"Nothing to play with, I tell you."
"Devil stifle you! How shall we pass the time without playing? Oh, what a delightful idea! I have thought of a very agreeable little game which you will easily understand. You have before you a full glass of liqueur and I have the same. They are of equal size; I will play you a crown on the first fly."
"What fly?" said Marcel.
"Listen now. There are a good many flies in this room, and he whose glass is first visited by one of them will win a crown from the other. Is it agreed?"
"That is a droll game, but I like it well enough."
"In that case let's shake hands on it. That settled, attend to our play."
Chaudoreille no longer budged. With his eyes fixed attentively on his own glass and that of his adversary, he waited impatiently for a fly to come and taste the sweet liqueur. Neither of them made a movement, for fear of frightening the winged insects. They had already remained motionless for five minutes before their glasses when Marcel sneezed.
"The devil confound you?" cried Chaudoreille. "You drove away the most beautiful fly which was approaching my glass. She was just going in."
"Is it my fault if I feel a desire to sneeze?"
"It is a trick, my dear fellow, and, in all conscience, you should lose the game.