There was in Dorade a stout and meritorious elderly widow, who formed a
sort of connecting link between the natives and the settlers. English by
birth, she had married a Frenchman of fair family and fortune, so that
her habits and sympathies attached themselves about equally to the two
countries. You do not often find so good a specimen of the hybrid. She
gave frequent little _soirées_, which were as pleasant and exciting as
such assemblages of heterogeneous elements usually are--that is to say,
very moderately so. The two streams flowed on in the same channel,
without mingling or losing their characteristics. I fancy the fault was
most on our side.
We no longer, perhaps, parade Europe with "pride in our port, defiance
in our eye;" but still, in our travels, we lose no opportunity of
maintaining and asserting our well-beloved dignity, which, if rather a
myth and vestige of the past, at home, abroad, is a very stern reality.
Have you not seen, at a crowded _table d'hôte_, the British mother
encompass her daughters with the double bulwark of herself and their
staid governess on either flank, so as to avert the contamination which
must otherwise have certainly ensued from the close proximity of a
courteous white-bearded Graf, or a _fringante_ vicomtesse whose eyes
outshone her diamonds? May it ever remain so! Each nation has its vanity
and its own peculiar glory, as it has its especial produce. O cotton
mills of Manchester! envy not nor emulate the velvet looms of Genoa or
Lyons; you are ten times as useful, and a hundredfold more remunerating.
What matters it if Damascus guard jealously the secret of her fragrant
clouded steel, when Sheffield can turn out efficient sword-blades at the
rate of a thousand per hour? _Suum cuique tribuito._ Let others aspire
to be popular: be it ours to remain irreproachably and unapproachably
respectable.
So poor Mdme. de Verzenay's efforts to promote an _entente cordiale_
were lamentably foiled. When the English mustered strong, they would
immediately form themselves into a hollow square, the weakest in the
centre, and so defy the assaults of the enemy. Now and then a daring
Gaul would attempt the adventure of the Enchanted Castle, determined, if
not to deliver the imprisoned maidens, at least to enliven their
solitude. See how gayly and gallantly he starts, glancing a saucy adieu
to Adolphe and Eugène, who admire his audacity, but augur ill for its
success. _Allons, je me risque. Montjoie St. Denis! France à la
rescousse!_ He winds, as it were, the bugle at the gate, with a
well-turned compliment or a brilliant bit of _badinage_. Slowly the
jealous valves unclose; he stands within the magic precinct--an eerie
silence all around. Suppose that one of the Seven condescends to parley
with him; she does so nervously and under protest, glancing ever over
her shoulder, as if she expected the austere Fairy momentarily to
appear; while her companions sit without winking or moving, cowering
together like a covey of birds when the hawk is circling over the
turnip-field. How can you expect a man to make himself agreeable under
such appalling circumstances? The heart of the adventurer sinks within
him. Lo! there is a rustling of robes near; what if Calyba or Urganda
were at hand? _Fuyons!_ And the knight-errant retreats, with drooping
crest and smirched armor--a melancholy contrast to the _preux chevalier_
who went forth but now chanting his war-song, conquering and to conquer.
The remarks of the discomfited one, after such a failure, were, I fear,
the reverse of complimentary; and the unpleasant word _bégueule_ figured
in them a great deal too often.
Cecil and Fanny Molyneux were certainly exceptions to the rule of
unsociability, but the general dullness of those _réunions_ infected
them, and made the atmosphere oppressive; it required a vast amount of
leaven to make such a large, heavy lump light or palatable. Besides, it
is not pleasant to carry on a conversation with twenty or thirty people
looking on and listening, as if it were some theatrical performance that
they had paid money to see, and consequently had a right to criticise.
The fair friends had held counsel together as to the expediency of
gratifying others at a great expense to themselves on the present
occasion, and had made their election--not to go.
Early the next morning Miss Tresilyan encountered Keene; their
conversation was very brief; but, just as he was quitting her, the
latter remarked, in a matter-of-course way, "We shall meet this evening
at Madame de Verzenay's?"
She looked at him in some surprise, for she knew he must have heard from
Mrs. Molyneux of their intention to absent themselves. She told him as
much.
"Ah! last night she did not mean to go," replied Royston; "but she
changed her mind this morning while I was with them. When I left them,
ten minutes ago, there was a consultation going on with Harry as to what
she should wear. I don't think it will last more than half an hour; and
then she was coming to try to persuade you to keep her fickleness in
countenance."
