The baron was regarding the prince with a mildly ironic glance.
“I hear you have been winning,” he said.
“Yes—I had an inspiration for twenty-seven,” the prince replied. “It is a long time,” he added to Selden, “since I have had any luck.”
“Perhaps it is the turn of the tide,” Selden suggested. “I hope so!” and he raised the glass the waiter had filled for him.
“Thank you; it was time!” said the prince, and the three young men drank, while the baron sipped his water moodily. “You do not seem pleased, M. le Baron,” added the prince, looking at him.
“For you to win!” said the baron with a grimace. “It is so unusual—like the sun rising in the west. I am wondering what great misfortune is about to happen!” and he added a sentence in a language which Selden did not understand—his native tongue, no doubt.
The prince flushed rebelliously, and the baron spoke another sentence, in a tone more peremptory. The prince nodded sulkily and rose.
“You will excuse us for a moment,” said the baron, rising too, and he slipped his arm through that of the prince and led him away.
Davis stared after them speculatively until they disappeared through the door into the outer room.
“Queer duck, the baron,” he remarked, and refilled his glass. “I wonder what game he is up to now.”