On the table there were now only some dirty plates, Mme Bron having recently distributed the last of the bouquets.

A single fallen rose was withering on the floor in the neighborhood of the black cat, who had lain down and curled herself up while the kittens ran wild races and danced fierce gallops among the gentlemen's legs.

Clarisse was momentarily inclined to turn La Faloise out.

The idiot wasn't fond of animals, and that put the finishing touch to him! He was busy drawing in his legs because the cat was there, and he didn't want to touch her.
"He'll nip you; take care!" said Pluto, who was a joker, as he went upstairs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
After that Clarisse gave up the idea of hauling La Faloise over the coals.

She had seen Mme Bron giving the letter to Simonne's young man, and he had gone out to read it under the gas light in the lobby.
"Impossible tonight, darling--I'm booked." And with that he had peaceably departed, as one who was doubtless used to the formula.