Now the one point upon which Cecil had been most severe on _la mignonne_
was the way in which the latter suffered herself to be guided by her
husband's friend. It is strange how prone is the unconverted and unmated
feminine nature to instigate revolt against the Old Dominion--never more
so than when the beautiful _Carbonara_ feels that its shadow is creeping
fast over the frontier of her own freedom. Nay, suppose the conquest
achieved, and that they themselves are reduced to the veriest serfdom,
none the less will they strive to goad other hereditary bondswomen into
striking the blow. Is it not known that steady old "machiners," broken
for years to double harness, will encourage and countenance their
"flippant" progeny in kicking over the traces? How otherwise could the
name of mother-in-law, on the stage and in divers domestic circles, have
become a synonym for firebrand? Look at your wife's maid, for instance.
She will spend two thirds of her wages and the product of many silk
dresses ("scarcely soiled") in furnishing that objectionable and
disreputable suitor of hers with funds for his extravagance. He has
beggared two or three of her acquaintance already, under the same flimsy
pretense of intended marriage, that scarcely deludes poor Abigail; she
has sore misgivings as to her own fate. Alternately he bullies and
cajoles, but all the while she knows that he is lying, deliberately and
incessantly, yet she never remonstrates or complains. It is true that,
if you pass the door of her little room late into the night, you will
probably go to bed haunted by the sound of low, dreary weeping; but it
would be worse than useless to argue with her about her folly; she
cherishes her noisome and ill-favored weed as if it were the fairest of
fragrant flowers, and will not be persuaded to throw it aside. Well, if
you could listen to that same long-suffering and soft-hearted young
female, in her place in the subterranean Upper House, when the conduct
of "Master" (especially as regards Foreign Affairs) is being canvassed;
the fluency and virulence of her anathemas would almost take your breath
away. Even that dear old housekeeper--who nursed you, and loves you
better than any of her own children--when she would suggest an excuse or
denial of the alleged peccadilloes, is borne away and overwhelmed by the
abusive torrent, and can at last only grumble her dissent. Very few
women, of good birth and education, make _confidantes_ nowadays of their
personal attendants; and the race of "Miggs" is chiefly confined to the
class in which Dickens has placed it, if it is not extinct utterly. But
there is a season--while the brush passes lightly and lingeringly over
the long trailing "back hair"--when a hint, an allusion, or an
insinuation, cleverly placed, may go far toward fanning into flame the
embers of matrimonial rebellion. I know no case where such serious
consequences may be produced, with so little danger of implication to
the prime mover of the discontent, except it be the system of the
patriotic and intrepid Mazzini. Many outbreaks, perhaps--quelled after
much loss on both sides, in which the monarchy was only saved by the
judicious expenditure of much _mitraille_--might have been traced to the
covert influence of that mild-eyed, melancholy _camériste_.
Cecil, who was not exempt from these revolutionary tendencies, any more
than from other weaknesses of her sex, was especially provoked by this
fresh instance of Fanny's subordination.
"Mrs. Molyneux is perfectly at liberty to form her own plans," she said,
very haughtily. "Beyond a certain point, I should no more dream of
interfering with them than she would with mine. She is quite right to
change her mind as often as she thinks proper, only in this instance I
should have thought it was hardly worth while."
"Well," Keene answered, in his cool, slow way, "Mrs. Molyneux has got
that unfortunate habit of consulting other people's wishes and
convenience in preference to her own; it's very foolish and weak; but it
is so confirmed, that I doubt even _your_ being able to break her of it.
This time I am sure you won't. It is a pity you are so determined on
disappointing the public. I know of more than one person who has put off
other engagements in anticipation of hearing you sing."
He was perfectly careless about provoking her now, or he would have been
more cautious. That particular card was the very last in his hand to
have played. Miss Tresilyan was good-nature itself in placing her
talents at the service of any man, woman, or child who could appreciate
them. She would go through half her _repertoire_ to amuse a sick friend
any day; neither was she averse to displaying them before the world in
general at proper seasons, but she liked the "boards" to be worthy of
the prima donna, and had no idea of "starring it in the provinces." All
the pride of her race gathered on her brow just then, like a
thunder-cloud, and her eyes flashed no summer lightning.
