With the voices came the soft patter of asses' feet, and the firm step of a man, light laughter, and then a single voice, cheerful, masculine, English.
"Not going to play to-night? Come now," it remonstrated.
"When I have tell you I am broke to stone," returned a reproachful, metallic treble. "And my next last parure of diamonds is what you call pop for a nozzing. I will no more gif my fine jewels to ze Shoos for two sous. Also I haf lend from a friend hundred louis zat I lose last night."
They stopped where the path broadened on a rocky jut, their party having gone in at the hotel gates higher up. Ermengarde could hear the donkey improving the occasion by a vigorous cropping of tough herbage. She was sure the woman was painted, and fancied that the odour of musk floated up.
"All the more bound to play, Countess," the genial baritone replied. "You're bound to rake 'em in somehow, don't you know. How else get the things back? Let me lend you——"
"No, no, mon cher. I rob not the poors. Not you, my poor child, who are poor like ze mouse at Mass—you say."
A cheery laugh rang out. "Not now," the gay voice cried. "Bless you, dear Countess, I've got a system now, and I raked 'em in for all I was worth last night. I'm simply swimming in gold and notes. Don't know what to do with 'em. Thought the banker would have gone for me."
"Ah, ze banker enraged himself? Good." Then, in a changed voice, in which the note of greed was audible: "How much louis have you win, mon bon ami? No, I rob not. Ach! all the world is come behind. Make but this donkey to march, Monsieur."
"Gee up, then! The little beast's mouth's made of iron. Jay, jay. Come up, you little devil! Take a poor hundred louis, Countess, just for luck. Give me the pleasure. Just to give me luck."
"Ah, but how will I pay?"