“We all have, I hope, enough instruction in modern science to be aware that there is no such thing as a soul in existence”—he continued. “Therefore, in proposing it as a stake for this game at baccarat, I really propose less than one hair of your head, because the hair is a something, and the soul is a nothing! Come! Will you risk that non-existent quantity for the chance of winning a thousand pounds?”
The Viscount drained off the last drop of brandy, and turned upon us, his eyes flushing mingled derision and defiance.
“Done!” he exclaimed; whereupon the party sat down.
The game was brief,—and in its rapid excitement, almost breathless. Six or seven minutes sufficed, and Lucio rose, the winner. He smiled as he pointed to the counter which had represented Viscount Lynton’s last stake.
“I have won!” he said quietly. “But you owe me nothing, my dear Viscount, inasmuch as you risked—Nothing! We played this game simply for fun. If souls had any existence of course I should claim yours;—I wonder what I should do with it by the way!” He laughed good-humouredly. “What nonsense, isn’t it!—and how thankful we ought to be that we live in advanced days like the present, when such silly superstitions are being swept aside by the march of progress and pure Reason! Good-night! Tempest and I will give you, your full revenge to-morrow,—the [p 110] luck is sure to change by then, and you will probably have the victory. Again—good-night!”
He held out his hand,—there was a peculiar melting tenderness in his brilliant dark eyes,—an impressive kindness in his manner. Something—I could not tell what—held us all for the moment spellbound as if by enchantment, and several of the players at other tables, hearing of the eccentric stake that had been wagered and lost, looked over at us curiously from a distance. Viscount Lynton, however, professed himself immensely diverted, and shook Lucio’s proffered hand heartily.
“You are an awfully good fellow!” he said, speaking a little thickly and hurriedly—“And I assure you seriously if I had a soul I should be very glad to part with it for a thousand pounds at the present moment. The soul wouldn’t be an atom of use to me and the thousand pounds would. But I feel convinced I shall win to-morrow!”
“I am equally sure you will!” returned Lucio affably, “In the meantime, you will not find my friend here, Geoffrey Tempest, a hard creditor,—he can afford to wait. But in the case of the lost soul,”—here he paused, looking straight into the young man’s eyes,—“of course I cannot afford to wait!”
The Viscount smiled vaguely at this pleasantry, and almost immediately afterwards left the club. As soon as the door had closed behind him, several of the gamesters exchanged sententious nods and glances.
“Ruined!” said one of them in a sotto-voce.