Here, then, raged the keen contest
of people with light purses who risked their five-franc pieces and
displayed infinite covetousness for the sake of a possible gain of a
few louis. In a word, the battle would be between Spirit and Lusignan.
Englishmen, plainly recognizable as such, were strolling about among
the various groups. They were quite at home; their faces were fiery with
excitement; they were afready triumphant. Bramah, a horse belonging to
Lord Reading, had gained the Grand Prix the previous year, and this had
been a defeat over which hearts were still bleeding. This year it would
be terrible if France were beaten anew. Accordingly all the ladies were
wild with national pride. The Vandeuvres stable became the rampart
of their honor, and Lusignan was pushed and defended and applauded
exceedingly. Gaga, Blanche, Caroline and the rest betted on Lusignan.
Lucy Stewart abstained from this on account of her son, but it was
bruited abroad that Rose Mignon had commissioned Labordette to risk two
hundred louis for her. The Tricon, as she sat alone next her driver,
waited till the last moment. Very cool, indeed, amid all these disputes,
very far above the ever-increasing uproar in which horses' names kept
recurring and lively Parisian phrases mingled with guttural English
exclamations, she sat listening and taking notes majestically.
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