CHAPTER XI

On that Sunday, beneath the cloudy sky of one of the first warm days of June, the race for the Grand Prize of Paris was to be run in the Bois de Boulogne. In the morning the sun had risen enveloped in a reddish mist; but towards eleven o’clock, at the moment when the first vehicles reached the Longchamps racecourse, a wind from the south swept the clouds before it. Long flakes of greyish vapour passed slowly away, whilst patches of dark blue sky gradually showed larger and larger from one end of the horizon to the other. And in the bursts of sunshine which kept appearing through the breaks in the clouds, everything sparkled abruptly—the green turf, which was little by little being covered by a crowd of vehicles, and of persons on horseback and on foot; the course still free, with the judge’s stand, the winning-post, and the starting-place; then opposite, in the middle of the enclosure, the five symmetrical stands, with their storeys of brick and wood. Bathed in the midday light, the vast plain extended beyond, bordered by little trees, and confined in the west by the wooded hills of Saint-Cloud and Suresnes, which were crowned by the sharp outline of Mont Valérien.

Nana, as excited as if the race for the Grand Prize was to decide her own fortune, wished to have a place as near as possible to the winning-post. She arrived very early, one of the first, in her silver-mounted landau, to which were harnessed four magnificent white horses, a present from Count Muffat. When she appeared, with two postillions on the near side horses, and two grooms seated immovably behind the carriage, there was quite a rush on the part of the crowd, the same as at the passage of a queen. She wore the colours of the Vandeuvres stable, blue and white, intermingled in a most extraordinary costume. The little body and the tunic, in blue silk, were very tight fitting, and raised behind in an enormous puff which gave all the more prominence to the tightness in front; the skirt and sleeves were in white satin, as well as a sash that passed over the shoulder, and the whole was trimmed with silver braid which sparkled in the sunshine. Whilst, the more to resemble a jockey, she had placed a flat blue cap, ornamented with a feather, on the top of her chignon, from which a long switch of her golden hair hung down the middle of her back like an enormous yellow tail.

Twelve o’clock struck. There were still three hours to wait for the race for the Grand Prize. As soon as the landau had taken up its position, Nana put herself at her ease, as though at home. She had amused herself by bringing Bijou and little Louis. The dog, asleep amongst her skirts, was shivering in spite of the heat, whilst the child, dressed up in ribbons and lace, remained as though dumb, and had become so pale from the force of the wind that he looked like a wax figure. The young woman, without troubling herself about her neighbours, talked very loud with Philippe and George Hugon, seated opposite to her amidst such a pile of bouquets, white roses and blue forget-me-nots, that they were invisible below the shoulders.

“So,” she was saying, “as he was becoming quite unbearable I showed him the door; and for the last two days he hasn’t been near me.

She was speaking of Muffat, only she did not tell the two young men the real cause of the quarrel. One night he had found a man’s hat in her room; it had merely been a stupid fancy of hers, a mere nobody she had picked up just to enliven her.

“You don’t know how peculiar he’s becoming,” she continued, amused at the details she was giving. “He’s a regular bigot. For instance, he says his prayers every night. Oh! it’s quite true. He thinks I don’t notice it, as I go to bed first so as not to be in his way; but I have my eye on him. He mutters, he makes the sign of the cross as he turns round to step over me to get to the inside of the bed.”

“How artful!” murmured Philippe. “Does he do it before and after them?”

She laughed aloud.

“Yes, that’s it; before and after. When I doze off, I can hear him muttering again. But what annoys me is that we can’t have the least dispute without his immediately talking of the priests. Now, I’ve always been religious. Oh! laugh as much as you like, it won’t prevent me believing what I believe. Only, he’s too bad; he sobs, he talks of his remorse. For instance, the day before yesterday, after our row, he had quite an attack; I began to feel very anxious—” But she interrupted herself to say, “Look, there are the Mignons. Why, they’ve brought the children. Aren’t they dressed up, those youngsters?”

The Mignons were in a very quiet coloured landau, with the substantial air of people who had made their fortune. Rose, in a grey silk dress, trimmed with little cerise puffs and bows, was smiling, pleased at the evident delight of Henri and Charles, sitting on the front seat, in their rather too ample collegian uniforms. But when the landau had taken up its position, and she caught sight of Nana, triumphing in the midst of her bouquets, with her four horses, her postillions and her grooms in livery, she bit her lips, and sitting bolt upright, turned away her head. Mignon, on the contrary, looking very well and lively, waved his hand. It was one of his principles always to keep out of women’s quarrels.

“By the way,” resumed Nana, “do you know a little old fellow, very tidy in his appearance, and with very bad teeth? A Monsieur Venot. He called on me this morning.”

“Monsieur Venot!” echoed George in amazement. “It can’t be! He’s a Jesuit.”

“Precisely, I soon found that out. Oh! you’ve no idea what we talked about! It was so funny! He spoke of the count, and of his disunited family, the happiness of which he implored me to restore. He was very polite, too, and smiling all the time. Then I told him I should be only too pleased to do as he wished; and in the end I promised to make the count return to his wife. You know, it’s not a joke; for I shall be delighted to see the whole lot of them happy! Besides, it will give me a rest, for there are days when he is really too tiresome!”

Her weariness of the last few months escaped her in that cry from her heart. With all that, too, the count appeared to be in great straits for money. He was careworn; the bill he had given to Labordette was coming due, and he did not see his way to meet it.

“Why, there is the countess over there,” said George, who had been glancing along the stands.

“Where?” exclaimed Nana. “What eyes he has, that baby! Hold my parasol, Philippe.”

But George, with a quick movement, forestalled his brother, and was quite delighted at holding the blue silk parasol, with silver fringe. Nana looked through an enormous field-glass.

“Ah, yes! I see her,” said she at length. “In the stand to the right, close to a pillar, is she not? She is in mauve, with her daughter in white beside her. Why! there’s Daguenet going up to them.”

Then Philippe talked of Daguenet’s approaching marriage with that stick Estelle. It was a settled thing; they were publishing the banns. The countess objected at first, but the count, so it was said, had insisted. Nana smiled.

“I know, I know,” murmured she. “So much the better, Paul. He’s a nice fellow—he deserves it”; and leaning towards little Louis, she added, “Well, are you amusing yourself? How serious the child looks!”

The child, without a smile, watched the crowd about him, looking very old, and as though full of sad reflections on what he saw. Bijou, driven from the skirts of the young woman, who was always moving about, had gone to shiver against the little one.

The space around was rapidly filling up. Vehicles of all sorts continuously arrived in a compact, interminable line. There were enormous omnibuses, like the “Pauline” which had started from the Boulevard des Italiens with its fifty passengers and which took up a position near the stands. Then there were dog-carts, victorias, and most elegant landaus, which mingled with old tumble-down cabs dragged by the most wretched horses; and four-in-hands and stage-coaches, with their owners seated on the top, and the servants inside taking care of the hampers of champagne; and light traps of every description, some driven tandem fashion, and accompanied by a jingling of bells. Now and again a gentleman on horseback passed, or a crowd of persons on foot rushed in amongst the vehicles. The rumbling noise which accompanied the latter all along the winding turnings of the Bois de Boulogne ceased as they drove on to the grass. Nothing was heard but the murmur of the ever-increasing crowd, shouts and calls and cracking of whips, which resounded in the open air. And each time the sun appeared from out the clouds scattered by the wind, a blaze of golden light lit up the mounted harnesses and the varnished panels, and brought out the brilliant colours of the costumes; whilst in that flood of sunshine the coachmen on their high seats were conspicuous with their long whips.

Labordette was alighting from an open carriage in which Gaga, Clarisse, and Blanche de Sivry had reserved him a place. As he was hastening to cross the course and enter the enclosure, Nana got George to call him. Then when he came up,

“What’s my price?” she asked with a laugh.

She was speaking of Nana, the filly—that Nana which had been ignominiously defeated in the race for the Diana Prize, and which, even in the months just past—April and May—had not even been placed in the races for the Des Cars Prize and the Grand Poule des Produits, both of which had fallen to Lusignan, the other thoroughbred of the Vandeuvres stable. Lusignan had at once become chief favourite, and had latterly been freely taken at two to one.

“Still at fifty,” replied Labordette.

