"It's the last of them, isn't it?" the countess placidly asked Fauchery,
pretending at the same time not to recognize Nana.
The wheel of the victoria came near grazing her, but she did not step
back. The two women had exchanged a deeply significant glance. It was,
in fact, one of those momentary scrutinies which are at once complete
and definite. As to the men, they behaved unexceptionably. Fauchery and
Daguenet looked icy and recognized no one. The marquis, more nervous
than they and afraid of some farcical ebullition on the part of the
ladies, had plucked a blade of grass and was rolling it between his
fingers. Only Vandeuvres, who had stayed somewhat apart from the rest
of the company, winked imperceptibly at Lucy, who smiled at him as she
passed.
"Be careful!" M. Venot had whispered as he stood behind Count Muffat.
The latter in extreme agitation gazed after this illusive vision of Nana
while his wife turned slowly round and scrutinized him. Then he cast
his eyes on the ground as though to escape the sound of galloping hoofs
which were sweeping away both his senses and his heart. He could have
cried aloud in his agony, for, seeing Georges among Nana's skirts, he
understood it all now.
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