"Beaten again!"
"We will enjoy the fresh, cool breezes in the evening."
"It's stifling here!"
"I should be glad to take back just what I have lost."
"Do you remain long in Lyon?"
"The devil take me if I know!"
And Dubourg, who had lost three thousand francs, and was tired of feeling madame la marquise's foot on his, rose abruptly and walked about the room.
Madame de Grandcourt was stretched out on a long chair in a corner. A short man with whiskers and moustache sat on a stool almost at her feet; he had passed one arm about his charmer's waist, and the hand of the other was screened from view by the folds of a faded satin gown.
The old baroness and the young viscountess were playing creps with the chevalier. The faces of the ladies were much flushed; the baroness had a glass of punch before her, and was gazing with glassy eyes at the dice, shrieking and disputing over a ten-sou piece which she would not admit that she had lost. The viscountess had recovered the use of her tongue by eating sweetmeats, and she indulged in frequent solecisms which must have opened Dubourg's eyes if he had been himself; but he was not; his losses had disturbed his mental balance, already shaken by the punch and liqueurs. He strode about the salon, looking without seeing, listening without hearing the marchioness's compliments, and passing his hand across his forehead as if to tranquillize his thoughts. He tried to go away, but returned again and again to the card-tables, saying to himself: