"Providence will provide for that," said Leoni, "she is the mother of the audacious."
"But not of the indolent," said Chalm, "and I know nobody on earth more indolent than you. What the devil did you do in Switzerland with your infanta for six months?"
"Silence on that subject!" retorted Leoni; "I loved her, and I'll throw my glass at the head of any man who sees anything to laugh at in that."
"Leoni, you drink too much," observed another of his friends.
"Perhaps so, but I have said what I have said."
The viscount didn't take up this species of challenge, and the marquis made haste to change the conversation.
"Why, in God's name, aren't you playing?" he asked Leoni.
"Ventre-Dieu! I play every day to oblige you, although I detest gambling; you will make a fool of me with your cards and your dice, and your pockets like the cask of the Danaides, and your insatiable hands! You are nothing but a parcel of fools, the whole of you. When you have made a hit, instead of taking a rest and enjoying life like true sybarites, you keep at it until you have spoiled your luck."
"Luck, luck!" said the marquis, "everyone knows what luck is."
"Many thanks!" said Leoni, "I no longer care to know; I was too thoroughly currycombed at Paris. When I think that there is one man, whom may God in his mercy consign to all the devils——!"