“Oh, if you are resolved, there is no more to be said. I won't run my head against a brick wall.”
Ina, being half a foreigner, thought this rather brusk. She looked at him askant, and said, quietly, “Others, besides me, can be stubborn, and get their own way, while speaking the language of submission. Not I invented volition.”
With this flea in his ear, the faithful Joseph went off, chuckling, and obtained an advance from the manager, and then proceeded to the principal gaming-table, and, after waiting some time, secured a chair, which he kept for his chief.
An hour went by; an hour and a half. He was obliged, for very shame, to bet. This he did, five francs at a time; and his risk was so small, and his luck so even, that by degrees he was drawn into conversation with his neighbor, a young swell, who was watching the run of the colors, and betting in silver, and pricking a card, preparatory to going in for a great coup. Meantime he favored Mr. Ashmead with his theory of chances, and Ashmead listened very politely to every word; because he was rather proud of the other's notice: he was so handsome, well dressed, and well spoken.
Meantime Ina Klosking snatched a few minutes' sleep, as most artists can in the afternoon, and was awakened by the servant bringing in her frugal repast, a cutlet and a pint of Bordeaux.
On her plate he brought her a large card, on which was printed “Miss Zoe Vizard.” This led to inquiries, and he told her a lady of superlative beauty had called and left that card. Ina asked for a description.
“Ah, madame,” said Karl, “do not expect details from me. I was too dazzled, and struck by lightning, to make an inventory of her charms.”
“At least you can tell me was she dark or fair.”
“Madame, she was dark as night; but glorious as the sun. Her earthly abode is the Russie, at Frankfort; blest hotel!”
“Did she tell you so?”