But whatever happened she still felt that stupid, idle void,
which caused her, as it were, to suffer internal cramps. Despite the
incessant infatuations that possessed her heart, she would stretch out
her arms with a gesture of immense weariness the moment she was left
alone. Solitude rendered her low spirited at once, for it brought her
face to face with the emptiness and boredom within her. Extremely gay
by nature and profession, she became dismal in solitude and would sum
up her life in the following ejaculation, which recurred incessantly
between her yawns:
"Oh, how the men bother me!"
One afternoon as she was returning home from a concert, Nana, on the
sidewalk in the Rue Montmartre, noticed a woman trotting along in
down-at-the-heel boots, dirty petticoats and a hat utterly ruined by the
rain. She recognized her suddenly.
"Stop, Charles!" she shouted to the coachman and began calling: "Satin,
Satin!"
Passers-by turned their heads; the whole street stared. Satin had drawn
near and was still further soiling herself against the carriage wheels.
"Do get in, my dear girl," said Nana tranquilly, disdaining the
onlookers.
And with that she picked her up and carried her off, though she was in
disgusting contrast to her light blue landau and her dress of pearl-gray
silk trimmed with Chantilly, while the street smiled at the coachman's
loftily dignified demeanor.
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