THE KING OF DIAMONDS.
The rain beat in my face and almost blinded me, the wind hustled me; the
gendarme at the corner of the street looked at me suspiciously; and
still I followed, and still the tall stranger strode on ahead. Up one
street he led me and down another, across a market-place, through an
arcade, past the Bourse, and into that labyrinth of small streets that
lies behind the Italian Opera-house, and is bounded on the East by the
Rue de Richelieu, and on the West by the Rue Louis le Grand. Here he
slackened his pace, and I found myself gaming upon him for the first
time. Presently he came to a dead stop, and as I continued to draw
nearer, I saw him take out his watch and look at it by the light of a
street-lamp. This done, he began sauntering slowly backwards and
forwards, as if waiting for some second person.
For a moment I also paused, hesitating. What should I do?--pass him
under the lamp, and try to see his face? Go boldly up to him, and invent
some pretence to address him, or wait in this angle of deep shade, and
see what would happen next? I was deceived, of course--deceived by a
merely accidental resemblance. Well, then, I should have had my run for
my pains, and have taken cold, most likely, into the bargain. At all
events, I would speak to him.
Seeing me emerge from the darkness, and cross over towards the spot
where he was standing, he drew aside with the air of a man upon his
guard, and put his hand quickly into his breast.
"I beg your pardon, Monsieur," I began.
"What! my dear Damon!--is it you?" he interrupted, and held out both
hands.
I grasped them joyously.
"Dalrymple, is it you?"
"Myself, Damon--_faute de mieux_."
"And I have been running after you for the last two miles! What brings
you to Paris? Why did you not let me know you were here? How long have
you been back? Has anything gone wrong? Are you well?"
"One question at a time, my Arcadian, for mercy's sake!" said he. "Which
am I to answer?"
"The last."
"Oh, I am well--well enough. But let us walk on a little farther while
we talk."
"Are you waiting for any one?" I asked, seeing him look round uneasily.
"Yes--no--that is, I expect to see some one come past here presently.
Step into this doorway, and I will tell you all about it."
His manner was restless, and his hand, as it pressed mine, felt hot and
feverish.
"I am sure you are not well," I said, following him into the gloom of a
deep, old-fashioned doorway.
"Am I not? Well, I don't know--perhaps I am not. My blood burns in my
veins to-night like fire. Nay, thou wilt learn nothing from my pulse,
thou sucking Æsculapius! Mine is a sickness not to be cured by drugs. I
must let blood for it."
The short, hard laugh with which he said this troubled me still more.
"Speak out," I said--"for Heaven's sake, speak out! You have something
on your mind--what is it?"
"I have something on my hands," he replied, gloomily. "Work. Work that
must be done quickly, or there will be no peace for any of us. Look
here, Damon--if you had a wife, and another man stood before the world
as her betrothed husband--if you had a wife, and another man spoke of
her as his--boasted of her--behaved in the house as if it were already
his own--treated her servants as though he were their master--possessed
himself of her papers--extorted money from her--brought his friends, on
one pretext or another, about her house--tormented her, day after day,
to marry him ... what would you do to such a man as this?"
"Make my own marriage public at once, and set him at defiance," I
replied.
"Ay, but...."
"But what?"
"That alone will not content me. I must punish him with my own hand."
"He would be punished enough in the loss of the lady and her fortune."
"Not he! He has entangled her affairs sufficiently by this time to
indemnify himself for her fortune, depend on it. And as for
herself--pshaw! he does not know what love is!"
"But his pride----"
"But _my_ pride!" interrupted Dalrymple, passionately. "What of my
pride?--my wounded honor?--my outraged love? No, no, I tell you, it is
not such a paltry vengeance that will satisfy me! Would to Heaven I had
trusted only my own arm from the first! Would to Heaven that, instead of
having anything to say to the cursed brood of the law, I had taken the
viper by the throat, and brought him to my own terms, after my
own fashion!"
"But you have not yet told me what you are doing here?"
"I am waiting to see Monsieur de Simoncourt."
"Monsieur de Simoncourt!"
