Nana, quite
forgetting that she was in her drawers and that a corner of her shift
stuck out behind, became the great lady, the queen of love, in act to
open her most private palace chambers to state dignitaries. In every
sentence she used the words "Royal Highness" and, bowing with the utmost
conviction, treated the masqueraders, Bosc and Prulliere, as if the
one were a sovereign and the other his attendant minister. And no one
dreamed of smiling at this strange contrast, this real prince, this heir
to a throne, drinking a petty actor's champagne and taking his ease amid
a carnival of gods, a masquerade of royalty, in the society of dressers
and courtesans, shabby players and showmen of venal beauty. Bordenave
was simply ravished by the dramatic aspects of the scene and began
dreaming of the receipts which would have accrued had His Highness only
consented thus to appear in the second act of the Blonde Venus.
"I say, shall we have our little women down?" he cried, becoming
familiar.
Nana would not hear of it. But notwithstanding this, she was giving
way herself. Fontan attracted her with his comic make-up. She brushed
against him and, eying him as a woman in the family way might do when
she fancies some unpleasant kind of food, she suddenly became extremely
familiar:
"Now then, fill up again, ye great brute!"
Fontan charged the glasses afresh, and the company drank, repeating the
same toasts.
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