fur-lined pelisse briskly over her shoulders and went out.  Bosc, without hurrying at all, went and got his crown, which he settled on his brow with a rap.  Then dragging himself unsteadily along in his greatcoat, he took his departure, grumbling and looking as annoyed as a man who has been rudely disturbed.

“You were very amiable in your last notice,” continued Fontan, addressing Fauchery.  “Only why do you say that comedians are vain?”

“Yes, my little man, why d’you say that?” shouted Mignon, bringing down his huge hands on the journalist’s slender shoulders with such force as almost to double him up.