"Yes. That white house at the corner is one of his haunts,--a private
gaming-house, never open till after midnight. I want to meet him
accidentally, as he is going in."
"What for?"
"That he may take me with him. You can't get into one of these places
without an introduction, you know. Those who keep them are too much
afraid of the police."
"But do you play?"
"Come with me, and see. Hark! do you hear nothing?"
"Yes, I hear a footstep. And here comes a man."
"Let us walk to meet him, accidentally, and seem to be talking."
I took Dalrymple's arm, and we strolled in the direction of the new
comer. It was not De Simoncourt, however, but a tall man with a grizzled
beard, who crossed over, apprehensively, at our approach, but recrossed
and went into the white house at the corner as soon as he thought us
out of sight.
"One of the gang," said Dalrymple, with a shrug of his broad shoulders.
"We had better go back to our doorway, and wait till the right
man comes."
We had not long to wait. The next arrival was he whom we sought. We
strolled on, as before, and came upon him face to face.
"De Simoncourt, by all that's propitious!" cried Dalrymple.
"What--Major Dalrymple returned to Paris!"
"Ay, just returned. Bored to death with Berlin and Vienna--no place like
Paris, De Simoncourt, go where one will!"
"None, indeed. There is but one Paris, and pleasure is the true profit
of all who visit it."
"My dear De Simoncourt, I am appalled to hear you perpetrate a pun! By
the way, you have met Mr. Basil Arbuthnot at my rooms?"
M. de Simoncourt lifted his hat, and was graciously pleased to remember
the circumstance.
"And now," pursued Dalrymple, "having met, what shall, we do next? Have
you any engagement for the small hours, De Simoncourt?"
"I am quite at your disposal. Where were your bound for?"
"Anywhere--everywhere. I want excitement."
"Would a hand at _écarté_, or a green table, have any attraction for
you?" suggested De Simoncourt, falling into the trap as readily as one
could have desired.
"The very thing, if you know where they are to be found!"
"Nay, I need not take you far to find both. There is in this very street
a house where money may be lost and won as easily as at the Bourse.
Follow me."
He took us to the white house at the corner, and, pressing a spring
concealed in the wood-work of the lintel, rung a bell of shrill and
peculiar _timbre_. The door opened immediately, and, after we had
passed in, closed behind us without any visible agency. Still following
at the heels of M. de Simoncourt, we then went up a spacious staircase
dimly lighted, and, leaving our hats in an ante-room, entered
unannounced into an elegant _salon_, where some twenty or thirty
_habitués_ of both sexes had already commenced the business of the
evening. The ladies, of whom there were not more than half-a-dozen, were
all more or less painted, _passées_, and showily dressed. Among the men
were military stocks, ribbons, crosses, stars, and fine titles in
abundance. We were evidently supposed to be in very brilliant
society--brilliant, however, with a fictitious lustre that betrayed the
tinsel beneath, and reminded one of a fashionable reception on the
boards of the Haymarket or the Porte St. Martin. The mistress of the
house, an abundant and somewhat elderly Juno in green velvet, with a
profusion of jewelry on her arms and bosom, came forward to receive us.
"Madame de Sainte Amaranthe, permit me to present my friends, Major
Dalrymple and Mr. Arbuthnot," said De Simoncourt, imprinting a gallant
kiss on the plump hand of the hostess.
Madame de Ste. Amaranthe professed herself charmed to receive any
friends of M. de Simoncourt; whereupon M. de Simoncourt's friends were
enchanted to be admitted to the privilege of Madame de Ste. Amaranthe's
acquaintance. Madame de Ste. Amaranthe then informed us that she was the
widow of a general officer who fell at Austerlitz, and the daughter of a
rich West India planter whom she called her _père adoré_, and to whose
supposititious memory she wiped away an imaginary tear with an
embroidered pocket-handkerchief. She then begged that we would make
ourselves at home, and, gliding away, whispered something in De
Simoncourt's ear, to which he replied by a nod of intelligence.
"That harpy hopes to fleece us," said Dalrymple, slipping his arm
through mine and drawing me towards the roulette table. "She has just
told De Simoncourt to take us in hand. I always suspected the fellow
was a Greek."
