then fifteen to one.  No one could understand it.  A filly beaten on all the racecourses!  A filly which that same morning no single sportsman would take at fifty to one against!  What did this sudden madness betoken?  Some laughed at it and spoke of the pretty doing awaiting the duffers who were being taken in by the joke.  Others looked serious and uneasy and sniffed out something ugly under it all.  Perhaps there was a “deal” in the offing.  Allusion was made to well-known stories about the robberies which are winked at on racecourses, but on this occasion the great name of Vandeuvres put a stop to all such accusations, and the skeptics in the end prevailed when they prophesied that Nana would come in last of all.

“Who’s riding Nana?” queried La Faloise.

Just then the real Nana reappeared, whereat the gentlemen lent his question an indecent meaning and burst into an uproarious fit of laughter.  Nana bowed.

“Price is up,” she replied.

And with that the discussion began again.  Price was an English celebrity.  Why had Vandeuvres got this jockey to come over, seeing that Gresham ordinarily rode Nana?  Besides, they were astonished to see him confiding Lusignan to this man Gresham, who, according to La Faloise, never got a place.  But all these remarks were swallowed up in jokes, contradictions and an extraordinarily noisy confusion of opinions.  In order to kill time the company once more set themselves to drain bottles of champagne.  Presently a whisper ran round, and the different groups opened outward.  It was Vandeuvres.  Nana affected vexation.

“Dear me, you’re a nice fellow to come at this time of day!  Why, I’m burning to see the enclosure.”

“Well, come along then,” he said; “there’s still time.  You’ll take a stroll round with me.  I just happen to have a permit for a lady about me.”

And he led her off on his arm while she enjoyed the jealous glances with which Lucy, Caroline and the others followed her.  The young Hugons and La Faloise remained in the landau behind her retreating figure and continued to do the honors of her champagne.  She shouted to them that she would return immediately.

But Vandeuvres caught sight of Labordette and called him, and there was an interchange of brief sentences.

“You’ve scraped everything up?”

“Yes.”

“To what amount?”

“Fifteen hundred louis—­pretty well all over the place.”

As Nana was visibly listening, and that with much curiosity, they held their tongues.  Vandeuvres was very nervous, and he had those same clear eyes, shot with little flames, which so frightened her the night he spoke of burning himself and his horses together.  As they crossed over the course she spoke low and familiarly.

“I say, do explain this to me.  Why are the odds on your filly changing?”

He trembled, and this sentence escaped him: 

“Ah, they’re talking, are they?  What a set those betting men are!  When I’ve got the favorite they all throw themselves upon him, and there’s no chance for me.  After that, when an outsider’s asked for, they give tongue and yell as though they were being skinned.”