Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [193]
And indeed, she was intoxicated with joy and with the sunshine, as with her glass raised on high, she applauded herself.
“To Nana! to Nana!” cried she, in the midst of a still greater increase of uproar, laughter and cheers, which little by little, gained the entire race-course.
The races were drawing to a close; they were now running for the Vaublanc Prize. Vehicles were departing one by one. Vandeuvres’s name was frequently uttered in the midst of squabbles. Now, it was clear. For two years past, Vandeuvres had been preparing for this exploit by always instructing Gresham to pull Nana; and he had only produced Lusignan to make the running for the filly The losers lost their tempers, whilst the winners shrugged their shoulders. What next? it was all right. An owner could manage his stable as he chose. There had been much queerer things done than that! The greater number of people considered Vandeuvres very smart, to have secured through his friends all he could possibly get on Nana, which had explained the sudden rise in her price; they talked of two thousand louis, at an average of thirty to one, which meant a gain of twelve hundred thousand francs, a sum so large that it commanded respect, and excused everything.
But other rumours, very grave ones, which were whispered about, came from the enclosure. The men who returned from there brought details. Voices were raised as they related the particulars of a frightful scandal—that poor Vandeuvres was done for. He had spoilt his superb hit by a piece of arrant stupidity, an idiotic robbery, in commissioning Maréchal, a bookmaker, whose affairs were in a very queer state, to place on his account two thousand louis against Lusignan, just for the sake of getting back his thousand and odd louis, which he had openly bet on the horse, a mere nothing; and that was the fatal crack in the midst of his already tottering fortunes. The bookmaker, warned that the favourite would not win, had made about sixty thousand francs by the horse; only, Labordette, not having received exact and detailed instructions, had gone and placed with him two hundred louis on Nana, which he, in his ignorance of what was going to be done, continued to lay at fifty to one against. Done out of one hundred thousand francs by the filly, with a clear loss of forty thousand, Maréchal, who felt everything giving way beneath him, had suddenly understood all on seeing Labordette and the count conversing together after the race in front of the weighing place; and with the fury of an old coachman, and the rough manner of a man who has been robbed, he had just created a frightful disturbance before every one, telling the story in most atrocious language, and gathering a mob around him. It was added that the stewards were about to inquire into the matter.
Nana, whom Philippe and George were quietly informing of what had happened, kept making reflections, without, however, ceasing to laugh and to drink. It was, after all, very likely, she recollected certain things, and then, that Maréchal was a horrid fellow. Yet she still doubted, when Labordette appeared. He was very pale.
“Well?” queried she, in a low voice.
“It’s all up with him!” he replied, simply.
And he shrugged his shoulders. He had acted like a child, this Vandeuvres! She made a gesture of being bored.
That night, at Mabille, Nana met with a colossal success. When she arrived, towards ten o’clock, the uproar was already formidable. This classic night of folly gathered together all the gallant youth of the capital, an aristocratic company indulging in horse-play and a stupidity worthy of lackeys. There was quite a crush beneath the garlands of flaring gas-jets, a mass of dress suits, of extravagant costumes; women with bare shoulders in old dresses only fit for soiling, walked round and yelled, stimulated by drinking on a gigantic scale. At thirty paces