“The devil! then I’m not worth much,” resumed Nana, who was amused at the joke. ”Then I sha’n’t back myself. No, I’ll be hanged if I do! I won’t put a single louis on myself.”

Labordette, who was in a great hurry, was starting off again; but she called him back. She wanted a piece of advice. He who knew a number of trainers and jockeys, had the best information respecting the different stables. Twenty times already his tips had come off. He was nicknamed the king of the sporting prophets.

“Come now, which horses ought I to back?” asked the young woman. “At what price is the English one?”

“Spirit? at three to one; Valerio II. also at three to one. Then the others—Cosinus at twenty-five, Hasard at forty, Boum at thirty, Pichenette at thirty-five, Frangipane at ten.”

“No, I won’t back the English horse. I’m patriotic. Well, what do you say? Shall it be Valerio II.? The Duke de Corbreuse looked quite beaming just now. Well, no! I’d rather not. Fifty louis on Lusignan—what do you say?”

Labordette looked at her in a peculiar manner. She leant forward and questioned him in a low voice, for she knew that Vandeuvres instructed him to bet for him with the bookmakers, so as to be more free in his own betting. If he had learnt anything, he might as well tell her; but Labordette, without explaining why, advised her to trust to his instinct. He would lay out her fifty louis as he thought best, and she should not regret it.

“All the horses you like,” he cried gaily, as he went off, “but not Nana—she’s a jade!”^az

They all laughed madly in the carriage. The young men thought it very funny, whilst little Louis, without understanding, raised his pale eyes to his mother, the loud accents of whose voice surprised him. Labordette, however, was still unable to get off. Rose Mignon had beckoned him, and she gave him some instructions which he wrote down in his note-book; then Clarisse and Gaga called him back, as they wished to modify their bets; they had heard different things in the crowd, and would no longer back Valerio II., but went in for Lusignan; he, quite impassible, made notes of what they required. At length he got away, and was seen to disappear between two of the stands on the other side of the course.

Carriages still continued to arrive. They now comprised five rows along the barrier bordering the course, and formed quite a dense mass streaked here and there by the light hue of the white horses. Then beyond, there were numerous other isolated vehicles, looking as though they had stuck in the grass, a medley of wheels and of teams in every possible position, side by side, slantwise, crosswise, and head to head; and horsemen trotted across the plots of grass that were still comparatively free, whilst foot-passengers appeared in black groups continually on the move. Overtopping this kind of fair-ground, amidst the strangely mixed crowd, rose the grey refreshment tents, to which the sunshine imparted a white appearance. But the greatest crush, an ever-moving sea of hats, was around the bookmakers, who were standing up in open vehicles, gesticulating like quack dentists, with their betting lists stuck up on boards beside them.

“All the same, it’s awfully stupid not to know what horse one’s backing,” Nana was saying. “I must venture a few louis myself.”

She stood up to select a book-maker whose face should take her fancy. But she forgot her intention as she caught sight of a crowd of acquaintances around her. Besides the Mignons, and Gaga, and Clarisse and Blanche, there were on the right, and the left, and behind, in the midst of the mass of vehicles which had now quite shut in her landau, Tatan Néné with Maria Blond in a victoria, Caroline Hequet with her mother and two gentlemen in a calash, Louise Violaine, all alone, and driving a little basket chaise^ba bedecked with orange and green ribbons, the colour of the Méchain stable, Léa de Horn on the box seat of a stage-coach, with a crowd of young men who were making a great noise. Farther off, Lucy Stewart, in a very simple black silk dress, was looking most distinguished beside a young man wearing the uniform of a midshipman, in a carriage of most aristocratic appearance. But what really astounded Nana was to see Simone arrive in a trap that Steiner was driving tandem fashion, with a tiger sitting bolt upright behind, ^bb his arms folded, and quite immovable; she was resplendent, all in white satin striped with yellow, and sparkling with diamonds from her waist to her bonnet, whilst the banker, with a long whip, urged on the two horses, the first a little chestnut, which trotted like a mouse, and the other, a tall bay, a stepper which raised its legs very high.

“By Jove!” said Nana, “that old thief Steiner must have made another haul at the Bourse! Doesn’t Simone look smart? It’s too much, he’ll get copped one of these days.”

But, all the same, she exchanged a bow with them from a distance. She kept waving her hand, smiling, and turning about, forgetting no one so as to be seen by all. And she continued talking.

“But it’s her son that Lucy is dragging about with her! He looks very nice in his uniform. That’s why she’s trying to be so grand! You know that she’s afraid of him, and pretends she’s an actress. Poor young man, all the same! He doesn’t seem to have an idea of the truth.”

“Pooh!” murmured Philippe, laughing, “whenever she chooses she will find him a country heiress.”

Nana left off talking. She had just caught sight of old Tricon, in the thick of the vehicles. Having come in a cab from which she could see nothing, the old lady had quietly mounted the driver’s seat. And there, standing up to the full height of her tall figure, with her noble-looking face and long curls, she commanded a full view of the crowd, and seemed to be reigning over her women people. They all discreetly smiled to her. She, as a superior being, pretended not to know them. She was not there to work, she came to see the races for pleasure, for she was an inveterate gambler, and was mad about horses.

“Look! there’s that idiot La Faloise!” said George suddenly.

It was a surprise to all of them. Nana no longer recognised her La Faloise. Since he had inherited his uncle’s fortune, he had become an extraordinarily fashionable young man. With his collar slightly turned down in front, dressed in a light coloured suit, which fitted tightly to his bony shoulders, and with his hair curled, he affected a jog-trot of weariness, a feeble tone of voice, slang words, and phrases which he never took the trouble to finish.

“But he looks very well!” declared Nana, fascinated.

Gaga and Clarisse called La Faloise, throwing themselves at his head, so to say, trying to hook him again. But he left them at once, with an air of pity, mingled with disdain. Nana attracted him, and hastening to her, he stood on the step of the carriage; and as she chaffed him about Gaga, he murmured:

“Oh, no! no more of the old guard! It’s no use their trying! Besides, you know, you’re now my Juliet—”

He placed his hand on his heart. Nana laughed immensely at that abrupt declaration before everyone. But she resumed:

“There, that’ll do. You’re making me forget that I want to bet. George, you see that book-maker over there, the fat red one, with curly hair? He has the head of a dirty rascal, which takes my fancy. You go and bet with him. Well, what shall I back?”

“I’m no patriot!—oh, no!” stuttered La Faloise; “all my money is on the English horse. What a lark if he wins! All the French will go mad!”

Nana thought his language disgraceful. Then they discussed the merits of the different horses. La Faloise, to make everyone think that he was a judge of horse-flesh, pretended they were all sorry animals. Baron Verdier’s Frangipane, was by Truth out of Lenore; It was a big bay, and might have had a chance if it had not been lamed during training. As for Valerio II., from the Corbreuse stable, it was not in condition, it had had the gripes in April; oh! they were keeping that dark, but he was sure of it, on his word of honour! And he ended by recommending Hasard, a horse belonging to the Méchain stable, the worst beast of the lot, and which no one would look at. The deuce! Hasard showed superb form, and such a style! There was an animal that would surprise everyone!

“No,” said Nana. “I shall bet ten louis on Lusignan, and five on Boum.”

On hearing this, La Faloise burst out again.

“But, my dear, Boum is simply awful! don’t back him. Even Gase, the owner, won’t. And Lusignan, he’s not in it!—all rubbish! By Lamb out of Princess—just think of it! Not the ghost of a chance for anything by Lamb out of Princess! All too short in the legs!”

He was almost choking. Philippe observed that notwithstanding all that, Lusignan had carried off the Des Cars Prize and the Grande Poule des Produits. But the other was ready for him. What did that prove? Nothing at all. On the contrary, they should beware; and, besides, Gresham was to ride Lusignan, so what was the use of arguing? Gresham had no luck, he never won.

