Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [184]
“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