"So, then, you understand it!" said I, smiling, and still making my stake as before.
"Let the deal pass; don't bet now," whispered he, eagerly.
"Herr Ephraim, I have warned you already," cried the croupier, "that if you persist in disturbing the gentlemen who play here, you will be removed by the police."
The word "police"—so dreadful to all German ears—made the old man tremble from bead to foot; and he bowed twice or thrice in hurried submission, and protested that he would be more cautious in future.
"You certainly do not exhibit such signs of good fortune on your own person," said the croupier, "that should entitle you to advise and counsel others."
"Quite true, Herr Croupier," assented he, with an attempt to smile.
"Besides that, if you reckon upon the Count's good nature to give you a trifle when the game is over, you 'll certainly merit it better by silence and respect now."
The old man's face became deep scarlet, and then as suddenly pale. He made an effort to say something; but though his hands gesticulated, and his lips moved, no sounds were audible, and with a faint sigh he tottered back and leaned against the wall. I sprang up and placed him in a chair, and, seeing that he was overcome by weakness, I called for wine, and hastily poured a glassful down his throat. I could not induce him to take a second, and he seemed, while expressing his gratitude, to be impatient to get away and leave the place.
"Shall I see you home, Herr Ephraim?" said I; "will you allow me to accompany you?"
"On no account, Herr Graf," said he, giving me the title he had heard the croupier address me by. "I can go alone; I am quite able, and—I prefer it."