“It’s her son Lucy’s got in tow! He’s charming in his uniform. That’s why she’s looking so grand, of course! You know she’s afraid of him and that she passes herself off as an actress. Poor young man, I pity him all the same! He seems quite unsuspicious.” “Bah,” muttered Philippe, laughing, “she’ll be able to find him an heiress in the country when she likes.” Nana was silent, for she had just noticed the Tricon amid the thick of the carriages. Having arrived in a cab, whence she could not see anything, the Tricon had quietly mounted the coach box. And there, straightening up her tall figure, with her noble face enshrined in its long curls, she dominated the crowd as though enthroned amid her feminine subjects. All the latter smiled discreetly at her while she, in her superiority, pretended not to know them. She wasn’t there for business purposes: she was watching the races for the love of the thing, as became a frantic gambler with a passion for horseflesh. “Dear me, there’s that idiot La Faloise!” said Georges suddenly. It was a surprise to them all. Nana did not recognize her La Faloise, for since he had come into his inheritance he had grown extraordinarily up to date. He wore a low collar and was clad in a cloth of delicate hue which fitted close to his meager shoulders. His hair was in little bandeaux, and he affected a weary kind of swagger, a soft tone of voice and slang words and phrases which he did not take the trouble to finish. “But he’s quite the thing!” declared Nana in perfect enchantment. 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!”