Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [179]
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 chaiseba 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