Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [185]
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