At that time Nana was much tormented by circumstances and not at all
festively inclined. She needed money, and when the Tricon did not want
her, which too often happened, she had no notion where to bestow her
charms. Then began a series of wild descents upon the Parisian pavement,
plunges into the baser sort of vice, whose votaries prowl in muddy
bystreets under the restless flicker of gas lamps. Nana went back to the
public-house balls in the suburbs, where she had kicked up her heels
in the early ill-shod days. She revisited the dark corners on the outer
boulevards, where when she was fifteen years old men used to hug her
while her father was looking for her in order to give her a hiding. Both
the women would speed along, visiting all the ballrooms and restaurants
in a quarter and climbing innumerable staircases which were wet with
spittle and spilled beer, or they would stroll quietly about, going up
streets and planting themselves in front of carriage gates. Satin, who
had served her apprenticeship in the Quartier Latin, used to take Nana
to Bullier's and the public houses in the Boulevard Saint-Michel. But
the vacations were drawing on, and the Quarter looked too starved.
Eventually they always returned to the principal boulevards, for it was
there they ran the best chance of getting what they wanted.
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