"Jarnonville, yes, that is what they call him," said Camilla; "but tell me, my noble friends, why that funereal face comes to a joyous party like this?"
"Did you not see him at table? He drank for four!"
"Then he must carry his wine well; for he looks no more cheerful with it all!"
"He's a brave fellow—he fights as well as he drinks!"
"That does not make him any more attractive.—Ah! by the way, Flavia, that madcap Flavia, has bet that she will make a conquest of that dark-browed knight. I am sure that she will have nothing to show for her ogling and her sighs! I must go and watch."
The fascinating Camilla left the banquet hall and returned to the card room.
The playing was very animated; the young nobles, excited by wine, risked large sums on a card or the fall of the dice.
Léodgard was banker at a lansquenet table. Luck, which had been unfavorable to him at first, had changed; he won on every deal, and the gold lay in piles before him. He raked in his adversaries' money with the utmost sang-froid. He was in no wise excited by his good fortune; from time to time he glanced about with a vague expression and seemed to give little thought to the pastime in which he was indulging.
"Evidently, it is hopeless to play against the Comte de Marvejols to-night," said the Chevalier de la Valteline, leaving the card table in a pet; "I believe he has sold himself to the devil; he has a familiar demon who favors him!"
"Nonsense!" said Montrevert; "we must not find fault with his good luck; he lost steadily for a long enough time; he was even reduced once to staking his cloak.—Do you remember that night, Léodgard?"