"Madame de Verzenay was wrong to advertise a performer who does not
belong to her _troupe_. I hope the audience will be patient under their
disappointment, and not break up the benches. If not, she must excuse
herself as best she may. I have signed no engagement, so my conscience
is clear. I certainly shall not go."
The bolt struck the granite fairly, but it did not shiver off one
splinter, nor even leave a stain. Royston only remarked, "Then for
to-day it is useless to say _au revoir_;" and so, raising his cap,
passed on.
The poor _mignonne_ had a very rough time of it soon afterward. Cecil
was morally and physically incapable of scolding any one; but she was
very severe on the sin of vacillation and yielding to unauthorized
interference. The culprit did not attempt to justify herself; she only
said, "They both wanted me to go so much, and I did not like to vex
Harry." Then she began to coax and pet her monitress in the pretty,
childish way which interfered so much with matronly dignity, till the
latter was brought to think that she had been cruelly harsh and stern;
at last she got so penitent that she offered to accompany her friend,
and lend the light of her countenance to Madame de Verzenay. For this
infirmity of purpose many female Dracos would have ordered her off to
instant execution--very justly. That silly little Fanny only kissed her,
and said, "She was a dear, kind darling." What can you expect of such
irreclaimably weak-minded offenders? They ought to be sentenced to six
months' hard labor, supervised by Miss Martineau; perhaps even this
would not work a permanent cure. Still, on The Tresilyan's part, it was
an immense effort of self-denial. She was well aware how she laid
herself open to Royston Keene's satire, and how unlikely he was this
time to spare her. Only perfect trust or perfect indifference can make
one careless about giving such a chance to a known bitter tongue.
However, having made up her mind to the self-immolation, she proceeded
to consider how best she should adorn herself for the sacrifice. Others
have done so in sadder seriousness. Doubtless, Curtius rode at his last
leap without a speck on his burnished mail: purple, and gold, and gems
flamed all round Sardanapalus when he fired the holocaust in Nineveh:
even that miserable, dastardly Nero was solicitous about the marble
fragments that were to line his felon's grave. So it befell that, on
this particular evening, Cecil went through a very careful toilet,
though it was as simple as usual; for the ultra-gorgeous style she
utterly eschewed. The lilac trimmings of her dress broke the dead white
sufficiently, but not glaringly, with the subdued effect of color that
you may see in a campanula. The _coiffure_ was not decided on till
several had been rejected. She chose at last a chaplet of those soft,
silvery Venetian shells--such as her bridesmaids may have woven into the
night of Amphitritè's hair when they crowned her Queen of the
Mediterranean.
It was a very artistic picture. So Madame de Verzenay said, in the midst
of a rather too rapturous greeting; so the Frenchmen thought, as a low
murmur of admiration ran through their circle when she entered. Fanny,
too, had her modest success. There were not wanting eyes that turned for
a moment from the brilliant beauty of her companion to repose themselves
on the sweet girlish face shaded by silky brown tresses, and on the
perfect little figure floating so lightly and gracefully along amid its
draperies of pale cloudy blue.
Miss Tresilyan felt that there might be _one_ glance that it would be a
trial to meet unconcernedly, and she had been schooling herself
sedulously for the encounter. She might have spared herself some
trouble; for Royston Keene was not there when they arrived. She knew
that Mrs. Molyneux had told him of the change in their plans; but the
latter did not choose to confess how she had been puzzled by the very
peculiar smile with which the major greeted the intelligence: it was the
only notice he took of it. So the evening went on, with nothing to raise
it above the dead level of average _soirées_. Cecil delayed going to the
piano till she was ashamed of making more excuses, and was obliged to
"execute herself" with the best grace she could manage. Even while she
was singing, her glance turned more than once toward the door; but the
stalwart figure, beside which all others seemed dwarfed and
insignificant, never showed itself. It was clear _he_ was not among
those who had given up other engagements to hear her songs. If we have
been at some trouble and mental expense in getting ourselves into any
one frame of mind--whether it be enthusiasm, or self-control, or
fortitude, or heroism--it is an undeniable nuisance to find out suddenly
that there is to be no scope for its exercise. Take a very practical
instance. Here is Lieutenant Colonel Asahel ready on the ground,
looking, as his conscience and his backers tell him, "as fine as a star,
and fit to run for his life;" at the last moment his opponent pays
forfeit. Just ascertain the sentiments of that gallant fusileer. Does
the result at all recompense him for the futile privations and wasted
asceticism of those long weary months of training--when pastry was, as
it were, an abomination unto him--when his lips kept themselves
undefiled from dryest Champagne or soundest claret--when he fled, fast
as Cinderella, from the pleasantest company at the stroke of the
midnight chimes? Of course he feels deeply injured, and would have
forgiven the absentee far more easily if the latter had beaten him
fairly, on his merits, breasting the handkerchief first by half a dozen
yards.
