One night I observed a reversion of the rule. His stakes were being doubled at each draw of the cards; and yet he rose from his seat, and hastily took his departure from the place!
Many wondered at this. A man must be mad to leave such luck? It was like flinging the favours of Fortune back into her face.
I had a clearer comprehension of what had caused his defection from the gaming circle. I divined, that he was going to worship the goddess elsewhere, and under another title.
I had heard the cathedral clock strike ten—the hour when I had first seen him in the Calle del Obispo. It suggested the conjecture that he was going thither.
Had my own luck at the game been ten times greater than it was—and I was winning—I could not have stayed to take advantage of it.
I clutched at my stake, as soon as it was covered by the coin of the croupier; and, starting up from the table, followed Francisco Moreno from the saloon.
Whether my abrupt departure created as much surprise, as that of the Mexican, I never knew.
It may have done; but at that moment I was absolutely indifferent, either to the thing itself, or the conjectures that might arise respecting it.
I had but one thought in my mind; and that was to witness a second of those interviews—the first of which had lacerated my heart to its core!
I felt as the bird may feel, fluttering into the jaws of the envenomed reptile; as the moth that goes voluntarily to have its wings scorched by the candle!