On the practicable slope, among
the lines of gas jets, the whole of Olympus had rejoined the dozing Mme
Drouard. They were waiting for the close of the act. Bosc and Fontan
sat on the floor with their knees drawn up to their chins, and Prulliere
stretched himself and yawned before going on. Everybody was worn out;
their eyes were red, and they were longing to go home to sleep.
Just then Fauchery, who had been prowling about on the O.P. side ever
since Bordenave had forbidden him the other, came and buttonholed the
count in order to keep himself in countenance and offered at the same
time to show him the dressing rooms. An increasing sense of languor had
left Muffat without any power of resistance, and after looking round for
the Marquis de Chouard, who had disappeared, he ended by following the
journalist. He experienced a mingled feeling of relief and anxiety as he
left the wings whence he had been listening to Nana's songs.
Fauchery had already preceded him up the staircase, which was closed on
the first and second floors by low-paneled doors. It was one of those
stairways which you find in miserable tenements. Count Muffat had seen
many such during his rounds as member of the Benevolent Organization.
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