Olivier, after having won so largely, could not but accept the proposition. It was only just towards his adversary. But, oh! cruel deception! the stake of twenty thousand francs, on which Olivier had so surely counted, passed into the hands of his opponent.
A stake of forty thousand francs shared the fate of its predecessor. Breathless, bewildered, and discouraged, Olivier knew not what to do. In vain he manipulated the cards; he got none but the lowest, whilst his adversary had all the trumps in his hand; and as it was Olivier who dealt them to him, he could not complain.
In his despair, he looked enquiringly at Chauvignac, who made signs to him to go on.
Distracted, and quite beside himself, the poor victim continued to stake enormous sums; and, in his turn, shortly owed his adversary a hundred thousand francs.
The pretended count then gave up playing, folded his arms, and thus addressed Olivier:
"M. Olivier de X——," said he, in a stern tone of voice, "you must be very well off, to stake such sums; but be careful, for, rich as you are, you must be aware, that if people lose a hundred thousand francs, they must also pay them, as I did.
"So now, just pay me the sum you have lost, and then we'll go on playing."
"That's only fair, sir," muttered young Olivier; "I am willing to satisfy your demands, but you know that gambling debts ... my word...."
"Devil take it, sir," exclaimed the count, giving the table a violent blow with his fist. "What's that you say about your word? It well becomes you to talk of debts of honour. We'll play, if you please, another kind of game, and let us put things as they really are. M. Olivier de X——, you are a knave! Yes; a knave! The cards you have been using are clipped; and it is you who have brought them here."
"Sir, you insult me."