And the discussion, which started from Nana’s landau, seemed to spread from one end of the race-ground to the other. Screeching voices were heard. The passion for gambling passed over all, giving a flush to the faces, and putting confusion into the gestures; whilst the book-makers were furiously calling out the prices, and inscribing the bets made. Only the small fry of the betting fraternity were there, the big bets were being made inside the enclosure. It was the greediness of the smaller gamblers risking their five francs, displaying their eagerness for a possible gain of a few louis. In short, the big battle was expected to be between Spirit and Lusignan. Some Englishmen, easily recognisable by their appearance, were walking about amongst the different groups as though at home, with flushed faces, and already triumphing. Bramah, a horse of Lord Reading, had won the Grand Prize the previous year—a defeat for which all French hearts were still bleeding. This year it would be a regular disaster if France was beaten again, so that all the women were dreadfully excited on account of national pride. The Vandeuvres stable became the rampart of the honour of France. They all backed Lusignan, they upheld him, they cheered him to the echo. Gaga, Blanche, Caroline, and the others all put their money on him. Lucy did not do so, because her son was with her; but it was said that Rose Mignon had commissioned Labordette to back him to the extent of two hundred louis. Only old Tricon, seated beside her driver, awaited the last moment, very cool in the midst of the wrangling, predominating over the increasing uproar, in which the names of the different horses were continually repeated in the sprightly remarks of the Parisians, and the guttural exclamations of the Englishmen. She listened and took notes in a majestic manner.

“And Nana?” said George. “Is no one backing her?”

No, no one was backing her; she was not even mentioned. The outsider of the Vandeuvres stable was eclipsed by Lusignan’s popularity. But La Faloise raised his arms in the air and exclaimed,

“An inspiration! I shall put a louis on Nana.”

“Bravo! I’ll put two,” said George.

“And I three,” added Philippe.

And they kept increasing their amount, pleasantly paying their court, quoting figures as though they were bidding for Nana at an auction. La Faloise talked of covering her with gold. Besides, everyone ought to back her for something. They would go and canvass among those willing to bet. But as the three young men hastened off to carry out their design, Nana called to them,

“Remember, I’ll have nothing to do with her! Not on any account! George, ten louis on Lusignan and five on Valerio II.”

They rushed away. She, greatly amused, watched them glide amongst the wheels, stoop beneath the horses’ heads, and beat all about the place. As soon as they recognised any one in a carriage, they hurried to them and lauded the filly to the skies. And great bursts of laughter passed over the crowd as now and again they looked back and triumphantly held up their fingers to show the number of louis that had been bet; whilst the young woman, standing up in her carriage, waved her parasol. However, they did not meet with much success. A few men allowed themselves to be persuaded. Steiner, for instance, who felt strangely moved at the sight of Nana, risked three louis; but the women all most emphatically refused. Thank you; they did not want a certain loss! Besides, they were not in a hurry to add to the success of a beast of a girl who put them all in the shade with her four white horses, her postillions, and her air of devouring every one. Gage and Clarisse stiffly asked La Faloise if he thought them a couple of fools. When George boldly presented himself at the Mignons’ carriage, Rose, highly incensed, turned away her head without answering. One must be a dirty baggage to allow one’s name to be given to a horse! Mignon, on the contrary, followed the young man, looking greatly amused, and saying that women always brought luck.

“Well?” asked Nana, when the young men returned after a long visit to the book-makers.

“You’re at forty,” said La Faloise.

“How at forty?” cried she in amazement. “I was at fifty. What has happened?”

Labordette just then returned. They were clearing the course, and the ringing of a bell announced the first race. And in the uproar that this occasioned, she questioned him respecting the sudden rise in price; but he answered evasively. No doubt there had been a few inquiries about the filly. She was obliged to be contented with that explanation. Besides, Labordette, who appeared to have something on his mind, told her that Vandeuvres intended coming if he could possibly get away for a time.

The race ended almost unnoticed in the waiting for the big event, when a cloud burst over the course. For some little while the sun had disappeared, and a dull light darkened the crowd. The wind rose, and the rain came down, first in big drops and then in torrents. There was a momentary confusion; shouts and jokes and oaths were heard on all sides, whilst the people on foot scrambled under cover in the refreshment tents. In the carriages the women tried to shelter themselves, holding their parasols with both hands, and the bewildered footmen hastened to raise the hoods. But the shower ceased almost immediately; the sun reappeared with dazzling splendour, shining amidst the last fine drops of rain. A long strip of blue appeared in the place of the cloud as the wind carried it over the Bois. And the sky became quite bright, raising the laughter of the women, who no longer feared for their elegant costumes; whilst the flood of golden sunshine, in the midst of the snorting of the horses and the helter-skelter and agitation of the soaked crowd shaking off the wet, lit up the ground all sparkling with drops of crystal.

“Oh! poor little Louis!” said Nana. “Are you very wet, my cherub?”

The child, without a word, let her wipe his hands with her pocket-handkerchief. She then wiped Bijou, who was trembling more than ever. It was nothing, only a few spots on the white satin of her dress, but she didn’t care. The bouquets, freshened up, glittered like snow; and she, feeling so happy, smelt one of them, wetting her lips as though in dew.

The shower, however, had had the effect of suddenly filling the stands. Nana looked at them through her field-glass. At that distance one could only distinguish a compact and mixed mass, piled up on the different tiers, a dark background broken by the pale faces. The sun filtered in through the corners of the roof, curtailing the seated crowd with angles of light, and giving a washed-out appearance to the costumes of the women. But Nana was most amused by the ladies whom the shower had driven from the rows of chairs placed on the gravel at the foot of the stands. As admission to the enclosure was rigorously denied to all gay women, Nana made the most spiteful remarks about the respectable members of her sex, who she considered were shockingly badly dressed and looked highly ridiculous.

A murmur ran through the crowd. The Empress was entering the little stand in the centre, a pavilion in the form of a Swiss cottage, the large balcony of which was furnished with red arm-chairs.

“Why, there he is!” said George. “I did not think he was on duty this week.”

Count Muffat’s stiff, solemn figure had appeared behind the Empress. Then the young men began to joke, regretting Satin was not there to go and give him a knock in the stomach. But Nana, looking through her field-glass, caught sight of the head of the Prince of Scotland in the imperial stand.

“Look! there’s Charles!” she cried. She thought he was fatter. In eighteen months he seemed to have become broader. And she gave some details. Oh! he was a devilish strong fellow.

Round about her, the other women in their carriages were whispering that the count had given her up. It was quite a story. The Tuileries had become scandalized at the chamberlain’s behaviour since he had been going about with her openly, so, to preserve his place, he had put an end to his connection with her. La Faloise impudently repeated the story to the young woman, again offering himself and calling her “his Juliet.” But she had a hearty laugh, and said:

“It’s absurd. You don’t know him. I’ve only to whistle to him, and he’ll throw everything up for me.”

For a few minutes she had been watching Countess Sabine and Estelle. Daguenet was still with them. Fauchery, who had just arrived, disturbed everyone in order to get to them, and he also remained there, smiling. Then she continued, disdainfully pointing to the stands,

“Besides, you know, all those people no longer amaze me. I know them too well. You should see them with the gloss off! No more respect! respect is done with! Filth below, filth up above, it’s always filth and company. That’s why I won’t put up with any nonsense.

And she made an extended gesture which included all—from the grooms leading the horses on to the course to the sovereign herself, who was conversing with Charles, a prince, but a dirty fellow all the same.

“Bravo, Nana! she’s capital, Nana!” exclaimed La Faloise enthusiastically.

The sounds of the bell were lost in the wind. The races continued. The race for the Ispahan Prize had just been won by Berlingot, a horse belonging to the Méchain stable. Nana called to Labordette to ask him for news of her fifty louis. He laughed, and refused to tell her which horses he had backed, so as not to change the luck, he said. Her money was well invested, as she would see by-and-by. And as she told him of her two bets-ten louis on Lusignan and five on Valerio II.—he shrugged his shoulders with an air of saying that women would make fools of themselves, in spite of everything. This surprised her a great deal; she could no longer understand anything.

At this moment the animation increased around. Luncheons were spread in the open air to help to pass the time until the race for the Grand Prize was run. Everyone ate, and drank still more, anywhere—on the grass, on the high seats of the stage-coaches and the drags, in the victorias, the broughams, and the landaus. There was a general spread of cold meats, an unpacking of hampers of champagne, which the footmen brought from under box seats. The corks flew out with feeble detonations, which were carried away by the wind; jokes were bandied about; the sound of breaking glasses introduced cracked notes into the nervous gaiety. Gaga and Clarisse were making quite a meal with Blanche, devouring sandwiches on a cloth which they had spread over their knees. Louise Violaine had alighted from her basket chaise and joined Caroline Héquet; and on the grass, at their feet, some gentlemen had set up an imitation bar, where Tatan, Maria, Simone, and the others came to drink; whilst close by, up aloft, there was quite a band on a stage-coach with Léa de Horn, all emptying bottles as fast as they could, and getting quite tipsy in the sunshine, shouting and gesticulating above the crowd. But soon everyone pressed round Nana’s landau. She was standing up filling glasses of champagne for the men who came to shake hands with her. One of the footmen, François, handed up the bottle, whilst La Faloise, imitating the voice of a mountebank, called out,

“Walk up, gentlemen. It’s all for nothing. There’s some for everyone.”

