Every Wednesday Baroness von Döring received her intimate friends. She
did not care for rivals, and therefore ladies were not invited to
these evenings. The intimate circle of the baroness consisted of our
Knights of Industry and the "pigeons" of the bureaucracy, the world of
finance, the aristocracy, which were the objects of the knights'
desires.
It often happened, however, that the number of guests at these
intimate evenings went as high as fifty, and sometimes even more.
The baroness was passionately fond of games of chance, and always sat
down to the card table with enthusiasm. But as this was done
conspicuously, in sight of all her guests, the latter could not fail
to note that fortune obstinately turned away from the baroness. She
almost never won on the green cloth; sometimes Kovroff won, sometimes
Kallash, sometimes Karozitch, but with the slight difference that the
last won more seldom and less than the other two.
Thus every Wednesday a considerable sum found its way from the
pocketbook of the baroness into that of one of her colleagues, to find
its way back again the next morning. The purpose of this clever scheme
was that the "pigeons" who visited the luxurious salons of the
baroness, and whose money paid the expenses of these salons, should
not have the smallest grounds for suspicion that the dear baroness's
apartment was nothing but a den of sharpers. Her guests all considered
her charming, to begin with, and also rich and independent and
passionate by nature. This explained her love of play and the
excitement it brought, and which she would not give up, in spite of
her repeated heavy losses.
Her colleagues, the Knights of Industry, acted on a carefully devised
and rigidly followed plan. They were far from putting their uncanny
skill in motion every Wednesday. So long as they had no big game in
sight, the game remained clean and honest. In this way the band might
lose two or three thousand rubles, but such a loss had no great
importance, and was soon made up when some fat "pigeon" appeared.
It sometimes happened that this wily scheme of honest play went on for
five or six weeks in succession, so that the small fry, winning the
band's money, remained entirely convinced that it was playing in an
honorable and respectable private house, and very naturally spread
abroad the fame of it throughout the whole city. But when the fat
pigeon at last appeared, the band put forth all its forces, all the
wiles of the black art, and in a few hours made up for the generous
losses of a month of honorable and irreproachable play on the green
cloth.
Midnight was approaching.
The baroness's rooms were brilliantly lit up, but, thanks to the thick
curtains which covered the windows, the lights could not be seen from
the street, though several carriages were drawn up along the sidewalk.
Opening into the elegant drawing-room was a not less elegant card
room, appreciatively nicknamed the Inferno by the band. In it stood a
large table with a green cloth, on which lay a heap of bank notes and
two little piles of gold, before which sat Sergei Antonovitch Kovroff,
presiding over the bank with the composure of a true gentleman.
What Homeric, Jovine calm rested on every feature of his face! What
charming, fearless self-assurance, what noble self-confidence in his
smile, in his glance! What grace, what distinction in his pose, and
especially in the hand which dealt the cards! Sergei Kovroff's hands
were decidedly worthy of attention. They were almost always clad in
new gloves, which he only took off on special occasions, at dinner, or
when he had some writing to do, or when he sat down to a game of
cards. As a result, his hands were almost feminine in their delicacy,
the sensibility of the finger tips had reached an extraordinary degree
of development, equal to that of one born blind. And those fingers
were skillful, adroit, alert, their every movement carried out with
that smooth, indefinable grace which is almost always possessed by the
really high-class card sharper. His fingers were adorned with numerous
rings, in which sparkled diamonds and other precious stones. And it
was not for nothing that Sergei Kovroff took pride in them! This
glitter of diamonds, scattering rainbow rays, dazzled the eyes of his
fellow players. When Sergei Kovroff sat down to preside over the bank,
the sparkling of the diamonds admirably masked those motions of his
fingers which needed to be masked; they almost insensibly drew away
the eyes of the players from his fingers, and this was most of all
what Sergei Kovroff desired.
Round the table about thirty guests were gathered. Some of them sat,
but most of them played standing, with anxious faces, feverishly
sparkling eyes, and breathing heavily and unevenly. Some were pale,
some flushed, and all watched with passionate eagerness the fall of
the cards. There were also some who had perfect command of themselves,
distinguished by extraordinary coolness, and jesting lightly whether
they lost or won. But such happily constituted natures are always a
minority when high play is going on.
Silence reigned in the Inferno. There was almost no conversation; only
once in a while was heard a remark, in a whisper or an undertone,
addressed by a player to his neighbor; the only sound was that short,
dry rustle of the cards and the crackling of new bank notes, or the
tinkle of gold coins making their way round the table from the bank to
the players, and from the players back to the bank.
The two Princes Shadursky, father and son, both lost heavily. They sat
opposite Sergei Kovroff, and between them sat Baroness von Döring, who
played in alliance with them. The clever Natasha egged them on,
kindling their excitement with all the skill and calculation possible
to one whose blood was as cold as the blood of a fish, and both the
Shadurskys had lost their heads, no longer knowing how much they were
losing.