But Hector returned his scrutiny with deep interest.

This, then, was that Bordenave, that showman of the sex who treated women like a convict overseer, that clever fellow who was always at full steam over some advertising dodge, that shouting, spitting, thigh-slapping fellow, that cynic with the soul of a policeman! Hector was under the impression that he ought to discover some amiable observation for the occasion.
"Your theater--" he began in dulcet tones.
Bordenave interrupted him with a savage phrase, as becomes a man who dotes on frank situations.
"Call it my brothel!" At this Fauchery laughed approvingly, while La Faloise stopped with his pretty speech strangled in his throat, feeling very much shocked and striving to appear as though he enjoyed the phrase.

The manager had dashed off to shake hands with a dramatic critic whose column had considerable influence.

When he returned La Faloise was recovering.

He was afraid of being treated as a provincial if he showed himself too much nonplused.
"I have been told," he began again, longing positively to find something to say, "that Nana has a delicious voice." "Nana ?" cried the manager, shrugging his shoulders.