"A duel about Nana? But, my dear sir, all Paris would be laughing at
you. Men do not fight for Nana; it would be ridiculous."
The count grew very pale and made a violent gesture.
"Then I shall slap his face in the open street."
For an hour Labordette had to argue with him. A blow would make the
affair odious; that evening everyone would know the real reason of the
meeting; it would be in all the papers. And Labordette always finished
with the same expression:
"It is impossible; it would be ridiculous."
Each time Muffat heard these words they seemed sharp and keen as a stab.
He could not even fight for the woman he loved; people would have burst
out laughing. Never before had he felt more bitterly the misery of his
love, the contrast between his heavy heart and the absurdity of this
life of pleasure in which it was now lost. This was his last rebellion;
he allowed Labordette to convince him, and he was present afterward at
the procession of his friends, who lived there as if at home.
Nana in a few months finished them up greedily, one after the other. The
growing needs entailed by her luxurious way of life only added fuel to
her desires, and she finished a man up at one mouthful.
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