"It is very strange that Montrevert has not overtaken us!"
"He certainly will not come now!"
"I do not propose to wait for daylight to return to Paris, in the condition in which I am! If some âme damnée of the cardinal should happen to meet me, Richelieu would hear of it, and I should receive a sharp reprimand.—Come, messieurs, let us get up and go on."
"No, no!" murmured the Marquis de Sénange, rolling over on the grass; "I am very comfortable here. Let La Valteline go, if he pleases! I shall stay; for when day breaks, the little dairymaids from the country will cross the Pont-aux-Choux; we will watch for the prettiest ones, and they will have to pay toll,—eh, Léodgard?—Well, he is still thinking of his losses at cards!"
"Sénange, you have dice there," cried Léodgard suddenly, raising his head; "I will play you for my cloak—you were admiring it last night. I will stake it against fifty livres, and, on my word as a gentleman, it cost me more than a hundred—which I have not yet paid, it is true, but which I still owe to my tailor."
"What, Léodgard! do you want to play again?" cried Beausseilly; "but you are not in luck, and if you lose your cloak, how can you return to Paris?"
"I will stake my sword, my doublet, my knee-breeches! I will stake myself, when I have nothing else left! But I must play! So long as I have anything left to stake, by hell! it will always be so.—Well, Sénange, do you accept the stake I propose?"
"Yes, I agree; your cloak against fifty livres. But what shall we play on? We can't throw dice on the grass; they would not lie evenly, and the result would be doubtful."
"Play on my back, messieurs," said Monclair, lying flat on his stomach on the grass. "I promise not to stir."
"So be it; on Monclair's back."