"The former of these is the dupe, the latter —— is ——"
Here Chauvignac paused, to allow Olivier to finish the phrase.
"What is it you mean?" asked he, beginning to comprehend the purport of the conversation.
"What I mean, is this," replied Chauvignac with a sneer—"To prove to you, that the lucky gamester, whose good fortune you envy, belongs to a society of philosophers, and that these philosophers have certain and easy methods, of turning luck in their own favour."
"But," observed Olivier, his sense of right struggling for mastery in his mind. "To cheat at play is an act of dishonesty."
"On this point, my dear sir, we do not agree; you are in error, and I will prove it to you. First of all, tell me what you call cheating at play?"
"I call winning by underhand tricks, cheating."
"Very well; if that be the case, I will soon show you that the most honest man will not scruple to cheat.
"For instance, do we not daily see men of the strictest probity, seek to turn luck in their favour by various means. One, in placing himself at the table, will sit opposite the hinges, because he believes it to be a lucky spot. Again, if he wins, he will not count his money, fearing to turn his luck. Another believes in the influence of a certain coin, which he mixes with the rest of his money—but which he will never part with. Others, again, wear amulets, made of the dried heart of a black hen, the head of a beetle, or a bit of the cord with which a malefactor has been hung.[G]
"Just tell me what is the object of these mysterious influences, if it be not, as they say in the criminal courts, "gagner subrepticement le bien d'autrui en faisant tourner à son profit les bénéfices d'une partie.