Fauchery began smiling, as though once more at his
ease.
"Egad, they become the brides of God when they couldn't be their
cousin's," said Vandeuvres between his teeth.
The subject bored him, and he had rejoined Fauchery.
"My dear fellow, have you ever seen a woman who was really loved become
a nun?"
He did not wait for an answer, for he had had enough of the topic, and
in a hushed voice:
"Tell me," he said, "how many of us will there be tomorrow? There'll be
the Mignons, Steiner, yourself, Blanche and I; who else?"
"Caroline, I believe, and Simonne and Gaga without doubt. One never
knows exactly, does one? On such occasions one expects the party will
number twenty, and you're really thirty."
Vandeuvres, who was looking at the ladies, passed abruptly to another
subject:
"She must have been very nice-looking, that Du Joncquoy woman, some
fifteen years ago. Poor Estelle has grown lankier than ever. What a nice
lath to put into a bed!"
But interrupting himself, he returned to the subject of tomorrow's
supper.
"What's so tiresome of those shows is that it's always the same set of
women. One wants a novelty. Do try and invent a new girl. By Jove, happy
thought! I'll go and beseech that stout man to bring the woman he was
trotting about the other evening at the Varietes.
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