"Yes, that lady with the lace."
The journalist stood on tiptoe, for as yet he did not understand.
"The countess?" he said at last.
"Exactly, my good friend. I've bet ten louis--now, has she thighs?"
And he fell a-laughing, for he was delighted to have succeeded in
snubbing a fellow who had once come heavily down on him for asking
whether the countess slept with anyone. But Fauchery, without showing
the very slightest astonishment, looked fixedly at him.
"Get along, you idiot!" he said finally as he shrugged his shoulders.
Then he shook hands with the other gentlemen, while La Faloise, in his
discomfiture, felt rather uncertain whether he had said something funny.
The men chatted. Since the races the banker and Foucarmont had formed
part of the set in the Avenue de Villiers. Nana was going on much
better, and every evening the count came and asked how she did.
Meanwhile Fauchery, though he listened, seemed preoccupied, for during
a quarrel that morning Rose had roundly confessed to the sending of the
letter. Oh yes, he might present himself at his great lady's house;
he would be well received! After long hesitation he had come despite
everything--out of sheer courage. But La Faloise's imbecile pleasantry
had upset him in spite of his apparent tranquillity.
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