"A Greek?"
"Ay, in the figurative sense--a gentleman who lives by dexterity at
cards."
"And shall you play?"
"By-and-by. Not yet, because--"
He checked himself, and looked anxiously round the room.
"Because what?"
"Tell me, Arbuthnot," said he, paying no attention to my question; "do
_you_ mind playing?"
"I? My dear fellow, I hardly know one card from another."
"But have you any objection?"
"None whatever to the game; but a good deal to the penalty. I don't mind
confessing to you that I ran into debt some months back, and that...."
"Nonsense, boy!" interrupted Dalrymple, with a kindly smile. "Do you
suppose I want you to gamble away your money? No, no--the fact is, that
I am here for a purpose, and it will not do to let my purpose be
suspected. These Greeks want a pigeon. Will you oblige me by being that
pigeon, and by allowing me to pay for your plucking?"
I still hesitated.
"But you will be helping me," urged he. "If you don't sit down, I must."
"You would not lose so much," I expostulated.
"Perhaps not, if I were cool and kept my eyes open; but to-night I am
_distrait_, and should be as defenceless as yourself."
"In that case I will play for you with pleasure."
He slipped a little pocket-book into my hand.
"Never stake more than five francs at a time," said he, "and you cannot
ruin me. The book contains a thousand. You shall have more, if
necessary; but I think that sum will last as long as I shall want you to
keep playing."
"A thousand francs!" I exclaimed. "Why, that is forty pounds!"
"If it were four hundred, and it answered my purpose," said Dalrymple,
between his teeth, "I should hold it money well spent!"
At this moment De Simoncourt came up, and apologized for having left us
so long.
"If you want mere amusement, Major Dalrymple," said he, "I suppose you
will prefer _roulette_ to _écarté_!"
"I will stake a few pieces presently on the green cloth," replied
Dalrymple, carelessly; "but, first of all, I want to initiate my young
friend here. As to double _écarté_, Monsieur de Simoncourt, I need
hardly tell you, as a man of the world, that I never play it with
strangers."
De Simoncourt smiled, and shrugged his shoulders.
"Quite right," said he. "I believe that here everything is really _de
bonne foi_; but where there are cards there will always be danger. For
my part, I always shuffle the pack after my adversary!"
With this he strolled off again, and I took a vacant chair at the long
table, next to a lady, who made way for me with the most gracious smile
imaginable. Only the players sat; so Dalrymple stood behind me and
looked on. It was a green board, somewhat larger than an ordinary
billiard-table, with mysterious boundaries traced here and there in
yellow and red, and a cabalistic table of figures towards each end. A
couple of well-dressed men sat in the centre; one to deal out the cards,
and the other to pay and receive the money. The one who had the
management of the cash wore a superb diamond ring, and a red and green
ribbon at his button-hole. Dalrymple informed me in a whisper that this
noble seigneur was Madame de Ste. Amaranthe's brother.
As for the players, they all looked serious and polite enough, as ladies
and gentlemen should, at their amusement. Some had pieces of card, which
they pricked occasionally with a pin, according to the progress of the
game. Some had little piles of silver, or sealed _rouleaux_, lying
beside them. As for myself, I took out Dalrymple's pocket-book, and laid
it beside me, as if I were an experienced player and meant to break the
bank. For a few minutes he stood by, and then, having given me some
idea of the leading principles of the game, wandered away to observe the
other players.
Left to myself, I played on--timidly at first; soon with more
confidence; and, of course, with the novice's invariable good-fortune.
My amiable neighbor drew me presently into conversation. She had a
theory of chances relating to averages of color, and based upon a
bewildering calculation of all the black and red cards in the pack,
which she was so kind as to explain to me. I could not understand a word
of it, but politeness compelled me to listen. Politeness also compelled
me to follow her advice when she was so obliging as to offer it, and I
lost, as a matter of course. From this moment my good-luck deserted me.
"Courage, Monsieur," said my amiable neighbour; "you have only to play
long enough, and you are sure to win."
