His only hope at that period was a horse, Lusignan by
name, which he was training for the Prix de Paris. He was living on this
horse, which was the sole stay of his shaken credit, and whenever Nana
grew exacting he would put her off till June and to the probability of
Lusignan's winning.
"Bah! He may very likely lose," she said merrily, "since he's going to
clear them all out at the races."
By way of reply he contented himself by smiling a thin, mysterious
smile. Then carelessly:
"By the by, I've taken the liberty of giving your name to my outsider,
the filly. Nana, Nana--that sounds well. You're not vexed?"
"Vexed, why?" she said in a state of inward ecstasy.
The conversation continued, and same mention was made of an execution
shortly to take place. The young woman said she was burning to go to it
when Satin appeared at the dressing-room door and called her in tones
of entreaty. She got up at once and left the gentlemen lolling lazily
about, while they finished their cigars and discussed the grave question
as to how far a murderer subject to chronic alcoholism is responsible
for his act. In the dressing room Zoe sat helpless on a chair, crying
her heart out, while Satin vainly endeavored to console her.
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