“Do be quiet, my dear fellow,” Nana ended by saying. “We look like a lot of buffoons.”

She thought him very funny, however, and was immensely amused. One moment she had the idea of sending George with a glass of champagne to Rose Mignon, who pretended she did not drink. Henri and Charles looked bored to death. The youngsters would have liked some champagne; but George, being afraid of a row, drank the wine himself. Then Nana recollected little Louis, whom she had forgotten behind her. Perhaps he was thirsty; and she got him to take a few drops of wine, which made him cough frightfully.

“Walk up, walk up, gentlemen,” repeated La Faloise. “It doesn’t cost two sous, it doesn’t cost one sou. We give it for nothing.”

But Nana interrupted him, exclaiming: “Look! there’s Bordenave over there! Call him, oh! please run and fetch him!”

It was indeed Bordenave, who was walking about with his hands behind his back, and a hat that looked rusty in the sunshine, and a greasy frock-coat, all whitened at the seams; a Bordenave disfigured by bankruptcy, but still as furious as ever, displaying his misery amongst the world of fashion, with the cheek of a man ever ready to violate fortune.

“The devil! what style!” said he, when Nana, like the good-natured girl she was, held out her hand to him. Then, after tossing off a glass of champagne, he uttered this remark full of deep regret, “Ah! if I was only a woman! But, damn it all! it doesn’t matter! Will you return to the stage? I’ve an idea. I’ll take the Gaiety Theatre, and between us we will carry Paris by storm. What do you say? You at least owe me that.”

And he remained standing, grumbling to himself, though happy at seeing her again; for, as he said, that confounded Nana was balm to his heart, merely by living before him. She was his daughter, his very blood.

The circle increased. Now, La Faloise was pouring out, whilst Philippe and George went in search of more friends. Slowly but surely everyone was attracted to the spot. Nana had a laugh and a witty remark for everyone. The different bands of drinkers drew nearer, all the champagne scattered about, came towards her, there was soon but one crowd, but one uproar, around her landau; and she reigned among the glasses held towards her, with her yellow hair flying in the breeze, and her snow white face bathed with sunshine. Then, to crown all, and to finally settle the other women, who were enraged at her triumph, she filled her glass and raised it on high, in her old posture of Venus victorious.

But some one was touching her on the back, and on turning round, she was surprised to see Mignon on the seat. She disappeared for a moment and seated herself beside him, for he had something important to say to her. Mignon was in the habit of saying everywhere, that his wife was ridiculous to have a grudge against Nana; he considered it stupid and useless.

“This is what’s the matter, my dear,” murmured he. “Be careful not to make Rose too wild. You understand, I prefer to put you on your guard. Yes, she has a weapon; and as she has never forgiven you the ‘Little Duchess’ affair—”

“A weapon?” interrupted Nana, “what the deuce do I care?”

“Listen, it’s a letter that she must have found in Fauchery’s pocket—a letter written to that wretch Fauchery by Countess Sabine. And on my word, it’s all there, in black and white. So Rose intends to send the letter to the count, to be avenged on you and him.”

“What the deuce do I care?” repeated Nana. “It’s awfully funny, though. Ah! so it’s true about Fauchery. Well! so much the better, she annoyed me immensely. What a joke it’ll be.”

“But no, I don’t want it to be done,” hastily resumed Mignon. “It would make such a scandal! Besides, it would be of no use to us—”

He stopped, afraid of saying too much. She exclaimed that she was certainly not going to pull a respectable woman out of the mire; but as he persisted she looked him full in the face. No doubt he was afraid of seeing Fauchery back in his family circle, if the countess were exposed. That was just what Rose wished, at the same time desiring vengeance, for she still entertained a tender feeling for the journalist. And Nana became thoughtful. She was thinking of M. Venot’s visit, and was forming a plan whilst Mignon was trying to convince her.

“Well, suppose Rose sends the letter; there’ll be a great scandal, won’t there? You will be mixed up in it, everyone will say it’s your fault. Then the count will at once separate from his wife—”

“Why so?” asked she. “On the contrary—”

But in her turn she interrupted herself. There was no need for her to think out aloud. At last, she pretended to enter into Mignon’s views, so as to get rid of him; and, as he advised her to give in a bit to Rose—to pay her a little visit, for instance, there, before everyone—she replied that she would see, that she would think about it.

A sudden uproar caused her to stand up again. On the course some horses passed like a flash of lightning. It was the race for the City of Paris Prize, which fell to Cornemuse. Now the race for the Grand Prize was about to be run. The fever increased; anxiety seized on the crowd, which stamped and swayed in an endeavour to make the time pass more quickly; and at that last moment a surprise bewildered the betting-men—the continual rise in the price of Nana, the outsider of the Vandeuvres stable. Gentlemen returned every minute with a fresh quotation—Nana was at thirty, Nana was at twenty-five, then at twenty, then at fifteen. No one understood what it meant. A filly beaten on every race-course, a filly which, that very morning, could not find a backer at fifty! What could be the meaning of that sudden craze? Some laughed, and talked of the clean sweep made of all those idiots who were allowing themselves to be taken in; others, serious and anxious, were sure there was something up. All sorts of stories were recalled, of the robberies countenanced on the race-course; but this time the great name of Vandeuvres silenced all accusations, and the sceptics found most believers when they prophesied that Nana would come in a good last.

“Who rides Nana?” asked La Faloise.

Just then the real Nana reappeared. Then the gentlemen, bursting into exaggerated laughter, gave an indecent meaning to the question. Nana bowed.

“It’s Price,” she replied.

And the discussion recommenced. Price was an English celebrity unknown in France. Why had Vandeuvres engaged this jockey, when Gresham generally rode Nana? Besides, everyone was surprised to see him trust Lusignan to that Gresham, who, as La Faloise said, never came in first. But all these remarks were lost in the jokes, and the contradictions, and the extraordinary hubbub of various opinions. To pass the time everyone returned to the bottles of champagne. Then a whisper passed round, the groups made way, and Vandeuvres appeared. Nana pretended to be cross.

“Well! you’re nice, not to come till this time! I, who’ve been longing to see the enclosure.”

“Come then,” said he, “there is still time. You can have a look round. I just happen to have a lady’s ticket.”

And he led her off on his arm, she delighted at seeing the jealous looks with which Lucy, Caroline, and the other women watched her. The two Hugons and La Faloise, remaining in the landau, continued to do the honours of her champagne. She called to them that she would be back directly.

But Vandeuvres, having caught sight of Labordette, beckoned to him, and a few brief words passed between them.

“Have you picked up everything?”

“Yes.”

“For how much?”

“Fifteen hundred louis, a little everywhere.”

As Nana, full of curiosity, was listening, they said no more. Vandeuvres was very nervous, and his clear eyes seemed lighted up with little flames of fire, the same as on the night when he frightened her by talking of burning himself in his stable with his horses. As they crossed the course, she lowered her voice, and said,

“I say, just tell me this. Why has the price of your filly gone up? It’s creating quite a sensation!”

He started, and exclaimed, “Ah! so everyone’s talking of it. What a set they are, those betting-men! When I’ve a favourite they all jump at it, and there’s nothing left for me. Then, when an outsider’s inquired after, they clamour and cry out as though they were being fleeced.”

“Well, you know, you must put me on my guard, for I’ve been betting,” she resumed. “Has she a chance?”

A sudden rage overpowered him, without any apparent reason. “Eh! have the goodness not to badger me any more. Every horse has a chance. The price has gone up, of course, because some people have been backing her! Who I don’t know. I’d rather leave you if you’re going to continue your idiotic questions.”

