‘And I on black,’ said the Princess; and her little finger twitched like the indicator of a telegraph.
The ball slowed down, and she rose.
‘I would play with you till the Day of Judgment,’ she said, ‘but positively I have not a penny till my Civil List is paid in September.’
‘Your Royal Highness has Rhodopé,’ said he.
‘True; and what shall be your stake?’
‘The revenues of Rhodopé, paid year by year to you and your heirs for ever.’
‘They are large, and “for ever” is a long time.’
‘And I am rich. Also I have luck. I will stake on the first half of the board.’
‘And I on the second,’ said the Princess; but her voice was a whisper.
Pierre’s hand so trembled that he could scarce set the wheel in motion, and the Princess’s foot beat an electric dynamo on the thick Persian rug underneath the table. The spin was a long one, but at last the ball began to slow down; it crept through one to sixteen, crawled through sixteen to thirty-two, wavered over zero, and settled into number one. They rose together.