“Don’t put up more than there is in the bank,” objected Paul Landry, throwing a keen glance at the stakes. Having assured himself that on the opposing side to this large sum there were hardly thirty louis, he dealt the cards.
“Eight!” said he, laying down his card.
“Nine!” said Heloise.
“Baccarat!” said Henri, throwing two court-cards into the basket.
The rake rattled on the losing table, but after the small stakes of the winners had been paid, the greater part of the six thousand francs passed into the hands of the banker.
Five times in succession, at the first deal, the same thing happened; and at the sixth round Heloise won six hundred francs, and Henri found himself with no more counters.
“This is the proper moment to retire!” said the duenna, rising from the table. “Are you coming, Fanny?”
“I beg you, let us go now,” murmured Mademoiselle Dorville in the ear of her lover.
Her voice was caressing and full of tender promise. The young man hesitated an instant. But to desert the game at his first loss seemed to him an act unworthy of his reputation, and, as between love and pride, the latter finally prevailed.
“I have only an hour or two more to wait. Can not you go home by yourself?” he replied to Fanny’s appeal, while Heloise exchanged her counters for tinkling coin, forgetting, no doubt, to reimburse her creditor, who, in fact, gave no thought to the matter.