This way of speaking was neither in accordance with his usual temper or habits. She felt more surprised than hurt. He, too, felt ashamed of himself; and, as she stiffly requested him to be more polite, he apologised. For some little time past he had been subject to these sudden fits of temper. No one belonging to the gallant world of Paris ignored that on that day he was playing his last cards. If his horses did not win, if they lost him the considerable sums for which he had backed them, it would be not only a disaster, but a regular collapse; the scaffolding of his credit, the grand appearances which his undermined existence, destroyed by disorders and debts, preserved, would tumble and noise his ruin abroad. And Nana, as everyone also knew, was the man-destroyer who had finished him, who had been the last to attack that already damaged fortune, and had cleared off all that remained. The maddest caprices imaginable were related—gold thrown to the winds, an excursion to Baden, where she had not even left him the money to pay the hotel bill, a handful of diamonds flung into the fire one night of intoxication, to see if they would burn like coal. Little by little, with her big limbs and her noisy vulgar laughter, she had taken complete possession of that heir, so impoverished and so cunning, of an ancient race. At that hour he was risking his all, overpowered by a taste for what was vile and idiotic, that he had even lost the strength of his scepticism. Eight days before she had made him promise her a château on the Normandy coast, between Havre and Trouville; and he made it a point of honour to keep his word. Only, she preyed on his nerves; he thought her so stupid that he could have beaten her.

The gatekeeper had permitted them to enter the enclosure, not daring to stop the woman on the count’s arm. Nana, full of pride on at length placing her foot on that forbidden spot, studied her poses, and walked slowly along in front of the ladies seated at the foot of the stands. On ten rows of chairs there was a deep mass of elegant costumes, blending their gay colours in the open air. Chairs were turned round; friends had formed into groups just as they chanced to meet, the same as in some public garden, with children playing around; and, higher up, the tiers of the stands were filled to overflowing, whilst the delicate framework cast its shadows over the light-coloured garments. Nana stared at the ladies. She made a point of looking fixedly at Countess Sabine. Then as she passed in front of the imperial pavilion, the sight of Muffat, standing up near the Empress, in all his official dignity, amused her immensely.

“Oh! how stupid he looks!” said she out loud to Vandeuvres.

She wished to see everything. This bit of a park, with its lawns and its groups of trees, did not strike her as very interesting. A refreshment contractor had set up a large bar near the railings. Beneath an immense circular thatched roof, a crowd of men were shouting and gesticulating. This was the betting ring. Close by were some empty horse-boxes; and to her disappointment she merely beheld the horse of a gendarme. Then there was the paddock, a little more than a hundred yards round, where a stable lad was walking Valerio II., well covered up. And that was all! with the exception of a number of men on the gravel paths, wearing their orange-coloured tickets in their button-holes, and a continual promenade of people in the open galleries of the stands, which interested her for a moment; but, really! it wasn’t worth while being upset, because one was kept out of there.

Daguenet and Fauchery, who were passing, bowed to her. She beckoned to them, so they were obliged to draw near; and she launched out into abuse of the enclosure. Then interrupting herself, she exclaimed,

“Hallo! there’s the Marquis de Chouard; how old he’s looking! He’s doing for himself, the old rogue! Is he still as unruly as ever?”

Then Daguenet related the old fellow’s last prank—a story of the day before, which had not then got about. After hovering around for months, he had just given Gaga, it was said, thirty thousand francs for her daughter Amélie.

“Well! it’s abominable!” exclaimed Nana indignantly. “It’s a fine thing to have daughters! But, now I think of it! it must have been Lili that I saw over there in a brougham with a lady. I thought I knew the face. The old fellow must have brought her out.”

Vandeuvres was not listening, but stood by impatiently and anxious to get rid of her. However, Fauchery having said that if she had not seen the bookmakers she had not seen anything, the count was obliged to take her to these, in spite of his visible reluctance. This time she was satisfied; it was really very curious.

In an open space composed of a series of grass plots bordered by young chestnut trees, and shaded by tender green leaves, a compact line of bookmakers, forming a vast circle, as though at a fair, awaited those desirous of betting. In order to overlook the crowd, they were standing on wooden benches. They had posted up their betting lists against the trees; whilst, with an eye ever on the watch, they at the least sign made notes of bets so rapidly that some of the spectators gazed at them with open mouths and without comprehending. All was confusion, odds were shouted out, and exclamations greeted the unexpected changes in the prices; and now and again, increasing the hub-bub, scouts running at full speed would arrive and call out at the top of their voices the news of a start or a finish, which would raise a long murmur midst all that fever for gambling beneath the shining sun.

“How funny they are,” murmured Nana, highly amused. “Their faces all look as though they were turned inside out. You see that big one there? Well, I shouldn’t care to meet him by myself in the middle of a wood.”

But Vandeuvres pointed out to her a bookmaker, an assistant in a draper’s shop, who had made three millions in two years. Slim, delicate-looking, and fair, he was treated by everyone with the greatest respect. He was spoken to smilingly, and people stood by to look at him.

They were at last about to leave, when Vandeuvres nodded to another bookmaker, who thereupon ventured to call to him. He was one of his old coachmen—an enormous fellow with shoulders like an ox, and a very red face. Now that he was tempting fortune on the race-course, with a capital of doubtful origin, the count gave him a helping hand, commissioning him with his secret betting, and always treating him as a servant from whom one has nothing to hide. In spite of this protection, the fellow had lost some very heavy sums one after another, and he also was playing his last card on that day, his eyes all blood-shot, and himself on the verge of a fit of apoplexy.

“Well, Maréchal,” asked Vandeuvres, in a low voice, “how much have you against?”

“Five thousand louis, sir,” replied the bookmaker, also speaking low. “That’s good, isn’t it? I must admit that I’ve lowered the price. I’ve laid the odds at three to one.”

Vandeuvres looked greatly annoyed. “No, no; I won’t have it. Put it back at two to one at once. I will never tell you anything again, Maréchal.”

“Oh, but what can that matter to you now, sir?” resumed the other, with the humble smile of a confederate. “I had to attract the people so as to place your two thousand louis.”

Then Vandeuvres made him give over; but, as he went away, Maréchal, recollecting something, regretted that he had not questioned him respecting his filly’s rise in price. He was in a pretty mess if the filly had a chance, for he had taken two hundred louis about her, laying fifty to one against.

Nana could not make anything out of the words whispered by the count, but she did not dare question him again. He seemed more nervous than ever, and abruptly placed her under the care of Labordette, whom they found waiting at the entrance to the weighing place.

“You must take her back,” said he. “I have something to attend to. Good-bye.”

And he went inside. It was a narrow apartment, with a low ceiling, and almost filled with a big weighing machine. It was like the room where luggage is weighed at a small suburban station. Nana was again greatly disappointed. She had figured to herself a very vast affair—a monumental apparatus for weighing the horses. What! they only weighed the jockeys! Then there was no need to make such a fuss about it. Seated in the scales, a jockey, looking an awful fool, with his saddle and harness on his knees, was waiting till a stout man in an overcoat had taken his weight; whilst a stable lad, at the door, held the horse, Cosinus, around which the crowd gathered, silent and wrapped in thought.

They were clearing the course. Labordette hurried Nana, but he returned a few steps to show her a little fellow talking to Vandeuvres apart from the others.

“Look, there’s Price,” said he.

“Ah! yes, he rides me,” she murmured with a laugh.

She thought him very ugly. To her all the jockeys looked like fools, no doubt, said she, because they were not allowed to grow. That one, a man of forty, had the appearance of an old, dried-up child, with a long, thin face, looking hard and death-like and full of wrinkles. His body was so knotty, so reduced, that the blue jacket with white sleeves seemed to cover a piece of wood.

“No,” she resumed as they moved away, “you know he isn’t my fancy.”

A mob still crowded the course, the wet trodden grass of which looked almost black. The crowd pressed in front of the boards, placed very high up on iron posts, which exhibited the numbers of the starters, and with raised heads, greeted uproariously each number that an electric wire, communicating with the weighing place, made appear. Some gentlemen were ticking their racing cards; Pichenette having been scratched by his owner, caused a slight commotion. Nana, however, simply passed by on Labordette’s arm. The bell was ringing persistently for the course to be cleared.

“Ah! my friends,” said she as she re-entered her landau, “it’s all humbug, their enclosure.”

