Louis coughed, and waved one hand, with a gesture of deprecation at the question. "Yours should not be so large. We play to the goddess of chance. You—um—ha—you won, to-day, a certain gauntlet of white leather; a simple thing, but it will do. I will play this for that. You see the odds are favorable to you."
Claude flushed scarlet, and not a man at the table moved. "The gauntlet was a gage, Sire."
"We play for it," was the reply.
The Count glanced round the circle, noting each face in turn. Baron d'Holbach was engaged with snuff. The other faces, excepting only de Berryer's, were blank. But Richelieu's eyes met those of Claude, and the head of the King's favorite gentleman shook, ever so slightly, at the rebellion in the Count's face. Then, very slowly, de Mailly unfastened his coat and drew from its place the glove of Mme. de Châteauroux. He laid it on the table beside the star.
"We play!" cried his Majesty, smiling as he seized the leathern cup. He shook well, and dropped the dice vigorously before him.
"Seven!" cried the company. It was four and three.
Claude received the implements from the King's hands, tossed and threw.
"Eight!" was the return. It was three and five.
The King bit his lip, and hastily played again. The cubes stared up at him impudently. On one was a three, on the other a one. None spoke, for Louis frowned.
Claude was very sober but very composed as he tried his second chance. It seemed that he could not but win. The courtiers hung quietly on the play. When the cup was lifted from the dice there was a series of exclamations. Claude himself laughed a little, and the King drew a long sigh of relief. Two and one had de Mailly thrown.