"Lucky at play, unlucky in love," laughed one of the men carelessly.
"What do you mean?" asked Orsino, turning sharply upon the speaker.
"Mean? Nothing," answered the latter in great surprise. "What is the matter with you, Orsino? Cannot one quote a common proverb?"
"Oh—if you meant nothing, let us go on," Orsino answered gloomily.
As he took up the cards again, he heard a sigh behind him and turning round saw that Spicca was standing at his shoulder. He was shocked by the melancholy count's face, though he was used to meeting him almost every day. The haggard and cadaverous features, the sunken and careworn eyes, contrasted almost horribly with the freshness and gaiety of Orsino's companions, and the brilliant light in the room threw the man's deadly pallor into strong relief.
"Will you play, Count?" asked Orsino, making room for him.
"Thanks—no. I never play nowadays," answered Spicca quietly.
He turned and left the room. With all his apparent weakness his step was not unsteady, though it was slower than in the old days.
"He sighed in that way because we did not quarrel," said the man whose quoted proverb had annoyed Orsino.
"I am ready and anxious to quarrel with everybody to-night," answered Orsino. "Let us play baccarat—that is much better."