It began quietly enough, the two principal players waiting, before
making any bold strokes, to see how the luck should run. The first
victory was in favor of Henri, who, at the end of a hand dealt by
Constantin Lenaieff, had won about three hundred Louis. Just at this
moment the two women returned, accompanied by Desvanneaux.
“I had some difficulty in persuading our charming friends to return,”
said he; “Mademoiselle Dorville was determined that some one should
escort her to her own house.”
“You, perhaps, Desvanneaux,” said Henri, twisting up the ends of his
moustache.
“Not at all,” said Fanny; “I wished Heloise to go with me. I have
noticed that when I am here you always lose. I fear I have the evil
eye.”
“Say, rather, that you have no stomach,” said Heloise. “Had you made
your debut, as I made mine, with Frederic Lemaitre in ‘Thirty Years in
the Life of an Actor’”
“It certainly would not rejuvenate her,” said Henri, finishing the
sentence.
“Marquis, you are very impertinent,” said the duenna, laughing. “As a
penalty, you must lend me five louis.”
“With the greatest pleasure.”
“Thank you!”
And, as a new hand was about to be dealt, Heloise seated herself at one
of the tables. This time Paul Landry put fifteen thousand francs in the
bank.
“Will you do me the favor to cut the cards?” he asked of Fanny, who
stood behind Henri’s chair.
“What! in spite of my evil eye, Monsieur?”
“I do not fear that, Mademoiselle. Your eyes have always been too
beautiful for one of them to change now.”
Stale as was this compliment, it had the desired effect, and the young
woman thrust vertically into the midst of the pack the cards he held out
to her.
“Play, messieurs,” said the banker.
“Messieurs and Madame,” corrected Heloise, placing her five chips before
her, while Henri, at the other table, staked the six thousand francs
which he had just won.
“Don’t put up more than there is in the bank,” objected Paul Landry,
throwing a keen glance at the stakes. Having assured himself that on the
opposing side to this large sum there were hardly thirty louis, he dealt
the cards.
“Eight!” said he, laying down his card.
“Nine!” said Heloise.
“Baccarat!” said Henri, throwing two court-cards into the basket.
The rake rattled on the losing table, but after the small stakes of
the winners had been paid, the greater part of the six thousand francs
passed into the hands of the banker.
Five times in succession, at the first deal, the same thing happened;
and at the sixth round Heloise won six hundred francs, and Henri found
himself with no more counters.
“This is the proper moment to retire!” said the duenna, rising from the
table. “Are you coming, Fanny?”
“I beg you, let us go now,” murmured Mademoiselle Dorville in the ear of
her lover.
Her voice was caressing and full of tender promise. The young man
hesitated an instant. But to desert the game at his first loss seemed to
him an act unworthy of his reputation, and, as between love and pride,
the latter finally prevailed.
“I have only an hour or two more to wait. Can not you go home by
yourself?” he replied to Fanny’s appeal, while Heloise exchanged her
counters for tinkling coin, forgetting, no doubt, to reimburse her
creditor, who, in fact, gave no thought to the matter.
Henri accompanied the two women to a coach at the door, which had
been engaged by the thoughtful and obliging Desvanneaux; and, pressing
tenderly the hand of his mistress, he murmured:
“Till to-morrow!”
“To-morrow!” she echoed, her heart oppressed with sad forebodings.
Desvanneaux, whose wife was very jealous of him, made all haste to
regain his conjugal abode.