“Then, you know, those people don’t fetch me any longer now!  I know ’em too well.  You should see ’em behind scenes.  No more honor!  It’s all up with honor!  Filth belowstairs, filth abovestairs, filth everywhere.  That’s why I won’t be bothered about ’em!”

And with a comprehensive gesture she took in everybody, from the grooms leading the horses on to the course to the sovereign lady busy chatting with with Charles, a prince and a dirty fellow to boot.

“Bravo, Nana!  Awfully smart, Nana!” cried La Faloise enthusiastically.

The tolling of a bell was lost in the wind; the races continued.  The Prix d’Ispahan had just been run for and Berlingot, a horse belonging to the Mechain stable, had won.  Nana recalled Labordette in order to obtain news of the hundred louis, but he burst out laughing and refused to let her know the horses he had chosen for her, so as not to disturb the luck, as he phrased it.  Her money was well placed; she would see that all in good time.  And when she confessed her bets to him and told him how she had put ten louis on Lusignan and five on Valerio II, he shrugged his shoulders, as who should say that women did stupid things whatever happened.  His action surprised her; she was quite at sea.

Just then the field grew more animated than before.  Open-air lunches were arranged in the interval before the Grand Prix.  There was much eating and more drinking in all directions, on the grass, on the high seats of the four-in-hands and mail coaches, in the victorias, the broughams, the landaus.  There was a universal spread of cold viands and a fine disorderly display of champagne baskets which footmen kept handing down out of the coach boots.  Corks came out with feeble pops, which the wind drowned.  There was an interchange of jests, and the sound of breaking glasses imparted a note of discord to the high-strung gaiety of the scene.  Gaga and Clarisse, together with Blanche, were making a serious repast, for they were eating sandwiches on the carriage rug with which they had been covering their knees.  Louise Violaine had got down from her basket carriage and had joined Caroline Hequet.  On the turf at their feet some gentlemen had instituted a drinking bar, whither Tatan, Maria, Simonne and the rest came to refresh themselves, while high in air and close at hand bottles were being emptied on Lea de Horn’s mail coach, and, with infinite bravado and gesticulation, a whole band were making themselves tipsy in the sunshine, above the heads of the crowd.  Soon, however, there was an especially large crowd by Nana’s landau.  She had risen to her feet and had set herself to pour out glasses of champagne for the men who came to pay her their respects.  Francois, one of the footmen, was passing up the bottles while La Faloise, trying hard to imitate a coster’s accents, kept pattering away: 

“’Ere y’re, given away, given away!  There’s some for everybody!”

“Do be still, dear boy,” Nana ended by saying.  “We look like a set of tumblers.”