“The most subtile diplomatist,” thought Vivian, as he recalled to mind his own introduction, “would be puzzled to decide to which interest his Imperial Highness leans.”
The Grand Duke now entered into conversation with the Prince, and most of the circle who surrounded him. As his Imperial Highness was addressing Vivian, the Baron let slip our hero’s arm, and, taking that of the Chevalier de Boeffleurs, began walking up and down the room with him, and was soon engaged in animated conversation. In a few minutes the Grand Duke, bowing to his circle, made a move, and regained the side of a Saxon lady, from whose interesting company he had been disturbed by the arrival of Prince Salvinski; an individual of whose long stories and dull romances the Grand Duke had, from experience, a particular dread: but his Highness was always very courteous to the Poles.
“Grey, I have despatched De Boeffleurs to the house, to instruct his servant and Ernstorff to do the impossible, in order that our rooms may be all together. You will be delighted with De Boeffleurs when you know him, and I expect you to be great friends. By-the-bye, his unexpected arrival has quite made us forget our venture at rouge-et-noir. Of course we are too late now for anything; even if we had been fortunate, our stake, remaining on the table, is, of course, lost: we may as well, however, walk up.” So saying, the Baron reached the table.
“That is your Excellency’s stake! that is your Excellency’s stake!” exclaimed many voices as he came up.
“What is the matter, my friends?” asked the Baron, calmly.
“There has been a run on the red! there has been a run on the red! and your Excellency’s stake has doubled each time. It has been 4, 8, 16, 32, 64, 128, 256, and now it is 512!” quickly rattled a little thin man in spectacles, pointing at the same time to his unparalleled line of punctures. This was one of those officious, noisy little men who are always ready to give you unasked information, and who are never so happy as when they are watching over the interest of some stranger, who never thanks them for their unnecessary solicitude.
Vivian, in spite of his philosophy, felt the excitement of the moment. He looked at the Baron, whose countenance, however, was unmoved.
“It seems,” said he, coolly, “we are in luck.”
“The stake, then, is not all your own?” eagerly asked the little man in spectacles.
“No; part of it is yours, sir,” answered the Baron, drily.