Ah, this was the moment which he had so joyfully anticipated; this was the exquisite vengeance, the thought of which had grown up in the heart of the persecuted girl, and made the eyes of the gentle creature sparkle so brightly.
The hunter had fallen into the snare—the snare that he himself had laid. He had been hoodwinked, rejected, worsted utterly.
Abellino bowed stiffly, biting his lips hard all the time; he was as white as the wall.
Then Squire John passed on and had himself specially introduced to Monsieur Griffard, who expressed his intense gratification at finding the Nabob in the possession of such excellent health.
But Abellino, the moment they had passed by, stuck his thumbs into the corners of his vest, and humming a tune, and holding his head high, as if he were in the best of humours, strolled from one end of the large assembly room to the other, feigning ignorance of the fact that the whispering and tittering that resounded on every side was so much scorn and ridicule directed against him.
He hastened to the card-room.
As he passed through the door he heard how everybody there was laughing and sniggering. Fennimore's shrill voice resounded through the din. The moment they saw him the peals of laughter broke off suddenly, all signs of hilarity disappeared, everybody tried to put on a solemn and expectant look. Could anything in the world be more aggravating?
Abellino dragged a chair to the table and sat
down among them. Why did they not go on laughing; why did they not continue their conversation? Why did Fennimore make such efforts to put on a solemn face, when his mouth was regularly twitching?
The cards were dealt.