On this principle, Miss Tresilyan labored all that evening under an
impression that Keene had treated her very ill, and was prepared to
resent it accordingly. Another there besides herself felt puzzled and
uncomfortable. Harry Molyneux could not understand it at all. Royston
had seemed so very anxious in the morning to induce Fanny to go--a
proceeding which would probably involve the presence of her
"inseparable;" and disinterested persuasion was by no means in the Cool
Captain's line. So Harry went wandering about in a purposeless,
disconsolate fashion for some time, till he found himself near Cecil. I
fancy he had an indistinct idea that some apology was owing to _her_ for
his chief's unaccountable absence; at all events, he began to confide
his misgivings on the subject as soon as the men who surrounded her
moved away. They soon did so; for The Tresilyan had a way, quite
peculiar to herself, of conveying to those whom she wished to get rid of
that their audience was ended, without speaking one word. There was a
very unusual element of impatient pettishness in her reply.
"What a curious fascination Major Keene appears to exercise over his
friends! I suppose you would think it quite wrong to be amused any where
unless he were present to sanction it. Do you become a free agent again
when you are given up entirely to your own devices? And do _all_
subalterns keep up that veneration for their senior officers after they
have left the service? It seems to be carrying the _esprit du corps_
rather far."
Harry laughed out his own musical laugh; even the imputation of
dependency and helplessness which is apt to ruffle most people fell back
harmlessly from his impenetrable good-humor. "I dare say it does look
very absurd. But you ought to have lived with him as long as I have done
to understand how naturally Royston gains his influence, and makes us do
what he chooses."
"Certainly I can not understand it. The _poco-curante_ style is so very
common just now that one gets rather tired of it. I do not like the
affectation at all, but I dislike the reality still more. I believe it
_is_ a reality with Major Keene. I can not fancy him betraying any
unrestrained excitement, however strong the passion that moved him might
be. You have never known him do so, now? Confess it."
"Yes I have, once," he answered, gravely, "and I never wish to see it
again."
Cecil always liked talking to Harry Molyneux. On the present occasion
the mere sound of his voice seemed to go far toward soothing her
irritation: many others had experienced the same effect from those
kindly gentle tones. Perhaps, too, the subject had an interest for her
that she would not own. "Would it tire you to tell me about it? I am not
particularly curious, but I have been so much bored to-night that a very
little would amuse me."
He hesitated for an instant. "It is not _that_; but I don't know if _I_
am right in telling you. Perhaps you would not like him the better for
it, though he could not help it. Shall I? Well, it was in the second of
our Indian battles, and the first time we had really been under fire;
before it was only nominal. We had been sitting idle for two hours or
more, watching the infantry and the gunners do their work; and right
well they did it. The Sikhs were giving ground in all directions; but
they began to gather again on our right, and at last we were told to
send out three squadrons and break them at three different points. Keene
was in command of mine. I never saw him look so enchanted as he did when
the orders came down. I heard the chief warning him to be cautious, not
to go too far (for there was a good deal of broken ground ahead), but to
wheel about as soon as we had got through their lines, and to fall back
immediately on our position. Royston listened and saluted, but I know he
didn't catch one word; he kept looking over his shoulder all the time
the colonel was speaking, as if he grudged every second. We were very
soon off; and almost before I realized the situation we were closing in
on the enemy, wrapped up in our own dust and in their smoke, for the
firing became heavy directly we got within range. Now I don't think I
ought to be telling you all this: it is not quite a woman's story."
"Please go on. I like it." How grandly it flashed up in her cheek as she
spoke--the fiery Tresilyan blood that had boiled in the veins of so many
brilliant soldiers, but through twenty generations had never cooled down
enough to breed one statesman!
