The ladies made an especial onslaught on
the boiled fowl and rice: their stays seemed about to burst; they wiped
their lips with slow, luxurious movements. At first Nana had been afraid
of meeting old friends who might have asked her silly questions, but
she grew calm at last, for she recognized no one she knew among that
extremely motley throng, where faded dresses and lamentable hats
contrasted strangely with handsome costumes, the wearers of which
fraternized in vice with their shabbier neighbors. She was momentarily
interested, however, at the sight of a young man with short curly
hair and insolent face who kept a whole tableful of vastly fat women
breathlessly attentive to his slightest caprice. But when the young man
began to laugh his bosom swelled.
"Good lack, it's a woman!"
She let a little cry escape as she spoke, and Satin, who was stuffing
herself with boiled fowl, lifted up her head and whispered:
"Oh yes! I know her. A smart lot, eh? They do just fight for her."
Nana pouted disgustingly. She could not understand the thing as yet.
Nevertheless, she remarked in her sensible tone that there was no
disputing about tastes or colors, for you never could tell what you
yourself might one day have a liking for.
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