Nana, indeed, was not always able to reply.
After rubbing cold cream over her arms and face with the palm of her hand she laid on the grease paint with the corner of a towel.

For one second only she ceased looking in the glass and smilingly stole a glance at the prince.
"His Highness is spoiling me," she murmured without putting down the grease paint.
Her task was a complicated one, and the Marquis de Chouard followed it with an expression of devout enjoyment.

He spoke in his turn.
"Could not the band accompany you more softly ?" he said.

"It drowns your voice, and that's an unpardonable crime." This time Nana did not turn round.

She had taken up the hare's-foot and was lightly manipulating it.