“Let’s see how many minutes they’ll be about it,” said Bordenave peaceably, for though holding up Louiset, he had taken out his watch.

One after the other the horses reappeared from behind the clump of trees.  There was stupefaction; a long murmur arose among the crowd.  Valerio II was still leading, but Spirit was gaining on him, and behind him Lusignan had slackened while another horse was taking his place.  People could not make this out all at once; they were confused about the colors.  Then there was a burst of exclamations.

“But it’s Nana!  Nana?  Get along!  I tell you Lusignan hasn’t budged.  Dear me, yes, it’s Nana.  You can certainly recognize her by her golden color.  D’you see her now?  She’s blazing away.  Bravo, Nana!  What a ripper she is!  Bah, it doesn’t matter a bit:  she’s making the running for Lusignan!”

For some seconds this was everybody’s opinion.  But little by little the filly kept gaining and gaining, spurting hard all the while.  Thereupon a vast wave of feeling passed over the crowd, and the tail of horses in the rear ceased to interest.  A supreme struggle was beginning between Spirit, Nana, Lusignan and Valerio II.  They were pointed out; people estimated what ground they had gained or lost in disconnected, gasping phrases.  And Nana, who had mounted up on the coach box, as though some power had lifted her thither, stood white and trembling and so deeply moved as not to be able to speak.  At her side Labordette smiled as of old.

“The Englishman’s in trouble, eh?” said Philippe joyously.  “He’s going badly.”

“In any case, it’s all up with Lusignan,” shouted La Faloise.  “Valerio II is coming forward.  Look, there they are all four together.”

The same phrase was in every mouth.

“What a rush, my dears!  By God, what a rush!”

The squad of horses was now passing in front of them like a flash of lightning.  Their approach was perceptible—­the breath of it was as a distant muttering which increased at every second.  The whole crowd had thrown themselves impetuously against the barriers, and a deep clamor issued from innumerable chests before the advance of the horses and drew nearer and nearer like the sound of a foaming tide.  It was the last fierce outburst of colossal partisanship; a hundred thousand spectators were possessed by a single passion, burning with the same gambler’s lust, as they gazed after the beasts, whose galloping feet were sweeping millions with them.  The crowd pushed and crushed—­fists were clenched; people gaped, openmouthed; every man was fighting for himself; every man with voice and gesture was madly speeding the horse of his choice.  And the cry of all this multitude, a wild beast’s cry despite the garb of civilization, grew ever more distinct: 

“Here they come!  Here they come!  Here they come!”

But Nana was still gaining ground, and now Valerio II was distanced, and she was heading the race, with Spirit two or three necks behind.  The rolling thunder of voices had increased.  They were coming in; a storm of oaths greeted them from the landau.