“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: