Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [186]
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,