People in passing mentioned his name to each other in muttered tones.

He had laughed the whole act through--that was the rumor going the round of the passages--nevertheless, he was now very severe and spoke of taste and morals.

Farther off the thin-lipped critic was brimming over with a benevolence which had an unpleasant aftertaste, as of milk turned sour.
Fauchery glanced along, scrutinizing the boxes through the round openings in each door.

But the Count de Vandeuvres stopped him with a question, and when he was informed that the two cousins were going to pay their respects to the Muffats, he pointed out to them box seven, from which he had just emerged.

Then bending down and whispering in the journalist's ear: "Tell me, my dear fellow," he said, "this Nana--surely she's the girl we saw one evening at the corner of the Rue de Provence ?" "By Jove, you're right!" cried Fauchery.