Everyone about her applauded her return. “Bravo, Nana! Nana is restored to us!” How stupid they were! Did they think her one to give them the slip? She returned at the right time. Attention! it was going to begin. And the champagne was forgotten, everyone left off drinking. But Nana was surprised to find Gaga in her carriage, with Bijou and little Louis on her knees. Gaga had come there for the sake of being near La Faloise, though she pretended that she had done so because she so longed to kiss the baby. She adored children.

“Ah! by the way, and Lili?” asked Nana. “It’s she, is it not, in that old fellow’s brougham over there? I’ve just been told something that isn’t very creditable.”

Gaga assumed a most grieved expression of countenance.

“My dear, it has made me quite ill,” said she woefully. “I cried so much yesterday, I was obliged to keep my bed all day, and even this morning I was afraid I should not be able to come. Well, you know what my notion was. I did not wish her to do as she has done; I had her brought up in a convent, and intended getting her well married. And she always had the best advice, and was constantly looked after. Well, my dear! she would have her own way. Oh! we had such a scene—bitter tears, unpleasant words, until it ended by my slapping her face. She felt so dull, she would try the change. Then when she took it into her head to say, ‘It’s not you, anyhow, who have the right to prevent me,’ I said to her, ‘You’re a wretch, you dishonour us, be off!’ And so off she went, but I consented to make the best arrangement I could for her. However, there’s my last hope gone; and I had been planning, ah! such grand things!”

The sounds of a quarrel caused them to stand up. It was George who was defending Vandeuvres against several vague rumours that were passing from group to group.

“How absurd to say that he no longer believes in his horse!” exclaimed the young man. “Only yesterday, at the club, he backed Lusignan to the extent of a thousand louis.”

“Yes, I was there,” added Philippe. “And he didn’t back Nana for a single louis. If Nana’s got to ten to one, it’s not owing to him. It’s ridiculous to give people credit for so much calculation. Besides, what interest could he have in behaving so?”

Labordette listened in a quiet sort of way, and, shrugging his shoulders, observed,

“Let them say what they like, they must talk of something. The count has just laid another five hundred louis at least on Lusignan, and if he’s backed Nana for a hundred it’s merely because an owner must show some faith in his horses.”

“What the devil can it matter to us?” yelled La Faloise, waving his arms. “Spirit will win. France is nowhere! Bravo, England!”

A tremor passed slowly through the crowd, whilst a fresh peal of the bell announced the arrival of the horses at the starting-place. Then Nana, to obtain a better view, stood up on one of the seats of her landau, treading on the bouquets of forget-me-nots and roses. With a glance round, she took in the vast horizon. At this last moment, when the excitement was at fever heat, she beheld first of all the empty course, enclosed by its grey barriers, along which policemen were stationed at intervals, and the broad band of muddy grass before her became greener and greener in the distance, until it merged into a soft velvety carpet. Then, as she lowered her eyes and gazed around in her immediate vicinity, she saw an ever-moving crowd standing on tip-toe or clambering on to the vehicles, excited and animated by the same passion, with the horses neighing, the refreshment tents shaking in the wind, and riders urging on their steeds in the midst of the foot passengers hastening to the barriers; whilst, when she looked at the stands on the other side of the course, the people seemed smaller, the mass of heads appeared merely a medley of colours filling the paths, the benches, and the terraces, beneath the dull sky.

And she could see the plain beyond. Behind the ivy-covered windmill, to the right, there was a background of meadows, intersected with plantations; in front, as far as the Seine, which flowed at the foot of the hill, park-like avenues, along which interminable rows of immovable vehicles were waiting, crossed each other; then on the left, towards Boulogne, the country spreading out again, opened into a view of the bluey heights of Meudon, intercepted only by a row of pawlonias, the rosy tufts of which, without a single leaf, formed a sheet of vivid crimson. People still continued to arrive, numbers were hastening from over there looking like so many ants as they wended their way along a narrow path which crossed the fields; whilst far off, in the direction of Paris, the spectators who did not pay, a host who camped out in the wood, formed a long black moving line under the trees on the outskirts of the Bois.

But suddenly a feeling of gaiety excited the hundred thousand souls who covered that bit of a field with a commotion of insects disporting themselves beneath the vast sky. The sun, which had been hidden for the last quarter of an hour, reappeared and shone in a flood of light, and everything sparkled once more. The women’s parasols looked like innumerable shields of gold above the crowd. Everyone applauded the sun, gay laughter saluted it, and arms were thrust out to draw aside the clouds.

At this moment a police officer appeared walking alone along the centre of the now deserted course. Higher up, towards the left, a man could be seen holding a red flag in his hand.

“That’s the starter, the Baron de Mauriac,” replied Labordette to a question of Nana’s.

Among the men surrounding the young woman, and who pressed even on to the steps of her landau, there arose a hubbub of exclamations, of sentences left unfinished, in the flush of first impressions. Philippe and George, Bordenave, La Faloise could not keep quiet.

“Don’t push!”—“Let me see!—”Ah! the judge is entering his box.“—”Did you say it was M. de Souvigny?“—”I say, he must have good eyes to decide a close contest from such a place!“—”Do be quiet, they’re hoisting the Hag.“—”Here they come—look out! “—”The first one is Cosinus.”

A red and yellow flag waved in the air from the top of the starting-post. The horses arrived one by one, led by stable lads, the jockeys in the saddle, their arms hanging down, and looking mere bright specks in the sunshine. After Cosinus, Hasard and Boum appeared. Then a murmur greeted Spirit, a tall, handsome bay, whose harsh colours, lemon and black, had a Britannic sadness. Valerio II. met with a grand reception. He was a lively little animal, and the colours were pale green, edged with pink. Vandeuvres’s two horses were a long time making their appearance. At length, the blue and white colours were seen following Frangipane; but Lusignan, a very dark bay of irreproachable form, was almost forgotten in the surprise created by Nana’s appearance. No one had ever before seen her thus. The sunshine gave to the chestnut filly the golden hue of a fair-haired girl. She glittered in the light like a new louis, with her deep chest, her graceful head and neck and shoulders, and her long, nervous, delicate back.

“Why! she has hair the colour of mine!” exclaimed Nana, delighted. “I feel quite proud of her!”

They all climbed on to the landau. Bordenave almost trod on little Louis, whom his mother had forgotten. He caught hold of him, grumbling in a paternal manner, and, lifting him on to his shoulder, he murmured,

“Poor young ’un, he must see too. Wait a minute and I’ll show you your mamma. There! over there—look at the geegee.”

And as Bijou was scratching his legs he lifted him up also, whilst Nana, delighted with the animal that bore her name, glanced at the other women to see how they took it. They were all madly jealous. At this moment old Tricon, on her cab, immovable until then, waved her hands, and shouted some instructions to a bookmaker over the crowd. Her instinct prompted her. She backed Nana.

La Faloise was making an unbearable row, however. He was quite smitten with Frangipane. “I’ve an inspiration,” he cried. “Just look at Frangipane. See what go there is in him! I take Frangipane at eight to one. Who’ll bet?”

“Do be quiet,” Labordette ended by saying. “You’ll only regret it all by-and-by.”

“Frangipane’s a jade,” declared Philippe. “He is already wet with perspiration. Look! they’re going to canter.”

The horses had turned to the right, and they started on their preliminary canter, passing in front of the grand stand in a disordered crowd. Then the excited remarks broke out again; every one spoke at the same time.

“Lusignan is in good condition, but he is too long in the back.”

—“You know, not a farthing on Valerio II. He is nervous; he holds his head too high—it’s a bad sign.”—“Hallo! it’s Burne who is riding Spirit.”—“I tell you he has no shoulder. A good shoulder means everything.—”No, Spirit is decidedly too quiet.—“Listen, I saw Nana after the race for the Grande Poule des Produits. She was soaking her coat as though dead, and breathing fit to burst. Twenty louis she isn’t placed!”—“Enough! enough! what a confounded nuisance he is with his Frangipane! It’s too late; they’re going to start.”

La Faloise, almost crying, was struggling to get to a bookmaker. The others had to reason with him. All the necks were stretched out. But the first start was not a good one; the starter, who in the distance looked like a thin black stick, had not lowered his red flag. The horses returned to the post after a short gallop. There were two other false starts. At length the starter, getting the horses all well together, sent them off with a skill that won admiration on all sides.

