Gaga and Clarisse had called La Faloise and were throwing themselves at him in their efforts to regain his allegiance, but he left them immediately, rolling off in a chaffing, disdainful manner.  Nana dazzled him.  He rushed up to her and stood on the carriage step, and when she twitted him about Gaga he murmured: 

“Oh dear, no!  We’ve seen the last of the old lot!  Mustn’t play her off on me any more.  And then, you know, it’s you now, Juliet mine!”

He had put his hand to his heart.  Nana laughed a good deal at this exceedingly sudden out-of-door declaration.  She continued: 

“I say, that’s not what I’m after.  You’re making me forget that I want to lay wagers.  Georges, you see that bookmaker down there, a great red-faced man with curly hair?  He’s got a dirty blackguard expression which I like.  You’re to go and choose—­Oh, I say, what can one choose?”

“I’m not a patriotic soul—­oh dear, no!” La Faloise blurted out.  “I’m all for the Englishman.  It will be ripping if the Englishman gains!  The French may go to Jericho!”

Nana was scandalized.  Presently the merits of the several horses began to be discussed, and La Faloise, wishing to be thought very much in the swim, spoke of them all as sorry jades.  Frangipane, Baron Verdier’s horse, was by The Truth out of Lenore.  A big bay horse he was, who would certainly have stood a chance if they hadn’t let him get foundered during training.  As to Valerio II from the Corbreuse stable, he wasn’t ready yet; he’d had the colic in April.  Oh yes, they were keeping that dark, but he was sure of it, on his honor!  In the end he advised Nana to choose Hazard, the most defective of the lot, a horse nobody would have anything to do with.  Hazard, by jingo—­such superb lines and such an action!  That horse was going to astonish the people.

“No,” said Nana, “I’m going to put ten louis on Lusignan and five on Boum.”

La Faloise burst forth at once: 

“But, my dear girl, Boum’s all rot!  Don’t choose him!  Gasc himself is chucking up backing his own horse.  And your Lusignan—­never!  Why, it’s all humbug!  By Lamb and Princess—­just think!  By Lamb and Princess—­no, by Jove!  All too short in the legs!”

He was choking.  Philippe pointed out that, notwithstanding this, Lusignan had won the Prix des Cars and the Grande Poule des Produits.  But the other ran on again.  What did that prove?  Nothing at all.  On the contrary, one ought to distrust him.  And besides, Gresham rode Lusignan; well then, let them jolly well dry up!  Gresham had bad luck; he would never get to the post.