ve the heads of the crowd.
Soon, however, there was an especially large crowd by Nana's landau.
She had risen to her feet and had set herself to pour out glasses of
champagne for the men who came to pay her their respects. Francois, one
of the footmen, was passing up the bottles while La Faloise, trying hard
to imitate a coster's accents, kept pattering away:

"'Ere y're, given away, given away! There's some for everybody!"

"Do be still, dear boy," Nana ended by saying. "We look like a set of
tumblers."

She thought him very droll and was greatly entertained. At one moment
she conceived the idea of sending Georges with a glass of champagne to
Rose Mignon, who was affecting temperance. Henri and Charles were bored
to distraction; they would have been glad of some champagne, the
poor little fellows. But Georges drank the glassful, for he feared an
argument. 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. You certainly owe it me, eh?"

And he lingered, grumbling, beside her, though glad to see her again;
for, he said, that confounded Nana was balm to his feelings. Yes, it was
balm to them merely to exist in her presence! She was his daughter; she
was blood of his blood!

The circle increased, for now La Faloise was filling glasses, and
Georges and Philippe were picking up f