He had taken breath by this time. "I won't make it longer than I can
help, but it is difficult to tell some things very briefly. It was my
first real charge, you know; I suppose every man's sensations are rather
peculiar under such circumstances. I did not feel much alarmed--there
wasn't time for that--but the smoke, and the noise, and the excitement
made me so dizzy that I could hardly sit straight in my saddle. When we
got within a hundred and fifty yards of the Sikhs their fire began to
tell. I heard a bubbling, smothered sort of cry close behind me, and I
looked back just in time to see a trooper fall forward over his horse's
shoulder shot through the throat. Several more were hit, and our fellows
began to waver a little--not much. Just then Royston's voice broke in:
it was so clear and strong that it set my nerves right directly, and the
dizzy, stifling feeling went away, as it might have done before a
draught of fresh pure air. 'Close up there, the rear rank. Keep cool,
men! Steady with your bridle-hands, and strike fairly with the edge.
_Now!_'
"He was three lengths ahead of his squadron, and well in among the
enemy, when that last word came out. It was sharp work while it lasted,
for the Sikhs fought like wounded wildcats: one fixed his teeth in my
boot, and was dragged there till my covering-sergeant cut him loose; but
we were soon through them. When we had wheeled, and were dressing into
line, I caught sight of Keene's face. It was so changed that I should
hardly have known it: every fibre was quivering with passion; and his
eyes--I've not forgotten them yet. We ought to have fallen back
immediately on our old ground, but it was so evident he did not mean
this, that I ventured to suggest to him what our orders had been. I was
not second in command; but of my two seniors one was helpless (the
stupidest man you ever saw), and the other hard hit. Royston faced round
on me with a savage oath, 'How dare you interfere, sir! Are you in
command of this squadron?' Then he turned to the troopers, 'Have you had
half enough yet, men? _I haven't._' I am very sure he had lost his head,
or he would never have spoken to me so, still less have made that last
appeal, for he was the strictest disciplinarian, and looked upon his men
as the merest machines. It seemed as if the devil that possessed him had
gone out into the others too, for they all shouted in reply--not a
cheery honest hurra! but a hoarse, hungry roar, such as you hear in wild
beasts' dens before feeding-time. An old troop-sergeant, a rigid pious
Presbyterian, spoke for the rest, grinding and gnashing his teeth:
'We'll follow the captain any where--follow him to hell!'" (Harry's
voice had all along been subdued, but it was almost a whisper now:) "I
do hope those words were not reckoned against poor Donald Macpherson,
for when we got back his was one of the thirteen empty saddles. So we
broke up, and went in again at the Sikhs, who were collecting in
black-looking knots and irregular squares all round. It was an
indescribable sort of a _mêlée_, every man for himself, and--I dare not
say--God for us all. I suppose I was as bad as the rest when once fairly
launched, and we all thought we were doing our duty; but I should not
like to have so many lives on my head and hand as Royston could count
that night. Remember _we_ suffered rather severely.
"As we took up our position again I saw the colonel was not well
pleased. He had little of the romance of war about him, and did not
understand his officers acting much on their own discretion. Without
hearing the words, I could guess, from the expression of his hard old
face, that he came down on the squadron-leader heavily. When I ranged up
by Keene's side soon afterward, he looked up at me absently. 'I was
thinking,' he said (now one naturally expected a sentiment about the
scene we had just gone through, or a reflection on the injustice of
chiefs in general)--'I was thinking what rubbish those army-cutlers
sell, and call it a sword-blade.' He held up a sort of apology for a
sabre, all notched, and bent, and blunted; then he began to inquire if I
had been hit at all. I had escaped with hardly a scratch; but I saw an
ugly cut above his knee, and blood stealing down his bridle-arm. 'Bah!
it's nothing,' Royston observed, answering the direction of my eyes;
'but--if the tulwar and the reprimand had both been sharper--confess,
Hal, that this time, _Le jeu valait bien la chandelle?_'
"We never had a real rattling charge after that day, at least none
exciting enough to warm him thoroughly. Now I am very sorry I have told
you all this: it is not a nice story; but it is your own fault if I have
bored you. Besides, Madame de Verzenay will never forgive me for
monopolizing you so long. I do think she does me the honor to believe in
a flirtation."