In the meantime, I kept following Dalrymple with my eyes, for there was
something in his manner that filled me with vague uneasiness. Sometimes
he drew near the table and threw down a Napoleon, but without heeding
the game, or caring whether he won or lost. He was always looking to the
door, or wandering restlessly from table to table. Watching him thus, I
thought how haggard he looked, and what deep channels were furrowed in
his brow since that day when we lay together on the autumnal grass under
the trees in the forest of St. Germain.
Thus a long time went by, and I found by my watch that it was nearly
four o'clock in the morning--also that I had lost six hundred francs out
of the thousand. It seemed incredible. I could hardly believe that the
time and the money had flown so fast. I rose in my seat and looked round
for Dalrymple; but in vain. Could he be gone, leaving me here?
Impossible! Apprehensive of I knew not what, I pushed back my chair, and
left the table. The rooms were now much fuller--more stars and
moustachios; more velvets and laces, and Paris diamonds. Fresh tables,
too, had been opened for _lansquenet, baccarat_, and _écarté_. At one of
these I saw M. de Simoncourt. When he laid down his cards for the deal,
I seized the opportunity to inquire for my friend.
He pointed to a small inner room divided by a rich hanging from the
farther end of the _salon_.
"You will find Major Dalrymple in Madame de Ste. Amaranthe's boudoir,
playing with M. le Vicomte de Caylus," said he, courteously, and
resumed his game.
Playing with De Caylus! Sitting down amicably with De Caylus! I could
not understand it.
Crowded as the rooms now were, it took me some time to thread my way
across, and longer still, when I had done so, to pass the threshold of
the boudoir, and obtain sight of the players. The room was very small,
and filled with lookers-on. At a table under a chandelier sat De Caylus
and Dalrymple. I could not see Dalrymple's face, for his back was turned
towards me; but the Vicomte I recognised at once--pale, slight, refined,
with the old look of dissipation and irritability, and the same
restlessness of eye and hand that I had observed on first seeing him.
They were evidently playing high, and each had a pile of notes and gold
lying at his left hand. De Caylus kept nervously crumbling a note in his
fingers. Dalrymple sat motionless as a man of bronze, and, except to
throw down a card when it came to his turn, never stirred a finger.
There was, to my thinking, something ominous in his exceeding calmness.
"At what game are they, playing?" I asked a gentleman near whom I was
standing.
"At _écarté_," replied he, without removing his eyes from the players.
Knowing nothing of the game, I could only judge of its progress by the
faces of those around me. A breathless silence prevailed, except when
some particular subtlety in the play sent a murmur of admiration round
the room. Even this was hushed almost as soon as uttered. Gradually the
interest grew more intense, and the bystanders pressed closer. De Caylus
sighed impatiently, and passed his hand across his brow. It was his turn
to deal. Dalrymple shuffled the pack. De Caylus shuffled them after
him, and dealt. The falling of a pin might have been heard in the pause
that followed. They had but five cards each. Dalrymple played first--a
queen of diamonds. De Caylus played the king, and both threw down their
cards. A loud murmur broke out instantaneously in every direction, and
De Caylus, looking excited and weary, leaned back in his chair, and
called for wine. His expression was so unlike that of a victor that I
thought at first he must have lost the game.
"Which is the winner?" I asked, eagerly. "Which is the winner?"
The gentleman who had replied to me before looked round with a smile of
contemptuous wonder.
"Why, Monsieur de Caylus, of course," said he. "Did you not see him play
the king?"
"I beg your pardon," I said, somewhat nettled; "but, as I said before, I
do not understand the game."
"_Eh bien_! the Englishman is counting out his money."
What a changed scene it was! The circle of intent faces broken and
shifting--the silence succeeded by a hundred conversations--De Caylus
leaning back, sipping his wine and chatting over his shoulder--the cards
pushed aside, and Dalrymple gravely sorting out little shining columns
of Napoleons, and rolls of crisp bank paper! Having ranged all these
before him in a row, he took out his check-book, filled in a page, tore
it out and laid it with the rest. Then, replacing the book in his
breast-pocket, he pushed back his chair, and, looking up for the first
time since the close of the game, said aloud:--
"Monsieur le Vicomte de Caylus, I have this evening had the honor of
losing the sum of twelve thousand francs to you; will you do me the
favor to count this money?"
