Then Nana remembered Louiset, who was sitting forgotten behind
her. Maybe he was thirsty, and she forced him to take a drop or two of
wine, which made him cough dreadfully.
"'Ere y'are, 'ere y'are, gemmen!" La Faloise reiterated. "It don't cost
two sous; it don't cost one. We give it away."
But Nana broke in with an exclamation:
"Gracious, there's Bordenave down there! Call him. Oh, run, please,
please do!"
It was indeed Bordenave. He was strolling about with his hands behind
his back, wearing a hat that looked rusty in the sunlight and a greasy
frock coat that was glossy at the seams. It was Bordenave shattered by
bankruptcy, yet furious despite all reverses, a Bordenave who flaunted
his misery among all the fine folks with the hardihood becoming a man
ever ready to take Dame Fortune by storm.
"The deuce, how smart we are!" he said when Nana extended her hand to
him like the good-natured wench she was.
Presently, after emptying a glass of champagne, he gave vent to the
following profoundly regretful phrase:
"Ah, if only I were a woman! But, by God, that's nothing! Would you like
to go on the stage again? I've a notion: I'll hire the Gaite, and we'll
gobble up Paris between us.
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