On the Saturday before the races at Dieppe, Raynaud came into his office with a friend at the moment when considerable sums of money were passing through Raoul's hands and he was preparing to hand them over. While he was counting bundles of ten thousand francs, Raynaud said to his friend:
"It's a certain tip. Volubilis is a twenty to one chance . . . a walk over."
Just then the banker was called away to the next room. His friend did not wait for him. Raoul's brain was on fire. He had arranged to go to Dieppe the following day, less to see his mother who was on a visit there, than because he knew that Nina would be at the races . . . Nina . . . Volubilis. . . . A twenty to one chance and he had but two louis in his pocket! His hands feverishly crumpled the bank-notes, one of which would suffice to bring him a small fortune.
Charles Raynaud was an intimate friend of the owner of Volubilis, and Raoul had no misgivings as to the value of the tip. He thought that he would be in a position to refund the money next day after the race. Nevertheless, to borrow money in that way, no matter what the amount might be, or the hope of returning it, was known and called by a definite name.
Raoul was about to unpin a bundle of ten thousand francs in order to borrow one of a thousand francs, one only, when Raynaud came into the office, and he scarcely had time to thrust the entire bundle into the inside pocket of his jacket. The banker hastily threw the various amounts which lay on the table into his safe, confident of Raoul's accuracy and honesty. And he departed. . . . Behind him stood a young man of a deathly pallor who made a gesture as if to detain him, but Raynaud did not turn round. Raoul de Saint-Dalmas had five hundred louis to put on Volubilis and was a thief.
* * * * *
The moment through which he lived next day when the bell in the reserved enclosure announced that the horses were off, remained impressed forever on his memory. What mingled feelings of torment and hope dwelled in his heart! In a few moments, by his watch, he would either be ruined forever or rich once more, and no one would suspect his shameful act of weakness and Nina Noha would smile on him again.
It was for her sake that he had lived through that frightful moment. He had spent the night wandering up and down, like a madman, under her window. But some compensation was perhaps in store for him. A minute would put an end to his doubts. Either it would be Nina or the Assize Court.
He had no wish to see the race. He paced up and down behind the grand stand. A cold sweat broke over his forehead. Had anyone met him, that person would have had some difficulty in recognizing him, so greatly had the madness of the moment distorted his features. His gloves were torn to shreds.
An immense silence hung over the race-course as often happens in critical moments when the fate of a great struggle hangs in suspense. . . . And then suddenly the air was rent with a thousand shouts: "Volubilis . . . Volubilis . . . Volubilis wins in a canter."