Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [182]
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,