"Supper is on the table, madame."
Nana had already accepted Steiner's proffered arm without noticing a
movement on the part of the old gentleman, who started to walk behind
her in solitary state. Thus the march past could not be organized, and
men and women entered anyhow, joking with homely good humor over this
absence of ceremony. A long table stretched from one end to the other of
the great room, which had been entirely cleared of furniture, and this
same table was not long enough, for the plates thereon were touching one
another. Four candelabra, with ten candles apiece, lit up the supper,
and of these one was gorgeous in silver plate with sheaves of flowers
to right and left of it. Everything was luxurious after the restaurant
fashion; the china was ornamented with a gold line and lacked the
customary monogram; the silver had become worn and tarnished through
dint of continual washings; the glass was of the kind that you can
complete an odd set of in any cheap emporium.
The scene suggested a premature housewarming in an establishment newly
smiled on by fortune and as yet lacking the necessary conveniences.
There was no central luster, and the candelabra, whose tall tapers had
scarcely burned up properly, cast a pale yellow light among the dishes
and stands on which fruit, cakes and preserves alternated symmetrically.
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