“All stratagems fair in love, as in war. Of course you profited by my defeat, and did not content yourself with leaving the little actress at her threshold?”
“She is Diana for me,” answered Zicci, lightly; “whoever wins the wreath will not find a flower faded.”
“And now you would cast for her,—well; but they tell me you are ever a sure player.”
“Let Signor Mascari cast for us.”
“Be it so. Mascari, the dice.”
Surprised and perplexed, the parasite took up the three dice, deposited them gravely in the box, and rattled them noisily, while Zicci threw himself back carelessly in his chair and said, “I give the first chance to your Excellency.”
Mascari interchanged a glance with his patron and threw the numbers were sixteen.
“It is a high throw,” said Zicci, calmly; “nevertheless, Signor Mascari, I do not despond.”
Mascari gathered up the dice, shook the box, and rolled the contents once more upon the table; the number was the highest that can be thrown,—eighteen.
The Prince darted a glance of fire at his minion, who stood with gaping mouth staring at the dice, and shaking his head in puzzled wonder.