“Magnificent start!”—“No, it is chance!”—“Never mind, they’re off!”

The noise died away in the anxiety which filled every breast. Now, the betting ceased; the game was being played on the immense course. Complete silence reigned at last, as though all breathing was suspended. Faces were raised, white and trembling. At the start Hasard and Cosinus had made the running, leading all the others. Valerio II. followed close behind them; the rest came on in a confused mass. When they passed in front of the stands, shaking the earth, and with the sudden gust of wind caused by their immense speed, the group had stretched out to fully forty lengths. Frangipane was last. Nana was a little behind Lusignan and Spirit.

“The deuce!” murmured Labordette; “the English one is picking his way well through them!”

Everyone in the landau had something to say—some excla mation to utter. All stood upon tiptoe, and watched intently the bright colours of the jockeys borne along in the sunshine. As they ascended the incline, Valerio II. took the lead. Cosinus and Hasard were losing ground, whilst Lusignan and Spirit, neck and neck, were still followed closely by Nana.

“Damn it! the English horse has won, that’s quite plain,” said Bordenave. “Lusignan is tiring, and Valerio II. can’t stay.”

“Well! it is disgusting if the English horse wins!” exclaimed Philippe, in a burst of patriotic grief.

A feeling of anguish gradually overwhelmed that mob of people. Another defeat! And a wish of extraordinary ardour, amounting almost to a prayer, for Lusignan’s success was inwardly expressed by all; whilst they abused Spirit and his funereal-looking jockey. The crowd, scattered over the grass, broke up into bands who were running with all their might. Horsemen galloped swiftly over the ground. And Nana, turning slowly round, beheld at her feet that surging mob of men and animals—that sea of heads looking as though dashed about and carried along the course by the vortex of the race, streaking the bright horizon of the jockeys. She watched the fast-stepping legs, which, as the distance increased, assumed the slenderness of hairs. Now, at the farthest limit of the circle, she saw them sideways, looking so small and slight against the green background of the Bois. Then suddenly they disappeared behind a large cluster of trees close to the course.

“Don’t despair!” cried George, still full of hope. “It’s not over yet. The English horse is caught.”

But La Faloise, again overcome by his disdain for the national cause, became quite scandalous in his applause of Spirit. Bravo! it served them right! France was in need of the lesson! Spirit first, and Frangipane second! it would aggravate his fatherland! Labordette, whom he thoroughly exasperated, seriously threatened to throw him out of the carriage.

“We’ll see how long they take,” quietly observed Bordenave, who, with little Louis on his shoulder, had pulled out his watch.

One by one the horses reappeared from behind the clump of trees. Then the crowd uttered a long murmur of amazement. Valerio II. still had the lead, but Spirit was gaining on him, and Lusignan, who was next, had given way, whilst another horse was taking his place. The spectators could not understand it at first; they mixed up the colours. Exclamations arose on all sides.

“But it is Nana!”—“Nana? absurd! I tell you Lusignan still keeps his place.”—“Yes, it is, though, it is Nana! It is easy to recognise her by her golden colour.”—“There! look at her now! She seems all on fire.”—“Bravo, Nana! there’s an artful minx for you!”—“Bah! it’s nothing. She’s only making the running for Lusignan.”

For some seconds that was the general opinion. But the filly slowly continued to gain ground in a continued effort. Then an immense emotion seized upon all. The horses in the rear no longer excited the smallest interest. A last struggle began between Spirit, Nana, Lusignan, and Valerio II. Their names were on the lips of everyone, their progress or their falling off was proclaimed in short disconnected sentences. And Nana, who had climbed on to the coachman’s seat, as though lifted up by some invisible power, was all pale and trembling, and so deeply moved that she could not say a word. Labordette, close beside her, was once more smiling.

“Well, the English horse is in difficulties,” said Philippe, joyfully. “He is not going so well.”

“Anyhow, Lusignan is done for,” cried La Faloise. “Valerio II. leads the way. Look! there they are, the whole four of them, close together.”

The same words came from every throat: “What a rate they’re going at! Oh! what a frightful rate!”

Nana now beheld the group coming towards her like a flash of lightning. You could feel their approach, and almost their breathing, a distant roar which grew louder and louder every second. The whole crowd impetuously rushed to the barriers, and, preceding the horses, a heavy clamour escaped from every chest, coming nearer and nearer, with a sound like the ocean breaking on the shore. It was the final outburst of brutal passion aroused by a colossal venture, a hundred thousand spectators with one fixed idea, burning with the same hankering for luck, following with their eyes those animals whose gallop carried off millions. They shoved and trampled on one another, with clinched fists and open mouths, each one for himself, and urging on his favourite with his voice and gestures. And the cry of this vast multitude, which was like the roar of some savage beast, became more and more distinct.

“Here they come!—here they come!—here they come!”

But Nana continued to gain ground; now Valerio II. was distanced, and she led with Spirit by two or three necks. The rumbling noise resembling thunder increased. As they came on, a tempest of oaths greeted them from the landau.

“Gee up, Lusignan! you big coward, you sorry beast!”—“Look at the English one! isn’t he grand? Go it, old fellow, go it!—”And that Valerio, it’s disgusting!“—”Ah! the carrion! my ten louis are nowhere now!“—”There’s only Nana in it! Bravo, Nana! bravo, little slut!”

And Nana, on the coachman’s box, was swinging her hips and thighs, without knowing she did so, as though she herself was running. She kept protruding her body, under the notion that it helped the filly along; and each time she did so she sighed wearily, and said, in a low, painful tone of voice,

“Go it—go it—go it.”

A grand sight was then beheld. Price, erect in the stirrups, his whip raised, flogged Nana with an iron arm. That old, dried-up child, that long figure, usually looking so hard and dead, seemed shooting sparks of fire; and, in a burst of furious audacity, of triumphant will, he instilled some of his own spirit into the filly. He kept her up, he carried her along, covered with foam, and with eyes all bloody. The cluster of horses passed like a flash of lightning, sweeping the air, taking away the breath of all who saw them; whilst the judge, on the lookout, calmly awaited. Then there arose an immense cheer. With a final effort Price had lifted Nana to the post, beating Spirit by a head.

The clamour that burst forth was like the roar of the rising tide. “Nana! Nana! Nana!” The cry rolled and grew with the violence of a tempest, gradually filling the air, from the innermost recesses of the Bois to Mount Valérien, from the meadows of Longchamps to the plain of Boulogne. Around Nana’s landau a mad enthusiasm was displayed. “Long Live Nana! Long Live France! Down with England!” The women waved their parasols. Some men sprung into the air, and turned round vociferating; others, laughing nervously, flung up their hats. And on the other side of the course the crowd in the enclosure responded. An agitation passed through the stands, without one being able to discern anything distinctly, beyond a commotion of the air (like the invisible flame of a brazier) above that living heap of little chaotic figures, twisting their arms about, with black specks indicating their eyes and open mouths. The cry continued unceasingly, growing in intensity, caught up in the distance by the people camping beneath the trees, to spread again and increase itself with the emotion of the imperial stand, where the Empress joined in the applause. “Nana! Nana! Nana!” The shout rose beneath the glorious sun, which stimulated the delirium of the crowd with a shower of gold.

Then Nana, standing on the box-seat of her landau, stretched to her full height, thought it was she that they were applauding. For an instant she stood immovable in the astonishment of her triumph, watching the course invaded by a host so compact, by such a sea of black hats, that the grass could no longer be seen. Then, when all that mob had taken up its position, leaving a narrow passage to the entrance of the course, acclaiming Nana again as she retired with Price, broken in appearance, lifeless, and as though empty, the young woman violently slapped her thighs, forgetting everything as she gave vent to her triumph in the coarsest language.

“Ah! damn it all! it’s me, though. Ah! damn it all! what luck!”

And not knowing how to show the joy that was overwhelming her, she seized hold of and kissed little Louis, whom she had just caught sight of on Bordenave’s shoulder.

“Three minutes and fourteen seconds,” said the latter, putting his watch back into his pocket.

