XI
FIRST BLOOD
The Archduke knew where to find his Aide, so he waved aside the servant and went on to the billiard room.
“Don’t mind me, boys,” he said, as they sprang up; “go on with the deal—unless,” motioning toward Bernheim’s big pile of chips, “you want to be relieved of the beginner.”
“Your Highness is ready to go?” Bernheim asked.
Armand nodded. “But that mustn’t take you away; luck’s with you, it’s a crime to desert her—I know the way home.”
The Colonel pushed his winnings into the centre of the table.
“I have to thank you for a delightful evening, messieurs,” he said, with his stiff, military bow; “and since I must leave before the end of the game, I make a John-pot of these for you.”
The Archduke took him by the arm.
“You may not do that, Colonel,” he laughed; “they cannot let you. You must cash in, and give them a chance some other time.”
“But it is my pleasure, sir, for them to have back what I won.”