Cecil's heightened color and sparkling eyes might have justified such a
suspicion in a distant and unprejudiced observer. Does not this show us
how very cautious we ought to be in forming hasty conclusions from
appearances which are proverbially deceptive? I protest I am filled with
remorse and contrition while I reflect how often, in thought, I may have
wronged and misjudged the innocent. I dare say, in many outwardly
flagrant cases, the offenders were only expatiating on the merits or
demerits of absent friends. Such a subject is quite engrossing enough to
excuse a certain amount of "sitting out," and some people _always_ blush
when they are at all interested. The selection of the staircase, the
balcony, or the conservatory for the discussion is the merest
atmospheric question. I subscribe to Mr. Weller's idea--only "turnips"
are incredulous. _Vive la charité!_
After a minute or two Miss Tresilyan spoke: "No, I don't think worse of
Major Keene. As you say, I suppose he could not help it; but it must be
terrible, when passions that are habitually restrained do break loose.
No wonder that you do not wish to see such a sight again. It is very
different, reading of battles and hearing of them from one who was an
actor. Do you know, I think you have an undeveloped talent for
narration. There, that ought to console you, even if Madame de Verzenay
should asperse your character."
At this moment Harry was contemplating the proceedings of his pretty
little wife at the opposite side of the room with an intense
satisfaction and pride.
"If I _had_ yielded to temptation," he said, "I am sure Fan could not
reproach me. She would keep a much greater sinner in countenance. Miss
Myrtle is a thousand times worse since she married. Just remark that
by-play with the handkerchief. You don't suppose M. de Riberac cares one
straw about Valenciennes lace? It makes one feel _Moorish_ all over.
You need not be surprised if she is found smothered or strangled in the
morning. I am 'not easily moved to jealousy, but being moved--'"
"Don't be too murderous," laughed Cecil; "you are certain to regret it
afterward. We will reproach her as she deserves on our way home. Is it
not very late?"
She wanted to be alone to think over what she had heard; and in good
truth, waking or sleeping, the watches of that night were crowded with
dreams.
All this time where was Royston Keene? He had been really anxious to
induce Miss Tresilyan to present herself at Madame de Verzenay's, for he
liked her well enough already to feel a personal interest in her
triumphs; but, after their interview in the morning (though he thought
it probable that Fanny's persuasive powers might prevail), he had
determined himself not to go, and he did not change his resolutions
lightly. Still he could not resist the temptation of getting one glimpse
at her in "review order." If Cecil had been very observant when she went
down to her carriage, she must have noticed a tall figure standing back,
half masked by a pillar, whose eyes literally flashed in the darkness as
they fastened on her in her passage through the lighted hall, and drank
in every item of her loveliness. He stood still for some moments after
she was gone, and then walked slowly down to the Cercle. While they were
talking about him at Madame de Verzenay's, Royston was holding his own
gallantly at _écarté_ with Armand de Châteaumesnil, for the honor of
England and--ten Napoleons a side. As was his wont, he played superbly;
but he spoke seldom, and hardly seemed to hear the comments of the
crowded _galèrie_. In truth, at some most critical points--when the game
was in abeyance at _quatre à_--a delicate proud face, and a shell wreath
glistening in velvet hair, _would_ rise before him, and dethrone in his
thoughts the painted kings and queens. His adversary did not fail to
observe this; but he said nothing till the play was ended and most of
the others had left the room. Then he laid his hand on Keene's arm, and
drew his head down to the level of his own lips, and spoke low:
"Mon camarade, je me rappelle, d'avoir vu, il y a quelques ans, au Café
de la Régence, un homme qui tenait tête, aux échecs, à quatre
concurrens. Les habitués en disaient des merveilles. Mais ce n'était
qu'un bon bourgeois après tout; et, nous autres, nous sommes plus forts
que les bourgeois. Vouz avez joué ce soir les deux parties que, dit le
proverbe, c'est presque impossible de remporter simultanément; et je ne
me tiens pas pour le seul perdant."
Royston did not seem in the least inclined to smile; had he done so
Armand would have been bitterly disappointed. As it was, he answered
very coldly, without a shade of consciousness on his face.
"Un compliment mérite toujours des remercimens, M. le Vicomte, même
quand on ne le comprend pas. Pardon, si je vous engage, de ne pas
expliquer plus clairement votre allégorie."
The other looked up at him with an expression that might almost have
been mistaken for sympathy.
"Parbleu!" he muttered, "si beau joueur merite bien de gagner!"