University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.
THE GAMESTERS.

Half an hour after, the two friends were
stationed in one of the most fashienable
gaming saloons in the great metropolis of
France. Foreigners from almost every
country were present. Russian counts,
Italian amateurs, English sportsmen, and
German speculators, were mingled with
dandies, blacklegs, artists, and even the
nobility of Paris. All appeared upon the
same footing there—all seemed moved by
one common impulse—the passion for gaming.

Ernest Clairet was engaged with an experienced
Parisian player, while Maurice, together,
with several strangers, stood by,
watching the progress of the game.

Although a moderate player, and what is
termed an amateur, for want of better or
more suitable phrase, Ernest was unusually
skillful at cards, being quick at observation,
and accustomed to all the games and tricks
of the day. On the present occasion, however,
he had his match. His adversary
played with great coolness and precision,
turning his whole attention to the game.
Ernest, at first, played carelessly; but when
louis after louis had passed from his purse,
over to the side of his adversary, he began
to pay greater attention to the game, although
he played with the same coolness as
before. His fortune, however, did not
change. Vibert—for such was his adversary's
name—continued to win from him
until he had but a single bill of fifty francs
remaining in his pocket. This Ernest staked,
played for—and lost.

`Morbleu, M. Vibert!' he exclaimed, `you
are in luck to-night! You have won from
me more than eight hundred francs, and I

havn't time to stop and recover my losses.
Another time, however—'

`It is not late, Mousieur,' interrupted
Vibert, politely.

`Not late, I know, but you will excuse
me for to-night,' began Ernest; but a murmur
of disapprobation among the spectators
checked him, and he cast a meaning glance
at Maurice Lambert.

Maurice understood him, and knowing
that the adopted son of M. Clairet was not
always flush with ready money, slipped a
billet de banque into his hands, unobserved
by the spectators.

Ernest glanced at it hastily, and a strange
smile played upon his lips—he saw that it
was equal in value to all that he had lost
that night.

`If then I am to be revenged on you, to-night,
M. Vibert,' said Ernest, gaily, `I
must do it at one stroke. There is my
stake.'

`Good!' exclaimed Vibert, and the cards
were again arranged.

The game was short, but played with the
greatest coolness and attention.

`You have lost, Monsieur,' observed
Ernest, carelessly. `Are you satisfied now?'

`Ah, Monsieur, you are very kind!' returned
Vibert. `But you will not surely
leave me so—'

`A votre service,' said Ernest, shuffling
the cards.

`The stake?' suggested Vibert.

`That billet de banque seems to be a
lucky one,' observed the other, with a smile.
`If you have no objection—'

`Not the least,' interrupted Vibert.

Once more they played, and once more
the billet de banque won.

`Sacrebleu!' muttered Vibert; `que fe
suis bete! Had I not played a diamond when
it should have been a trump;—but never
mind; we will try the game once more.'

Vibert studied the game until the perspiration
stood upon his brow; played with
the utmost caution: watched every move of
his adversary as the tiger watches his prey:
but all in vain. A third time Ernest was in
luck. Vibert said not a word, but wiping
the sweat from his forehead, proceeded to
shuffle the cards.

`The billet de banque again?' asked Ernest.

Vibert made no reply, save a gesture of
affirmation, and again the play went on.

`Pardieu!' the devil is in your fingers!'
muttered Vibert, forcing a smile as still another
thousand francs pased over to Ernest's
side.

`Only a momentary change of fortune,'
said Ernest; `you will recover in a short
time.'

Again they played, and again Vibert lost.
He became agitated at last, and played like
an insane man, clutching the cards with
desperate energy, and keeping his blood-shot
eyes fixed upon the game. Ernest, on the
other hand, was cool and self-possessed; he
appeared to regard his astonishing successes
with the utmost indifference. A group of
admiring spectators soon gathered around
them, greatly interested in the progress of
the play.

`My dear sir,' said Ernest, at length,
frightened by the desperate manner in which
his adversary played—`my dear sir, is it not
time to finish for to-night? Another time—'

`Play on—play on!' interrupted Vibert,
in a husky voice.

And they did play on; and in half an
hour Ernest had reduced his opponent to
the last franc.

A death-like silence prevailed for a moment,
as Vibert, with his ashy lips compressed,
and his pale brow resting upon his
hands, stared fixedly at the cards upon the
table.

`Let us away,' whispered Maurice, touching
Ernest upon the shoulder.

Ernest glanced at his friend, then at Vibert,
and finally at the pile of money ne
had won.

`Diable, Maurice, what shall I do?' he

murmured, passing his hand across his brow.
`Here have I been playing for more than
two hours without knowing what I was
about. I played for amusement, never once
thinking that I was ruining this poor devil,
in fact, when I look at the money here, it
seems that I have been dreaming. Tell me
if I have won it all in fair play—'

These last words alone reached the ear
of Vibert. He started up, as if a sudden
thought had flashed across his brain.

`Fair play!' he echoed, with a ghastly
smile. `Sacre dieu! I never lost like that
with an honest player!'

`Sir?' said Ernest, in a whisper, while
the hot blood mounted to his brow.

Vibert was desperate. While all the spectators
started back with a sort of savage delight,
he sprang forward, and glancing fiercely
at Ernest, exclaimed:

`You heard my words—all present heard
them too!'

Ernest had become perfectly calm. One
would not have observed the least emotion
in him, had not his features been a shade
paler than usual.

`Yes, Monsieur!' he said, politely, but
with a sarcastic smile, `I heard your words,
and beg to know when you deign to explain
them to me.'

`Morbleu! at any time—the sooner the
better!' replied Vibert, fiercely.

`Here is my address,' began Ernest—

`I care not for your address,' interrupted
Vibert. `It is better that our differences
should be settled on the spot—here—at this
very moment!'

Cela m'est egal,' returned the other coolly.
`It only remains for you to choose your
weapons.'

`They are chosen,' said the Parisian,
pointing with a ghastly smile, at a pair of
short swords that hung against the wall.

`Be it so!' said Ernest.

`Dame!' whispered Maurice, `you are
not going to fight the fellow?'

`Why not?'

`Why not?' He is beside himself—he is
desperate. Return him the money you have
won, and let us begone.'

`Maurice!' exclaimed Ernest, reproachfully,
`you, too, are beside yourself, are you
not? Consider that he insulted me before
a crowd of spectators, and that I could not
retreat if I would. I pity him, for in the
state you see him, I am confident he will
lose not only his money but his sword.'

`Be not too confident,' whispered Maurice,
`for I am told that Vibert is one of the ablest
swordsmen in Paris.'

`Tant mieux! tant mieux!' exclaimed
Ernest, gaily.