Solitude rendered her low spirited at once, for it brought her face to face with the emptiness and boredom within her.

Extremely gay by nature and profession, she became dismal in solitude and would sum up her life in the following ejaculation, which recurred incessantly between her yawns: "Oh, how the men bother me!" One afternoon as she was returning home from a concert, Nana, on the sidewalk in the Rue Montmartre, noticed a woman trotting along in down-at-the-heel boots, dirty petticoats and a hat utterly ruined by the rain.

She recognized her suddenly.
"Stop, Charles!" she shouted to the coachman and began calling: "Satin, Satin!" Passers-by turned their heads; the whole street stared.

Satin had drawn near and was still further soiling herself against the carriage wheels.
"Do get in, my dear girl," said Nana tranquilly, disdaining the onlookers.
And with that she picked her up and carried her off, though she was in disgusting contrast to her light blue landau and her dress of pearl-gray silk trimmed with Chantilly, while the street smiled at the coachman's loftily dignified demeanor.
From that day forth Nana had a passion to occupy her thoughts.

Satin became her vicious foible.