'Nay, Sir Quentin,' said I; 'I beg to be excused, having only ten louis.'
'The devil thou hast? I have only two in the world.'
'Then, why play?'
'For that very reason,' said he.
'But you may lose.'
'But I may win.'
'Thank you—but I would rather be excused.'
Sir Quentin frowned and pushed aside his glass.
'Never mind, Ravendean,' said the jolly Marechal de Logis; 'all the world are going to fight the Emperor and the Duke of Lorraine; and we shall have rare pickings and plenty of prize-money, when we march through Alsace and bend our cannon on the Rhine. Long ere that day comes to pass, Sir Quentin, thy two louis may have become twenty thousand. Now, gentlemen, a glass of right Rhenish all round, and then M-e shall adjourn to the Comedie Française, and see all those beauties we have been talking about—yes, see them in all the bloom of beauty, rouge and patches, brocade and cloth of gold.'
From the Fleur-de-lis we went after dusk to the Hotel de Bourgogne, where plays had been acted since 1548, and where we saw a tragedy by Scuderi, about heaven knows what, but every one was killed in the last scene, to the entire satisfaction of the audience. After a petty brawl with the watch, and singing a chorus under the windows of Marion de l'Orme, we all repaired to our quarters in the Louvre.