'Hein!' said the Count; 'they are curious people these English, certainly the most eccentric nation in the world. I have no great love for them, and shall certainly be present to see one of them ruin the other.'
At three o'clock the next morning, though upwards of fifty people remained in the large room at Madame de Nerval's, standing round a table at which two players were engaged, not a word was spoken, not a sound was heard save that made from time to time by the dealing of the cards. Gradually the interest and expectancy increased; the spectators ppushed forward with held breath and straining eyes. Then suddenly the ccrowd fell back, a long 'A-h!' conveying their pent-up feelings, and Lord Forestfield rose from his seat. He was pale, and had a seared strained look round the eyes, but otherwise was quite calm.
'You have been fortunate, Sir Nugent Uffington,' he said, with a slight tremor in his voice, 'and I am in your debt exactly double the sum for which you hold my acknowledgment. I will do myself the pleasure of calling on you to-morrow;' and with a stately bow to the company he walked out of the room.
'Trés-bien fait!' whispered the Count to his neighbour. 'It is on occasions like this that an Englishman's natural froideur is of so much use to him.'
[CHAPTER XIV.]
UFFINGTON'S BARGAIN.
The next morning Sir Nugent Uffington, notwithstanding the late hour at which he had retired to rest, woke early, and stretching out his hand, gathered up some papers which lay on the table by his bedside. The first in his grasp was a crumpled green telegraph form, which, being untwisted and spread out, read as follows:
'Messrs. Moss and Moss, Thavies Inn, London, to Sir Nugent Uffington, Bart., Hôtel Meurice, Paris. Richards has made over to you Woodburn mortgage. We hold it on your account. Foreclosure so soon as orders received.'
'So far so good,' said Uffington, raising himself on his elbow. 'Those charming people, Messrs. Moss, have obeyed my instructions implicitly, and that earth is stopped. By which means by friend will be more readily brought to book, that is all! How right I was years ago to make a resolution never to read letters which I might find awaiting me on my return home late at night, and what singular resolution I must have had to keep to it! It was a sensible thing--the idea of having oneself upset, and one's valuable night's rest scared away, for something which could not be remedied! To be sure, I could not resist a glance at that telegram last night, because I knew it would have no actual effect on the position of affairs; and if it turned out right--as has happily proved the case--could only make me a little more secure in the saddle. But here is something else,' taking up a twisted scrap, 'this note which Madame de Nerval left in my hand when I took my leave of her. Now certainly I deserve credit for having left that unread up to this time. What does it say?
"I have guessed your secret. You hate Lord Forestfield, and have come here determined to ruin him. There is a woman in this; I know it, my jealousy tells me so. For he is not the only one whose peace of mind you have destroyed. Let me see you very soon. A toi.--M."