M. de Caylus bowed, emptied his glass, and languidly touching each
little column with one dainty finger, told over his winnings as though
they were scarcely worth even that amount of trouble.
"Six rouleaux of four hundred each," said he, "making two thousand four
hundred--six notes of five hundred each, making three thousand--and an
order upon Rothschild for six thousand six hundred; in all, twelve
thousand. Thanks, Monsieur ... Monsieur ... forgive me for not
remembering your name."
Dalrymple looked up with a dangerous light in his eyes, and took no
notice of the apology.
"It appears to me, Monsieur le Vicomte Caylus," said he, giving the
other his full title and speaking with singular distinctness, "that you
hold the king very often at _écarté_."
De Caylus looked up with every vein on his forehead suddenly swollen and
throbbing.
"Monsieur!" he exclaimed, hoarsely.
"Especially when you deal," added Dalrymple, smoothing his moustache
with utter _sang-froid_, and keeping his eyes still riveted upon his
adversary.
With an inarticulate cry like the cry of a wild beast, De Caylus sprung
at him, foaming with rage, and was instantly flung back against the
wall, dragging with him not only the table-cloth, but all the wine,
money, and cards upon it.
"I will have blood for this!" he shrieked, struggling with those who
rushed in between. "I will have blood! Blood! Blood!"
Stained and streaming with red wine, he looked, in his ghastly rage, as
if he was already bathed in the blood he thirsted for.
Dalrymple drew himself to his full height, and stood looking on with
folded arms and a cold smile.
"I am quite ready," he said, "to give Monsieur le Vicomte full
satisfaction."
The room was by this time crowded to suffocation. I forced my way
through, and laid my hand on Dalrymple's arm.
"You have provoked this quarrel," I said, reproachfully.
"That, my dear fellow, is precisely what I came here to do," he replied.
"You will have to be my second in this affair."
Here De Simoncourt came up, and hearing the last words, drew me aside.
"I act for De Caylus," he whispered. "Pistols, of course?"
I nodded, still all bewilderment at my novel position.
"Your man received the first blow, so is entitled to the first shot."
I nodded again.
"I don't know a better place," he went on, "than Bellevue. There's a
famous little bit of plantation, and it is just far enough from Paris to
be secure. The Bois is hackneyed, and the police are too much about it.
"Just so," I replied, vaguely.
"And when shall we say? The sooner the better, it always seems to me, in
these cases."
"Oh, certainly--the sooner the better."
He looked at his watch.
"It is now ten minutes to five," he said. "Suppose we allow them five
hours to put their papers in order, and meet at Bellevue, on the
terrace, at ten?"
"So soon!" I exclaimed.
"Soon!" echoed De Simoncourt. "Why, under circumstances of such
exceeding aggravation, most men would send for pistols and settle it
across the table!"
I shuddered. These niceties of honor were new to me, and I had been
brought up to make little distinction between duelling and murder.
"Be it so, then, Monsieur De Simoncourt," I said. "We will meet you at
Bellevue, at ten."
"On the terrace?"
"On the terrace."
We bowed and parted. Dalrymple was already gone, and De Caylus, still
white and trembling with rage, was wiping the wine from his face and
shirt. The crowd opened for me right and left as I went through the
_salon_, and more than one voice whispered:--
"He is the Englishman's second."
I took my hat and cloak mechanically, and let myself out. It was broad
daylight, and the blinding sun poured full upon my eyes as I passed into
the street.
"Come, Damon," said Dalrymple, crossing over to me from the opposite
side of the way. "I have just caught a cab--there it is, waiting round
the corner! We've no time to lose, I'll be bound."
"We are to meet them at Bellevue at ten," I replied.
"At ten? Hurrah! then I've still five certain hours of life before me!
Long enough, Damon, to do a world of mischief, if one were so disposed!"