As the clock struck five, Joseph Mohammed entered his master's
bedroom, but the latter appeared but little inclined to open his
eyes. Joseph, however, knew his duty. If M. de Morin had given an
order that he was to be roused at so early an hour, there was
evidently something important in the wind, and, consequently, he had
no right to sleep. So Mohammed proceeded to pull down the bed-clothes
with precisely the same precision with which he had tucked them in.
At the first symptom of cold the young painter showed a disposition
to protest against such a brutal proceeding, but his valet, always
respectful but firm, said to him—
"I am sure, sir, that you would not wish me to have passed a
sleepless night to no purpose."
As this reproach had not the desired effect, Joseph thought himself
bound to add—
"When an expedition to Africa is contemplated it is just as well to
know how to get out of bed."
This time M. de Morin was convinced. With one bound he was on to the
handsome tiger-skin which served him for a carpet; he put on his
Eastern slippers, got into his dressing-gown, and went into his
dressing-room, which Joseph had lit up to its fullest extent in order
to dazzle his master's eyes and complete his awakening. His success
was complete, and in five minutes' time M. de Morin had recovered all
his gaiety and was hard at work at his toilet, humming the while the
very latest air of Offenbach, set to the words of MM. Meilbac and
Halevy.
Mohammed, however, did not appear to partake of this light-heartedness.
He forgot none of his duties, it is true; he put in the
wash-hand basin the proper quantity of _eau de Lubin_, stropped his
favourite razor, and at a spirit-lamp warmed the curling-irons for
his master's moustaches. But his countenance was gloomy, and his
smile sad, and, every now and then, a sigh, but half-suppressed out
of respect, escaped from his over-laden heart.
M. de Morin did not condescend to notice this by-play, and his valet,
wishing, probably, to attract attention, became somewhat more
demonstrative in his grief. At last the young man, whose ears had
been saluted by a sigh deeper than usual, asked Joseph what was the
matter with him.
"I am broken hearted, sir, broken hearted," was the reply.
"Really? And so you are broken hearted," said M. de Morin, with the
utmost indifference, and buttoning his wristbands. "What has happened
to you to make you so broken hearted? Have you been giving way to
reflection during the night, and has the camel I promised you
frightened you?"
"No, sir, it is not the camel which distresses me. I shall welcome
that noble animal with open arms. At this moment, sir, I am not
thinking of myself; all my thoughts are with you."
"I should not have thought so, Joseph, seeing that you have handed me
a pair of black trousers, which, you will admit, are not quite the
thing at 5 a.m."
"That depends, sir. In certain momentous circumstances in life black
trousers are not to be despised, nor a high waistcoat either which
hides the shirt, and does not allow a single spot of white to be seen
or to serve as an aim."
This time M. de Morin was completely puzzled.
"What on earth do you mean," he exclaimed, "by your spots of white
and your aims? Has the idea of travelling in Africa turned your
brain? Put that razor down—you make me nervous."
"Do not be uneasy, sir. My good sense has not deserted me. I should
not suffer as I do if I had lost my reason."
"Look here, Joseph. Though I am pretty well accustomed to your
eccentricities, you are going a little too far now, and I insist on
your explaining yourself, and that without delay. I did not get up at
five o'clock in the morning for the sole purpose of giving you an
audience."
"Oh! I am not ignorant that you have other affairs on hand, and it is
just that which is distressing me."
"And, in your idea, what have I on hand?"
"That is easily guessed, and I am surprised, sir, that you should
have imagined that you could keep your plans a secret from me."
"Keep my plans secret!"
"Yes, sir. It would have been very easy to have told me all, and I
take the liberty of saying decidedly that my care, my zeal, and my
devotion in your service are worthy of this proof of your
confidence."
"Do I understand you, then, to imply that I am compelled to tell you
where I am going?"
"There is no compulsion, sir. There is no question of any obligation
towards me, but you would have only been acting with prudence by
claiming my presence in such circumstances as these. I could, at all
events, carry the swords or the pistols, keep off the gendarmes, and
assist in conveying the wounded one to a carriage."
"Swords! Pistols! Gendarmes! The wounded!" echoed M. de Morin,
wondering whether he had not turned prematurely silly. Suddenly he
understood it all, and exclaimed—
"I have it I You fancy that I am going to fight a duel."
"What else could I think, sir?" said Joseph, very grave and solemn.
"Did you not tell me that you were neither going on a journey, nor
out shooting?"
"Undoubtedly."