Nana still listened to her name with which the whole plain resounded. It was her people who applauded her, whilst, in a straight line with the sun, she throned over them, with her hair shining like a star, and her blue and white dress of the colour of the heavens. Labordette, before hastening away, told her that she had won two thousand louis, for he had placed her fifty louis on Nana at forty to one. But the money affected her less than that unexpected victory, the splendour of which made her queen of Paris. The other women had all lost. Rose Mignon, in a fit of passion, had broken her parasol; and Caroline Héquet, and Clarisse, and Simone, and even Lucy Stewart, in spite of her son’s presence, all swore in an undertone, exasperated by that big girl’s luck; whilst old Tricon, who had crossed herself both at the start and the finish of the race, towered above them to the full height of her tall body, delighted at her discernment, and like an experienced matron canonizing Nana.

Around the landau, however, the rush of men increased. The band had uttered the most ferocious yells. George, almost choked, continued to shout by himself in a broken voice. As the champagne ran short, Philippe, taking the two grooms with him, hastened off to the refreshment tents. And Nana’s court grew larger and larger; her triumph determined the laggards. The movement which had made her landau the central object ended in an apotheosis—Queen Venus surrounded by her delirious subjects. Behind her, Bordenave was muttering oaths with the tender feelings of a father. Steiner himself, reconquered, had left Simone, and was hanging on to one of the carriage steps. When the champagne arrived, when she raised her glass full of wine, the applause was so deafening—the cries of “Nana! Nana! Nana!” were so loud—that the amazed multitude looked around, expecting to see the filly; and one no longer knew whether it was the animal or the woman who most filled the men’s hearts.

Mignon hastened to her, in spite of Rose’s black looks. The confounded girl put him quite beside himself; he must embrace her. Then after he had kissed her on both cheeks, he said paternally,

“What bothers me is that Rose will now, for certain, send the letter. She’s in such a rage.”

“So much the better! That’s just what I want!” said Nana, forgetting herself. But seeing him lost in astonishment at her words, she hastened to add, “No, no, whatever am I saying? Really, I no longer know what I say! I’m tipsy.”

And indeed, she was intoxicated with joy and with the sunshine, as with her glass raised on high, she applauded herself.

“To Nana! to Nana!” cried she, in the midst of a still greater increase of uproar, laughter and cheers, which little by little, gained the entire race-course.

The races were drawing to a close; they were now running for the Vaublanc Prize. Vehicles were departing one by one. Vandeuvres’s name was frequently uttered in the midst of squabbles. Now, it was clear. For two years past, Vandeuvres had been preparing for this exploit by always instructing Gresham to pull Nana; and he had only produced Lusignan to make the running for the filly The losers lost their tempers, whilst the winners shrugged their shoulders. What next? it was all right. An owner could manage his stable as he chose. There had been much queerer things done than that! The greater number of people considered Vandeuvres very smart, to have secured through his friends all he could possibly get on Nana, which had explained the sudden rise in her price; they talked of two thousand louis, at an average of thirty to one, which meant a gain of twelve hundred thousand francs, a sum so large that it commanded respect, and excused everything.

But other rumours, very grave ones, which were whispered about, came from the enclosure. The men who returned from there brought details. Voices were raised as they related the particulars of a frightful scandal—that poor Vandeuvres was done for. He had spoilt his superb hit by a piece of arrant stupidity, an idiotic robbery, in commissioning Maréchal, a bookmaker, whose affairs were in a very queer state, to place on his account two thousand louis against Lusignan, just for the sake of getting back his thousand and odd louis, which he had openly bet on the horse, a mere nothing; and that was the fatal crack in the midst of his already tottering fortunes. The bookmaker, warned that the favourite would not win, had made about sixty thousand francs by the horse; only, Labordette, not having received exact and detailed instructions, had gone and placed with him two hundred louis on Nana, which he, in his ignorance of what was going to be done, continued to lay at fifty to one against. Done out of one hundred thousand francs by the filly, with a clear loss of forty thousand, Maréchal, who felt everything giving way beneath him, had suddenly understood all on seeing Labordette and the count conversing together after the race in front of the weighing place; and with the fury of an old coachman, and the rough manner of a man who has been robbed, he had just created a frightful disturbance before every one, telling the story in most atrocious language, and gathering a mob around him. It was added that the stewards were about to inquire into the matter.

Nana, whom Philippe and George were quietly informing of what had happened, kept making reflections, without, however, ceasing to laugh and to drink. It was, after all, very likely, she recollected certain things, and then, that Maréchal was a horrid fellow. Yet she still doubted, when Labordette appeared. He was very pale.

“Well?” queried she, in a low voice.

“It’s all up with him!” he replied, simply.

And he shrugged his shoulders. He had acted like a child, this Vandeuvres! She made a gesture of being bored.

That night, at Mabille, Nana met with a colossal success. When she arrived, towards ten o’clock, the uproar was already formidable. This classic night of folly gathered together all the gallant youth of the capital, an aristocratic company indulging in horse-play and a stupidity worthy of lackeys. There was quite a crush beneath the garlands of flaring gas-jets, a mass of dress suits, of extravagant costumes; women with bare shoulders in old dresses only fit for soiling, walked round and yelled, stimulated by drinking on a gigantic scale. At thirty paces one could no longer hear the brass instruments of the orchestra. No one danced. Idiotic remarks, repeated no one knew why, circulated among the groups. They all exerted themselves, but without succeeding in being funny. Seven women, shut up in the cloak-room, cried to be delivered. A shallot, picked up and sold by auction, fetched two louis. Just then Nana arrived, still dressed in the blue and white costume that she wore at the races. The shallot was presented to her in the midst of a thunder of applause. They seized hold of her in spite of her struggles, and three gentlemen carried her in triumph into the garden, across the ruined lawns and the damaged beds of flowers and shrubs, and as the orchestra was in the way, they took it by assault, and smashed the chairs and desks. A paternal police organized the riot.

It was not till the Tuesday that Nana felt quite recovered from the emotions of her victory. She was talking that morning with Madame Lerat, come to give her news of little Louis, who had been unwell ever since his outing. She was highly interested in an event which at that moment was occupying Paris. Vandeuvres, warned off all the race-courses, his name withdrawn the same night from the list of members of the Cercle Imperial, had on the morrow set fire to his stable, and had been burned with his horses.

“He told me he would,” the young woman was saying. “Ah! the young fellow was a regular madman. It gave me such a fright last night when I heard of it! You see he might very well have murdered me one night; and, besides, oughtn’t he to have told me about his horse? I should, at least, have made my fortune! He said to Labordette that if I was let into the secret I would at once tell my hairdresser, and a host of other men. How very polite! Ah, no! really, I can’t regret him much.”

After thinking the matter over, she had become furious. At that moment Labordette entered the room. He had been collecting her winnings for her, and brought her about forty thousand francs. That only added to her ill-humour, for she ought to have won a million. Labordette, who pretended to be very innocent in the matter, boldly forsook Vandeuvres altogether. Those ancient families were all done for; they always came to grief in a ridiculous manner.

“Oh, no!” said Nana; “it is not ridiculous to set oneself afire like that in a stable. I think he ended grandly. Oh! you know, I’m not defending his affair with Mérachal. Now, that was ridiculous. When I think that Blanche had the idiocy to pretend that I was the cause of it all! I said to her, ‘Did I tell him to steal?’ I suppose one may ask a man for money without driving him to commit a crime. If he had said to me, ‘I’ve nothing more,’ I should have rejoined, ‘Very well, we’d better part.’ And that would have been the end of it.”

“No doubt,” observed the aunt gravely. “When men become obstinate, it is so much the worse for them!”

“But as for the closing scene—oh! it was indeed grand!” resumed Nana. “It seems that it was terrible; the thought of it makes my flesh creep. He got everybody out of the way, and shut himself inside, with some petroleum. And it blazed away—ah! it must have been a sight! Just fancy, a big place like that nearly all of wood, and full of hay and straw! The flames, they say, rose nearly as high as steeples. The best part was the horses, who didn’t want to be roasted. They were heard kicking and flinging themselves against the doors, and uttering cries like human beings. Some of the people there nearly died from fright.”

Labordette gave a low whistle of incredulity. He did not believe in Vandeuvres’s death. One person swore that he had seen him get out through a window. He had set fire to his stable in a fit of madness, only as soon as it began to get warm, it probably brought him to his senses again. A man who behaved so stupidly with women, so empty-headed, was not capable of dying in such a grand style.

Nana’s illusions were dispelled as she listened to him; and she merely made this remark,

“Oh! the wretch! it was such a grand ending!”