advanced two men. The first was bearded, a large man, definitely
elderly, who walked with a curious deliberation of tread and looked
neither to the right nor to the left. The younger, following at his
elbow, was possibly Dupontel's age. In him, not the clothes alone,
but the face, keen lipped, quiet-eyed, not quite concealing its
reserves of vitality under its composure, proclaimed the American.
The men in the room, moving aside, made an avenue from the door to
the window in which, the Prince stood. The Prince came along it to
greet his guest. As they halted, face to face, Dupontel saw that the
young stranger touched the elder on the arm.
The Prince seemed to have doubts. He remembered Carigny as a slim
youth; the stranger was burly, with a bush of beard and a red face.
"It is Carigny?" inquired the Prince, hesitating.
The stranger smiled. "Yes," he answered. "Monpavon, is it not?"
Even his French had changed, become the French of a foreigner.
"You have been a long time coming for your revenge," said the Prince.
"But you are welcome always, Carigny."
He held out his hand, and again the young man touched the elder. As
if he hesitated to join hands with the Prince, Carigny gave his hand,
slowly, awkwardly; but his grip, when he had done it, was firm. They
stood, clasping hands, under the inquisitive eyes of the others.
"Since we are to play," said Carigny, "you must allow me to present
you to my son. He does not play; I have discouraged him. But he will
read my cards for me. You do not object?"
Their clasped hands fell apart. The Prince looked his
incomprehension. The young man was making him a bow of sorts.
"I am charmed," he answered. "But read your cards? I don't
understand."
Dupontel arrested an impulse to step forward, to interrupt, to
interfere in some manner. He saw that Carigny smiled.
"Yes," he answered. "Tell me which card is which, you know. You see,
Monpavon, for the last five years I have been blind!"
His voice, with its foreign accent rendering strange his precise and
old-fashioned French, continued to explain. But Dupontel did not hear
what it said. He was looking at the Prince. Save for an astonished
knitting of the brows, he had not moved; he preserved, under those
watching eyes, his attitude. The worst had come to pass the thing he
feared had ambushed him? and he was facing it. But presently he
raised his right hand, the hand that had touched Carigny's, looked at
it thoughtfully, and brushed it with his left. If he had any virtue,
he was exhibiting it now. One could defeat him but not discountenance
him.
"Certainly," he was saying presently. "The right of choice is yours,
Carigny. Ecarte, since you wish it, by all means."
Dupontel, to whom he had explained himself, knew what that handshake
had meant. In the move toward the card-table, he caught his eye. The
Prince smiled at him. "You see how useless it is to strive," he
seemed to say.
The pretence that the onlookers were present by chance was gone when
the Prince and his adversary sat down opposite to each other at the
little green table. The onlookers thronged about them, frankly
curious. The young man, Carigny's son, stood leaning over his
father's shoulder. Dupontel was at the back of his friend. He saw the
green table across the Prince's white head. The deal fell to the
Prince.
He had the pack in his hand when he spoke across to Carigny.
"Carigny," he said. The blind man lifted his face to listen. "The
last game was a short one."
The other nodded. "Make it as short as you like," he said. "Make it
one hand, if it pleases you, Monpavon. I shall be satisfied."
"One hand!"
"Certainly; if that is short enough for you," said Carigny. "But the
stakes you remember them?"
He asked the question as if he would warn his adversary, and as if he
himself were certain of the issue. He had the demeanor of a man who
undertakes a problem of which he knows the answer.
"Be careful," breathed Dupontel at the Prince's back.
"You lost, let me see!" replied the Prince, unheeding Dupontel's
whisper. "It was four hundred thousand francs, I think."
The bearded face opposite him smiled. "You have not forgotten, I
see!"
The Prince nodded. "One hand, then!"
He proceeded to deal. He was certain of losing, or he would not have
consented to such an outrage upon the game's refinements. And yet, he
had hopes; the spirit that presides over cards is capricious.
The young man had sorted the cards and placed them in his father's
hands, and was whispering in his ear. Then he stood upright. The
Prince waited.
"You propose?" he inquired.
"No," said the other; "I play."
There was a movement among the spectators as some shifted in an
endeavor to see the cards. Dupontel was edged from his post for a
moment. When he had shouldered his way back to it, the play had
already begun. It seemed to him almost indecent that such an affair
should rest on a single hand of cards; it was making free with
matters of importance. As he gained a sight of the table again,
Carigny scored his second trick and the third card fell. The Prince
trumped it. The young man smiled and whispered. Another card was
played, and the Prince won again, He laid his last card face down on
the table.
"Carigny," he said.
"Have you played?" asked the other.
"No," said the Prince. "Listen! I will make you a proposal. I do not
know what your last card is; you do not know mine. It rests on that
card, our four hundred thousand francs. I may win, in spite of
everything. But I offer you half the stakes now, if you like; two
hundred thousand instead of four and we will not play that last
card."
"Eh?" The blind man hid his card with his hand. His son bent over
him, whispering. A man next to Dupontel nudged him. "What is
Monpavon's card?" he murmured. Dupontel did not know. The cards had
been the least part of the affair to him. The Prince sat still,
waiting.
"Very well," said Carigny, at last. "I am willing, Monpavon. Two
hundred thousand, eh?"
"Two hundred thousand," corroborated the Prince.
He reached for the pack. Before anyone could protest, he had
slipped his card into it and mingled it with the others beyond
identification.
"We are quits, then," he was saying to Carigny, and once more the
ancient adversaries shook hands.
"But what was the card?" asked a dozen men at once.
The Prince let his hard, serene eye wander over them. He was walking
toward the door, guiding Carigny with a hand on his arm. There was a
flicker of a smile on his face. Without answering, he passed out. To
this day, no man knows what card he held.
PRINTED BY CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED, LA BELLE SAUVAGE, LONDON.