"Well then, sir, for what other reason than an affair of honour would
you leave the house at five o'clock in the morning, contrary to your
usual custom and the usages of high life?"
He pronounced the words "high life" with an accent perfectly
irresistible, and then went on to say—
"And besides, sir, you told me to fetch your duelling pistols from
Devisme's. It is clear, it is more than clear—alas! it is evident."
This evidence apparently struck M. de Morin also, for he at once
proceeded to reassure his faithful servant.
"You are mistaken, Joseph," he said, kindly, "and your vivid
imagination has led you astray. I got up this morning at five o'clock
simply to go to my club, where, for a reason which, with your
permission, I will keep to myself, I wish to arrive calm and
collected, after a few hours' sleep. You may come with me, if that
will ease your mind. As regards my pistols, I desire, in anticipation
of this expedition, to practice my shooting every day, and you can
take them to the shooting-gallery in the course of the morning. And
now that my frank explanations have restored you to your usual
serenity, perhaps you will have the goodness to bring in the soup and
claret I ordered, and once more resume that engaging manner which
becomes you so well."
This last suggestion was superfluous, for a smile was once more
visible on Joseph's lips.
A quarter of an hour afterwards M. de Morin ascended the staircase of
his club, passed through an entrance hall where two servants lay
asleep on the benches, and entered the only room which at that moment
was occupied.
It was the room devoted, as in most clubs, to baccarat. Along the
walls were to be seen roomy couches, whereon to repose from the
excitement of play, and where, when the cards were adverse, the
unlucky player could snatch a moment or two of sleep whilst waiting
for a change of luck. In one corner was placed a table, at which a
confidential servant sat, elevated, so to speak, to the dignity of
cashier. His duty was to give the player, on demand, counters of all
sorts, sizes, and colours, which were intended to represent certain
amounts, from the highest to the lowest. Indeed, in all well
conducted clubs, it is not customary to have the tables covered with
gold or bank notes. These are represented by counters, or fish, in
exchange for which, on the following day, as soon as each loser has
paid his losses, the cashier hands over their money value. Gambling
debts must be paid, not within forty-eight hours, as is generally
understood, but really within a limit of sixty hours. This term
passed, the member of the club who has lost his counters, if he has
not handed in their corresponding value in money, is subject to a
penalty which is termed "being posted" and consists in his name being
written up on a board hung in the principal room of the club. This
punishment is very rarely carried into effect. The unlucky gambler,
who has lost more than he can pay, can generally count upon the
forbearance of his creditor, and comes to some arrangement with him.
If he does not succeed in doing that, his name, after being posted
for a moment only, is rubbed out. He _ipso facto_ no longer belongs
to the club, and his reputation is thereby seriously damaged.
These details are necessary in order to comprehend the scene which
was on the point of being enacted between M. de Morin and the young
doctor, called Delange, whom he had undertaken to secure as a
travelling companion in the expedition.
A large oval table, covered with green cloth, and lighted by lamps
hung from the ceiling, took up most of the space in the room we have
attempted to describe. In the centre sat the player who held the bank
for the time being. On either side of him, to the right or left, he
dealt the cards to his fellow players, who were thus divided into two
groups, or "sides," to use the recognized description. In front of
him were several packs of cards which, when they had been once used,
he threw into a sort of leathern bowl placed on the table.
As M. de Morin entered this baccarat room some half-a-score players
were commencing another set, and by them his arrival was noisily
welcomed.
"Holloa! de Morin, come along! Where do you spring from at this hour?
A supper party, of course. Fearful depravity! Your family must be
communicated with, and asked to interfere. A splendid game, my dear
fellow. Not many of us, it is true, but all of the right sort. Come
along and take a hand. Sit by me and bring me luck."
At such an hour a new-comer was a god-send, and the heartiness of the
welcome given to M. de Morin had, in reality, nothing personal about
it. The winners, anxious to get away with their winnings, but
hesitating to leave lest their departure should be too noticeable,
were delighted at the arrival of a recruit ready to take their place,
and the losers, on the other hand, interested in prolonging the game
so that they might have a chance of recouping themselves, were
jubilant over the increase to their number, and with that
superstition inherent in all gamblers, trusted that the new arrival
would turn the tide of fortune in their favour.
M. de Morin, having by a glance satisfied himself that M. Delange,
true to his habits, was seated at the baccarat table, secured a
supply of counters to the amount of five thousand francs, and, as the
bank was up and nobody seemed anxious for it, took it himself.