But La Faloise examined Daguenet before anyone else, he being in occupation of a stall two rows in front of his own.
Close to him, a very young man, seventeen years old at the outside, some truant from college, it may be, was straining wide a pair of fine eyes such as a cherub might have owned.

Fauchery smiled when he looked at him.
"Who is that lady in the balcony ?" La Faloise asked suddenly.

"The lady with a young girl in blue beside her." He pointed out a large woman who was excessively tight-laced, a woman who had been a blonde and had now become white and yellow of tint, her broad face, reddened with paint, looking puffy under a rain of little childish curls.
"It's Gaga," was Fauchery's simple reply, and as this name seemed to astound his cousin, he added: "You don't know Gaga?
She was the delight of the early years of Louis Philippe.

Nowadays she drags her daughter about with her wherever she goes." La Faloise never once glanced at the young girl.

The sight of Gaga moved him; his eyes did not leave her again.