"Carigny," he said. The blind man lifted his face to listen. "The last game was a short one."
The other nodded. "Make it as short as you like," he said. "Make it one hand, if it pleases you, Monpavon. I shall be satisfied."
"One hand!"
"Certainly; if that is short enough for you," said Carigny. "But the stakes you remember them?"
He asked the question as if he would warn his adversary, and as if he himself were certain of the issue. He had the demeanor of a man who undertakes a problem of which he knows the answer.
"Be careful," breathed Dupontel at the Prince's back.
"You lost, let me see!" replied the Prince, unheeding Dupontel's whisper. "It was four hundred thousand francs, I think."
The bearded face opposite him smiled. "You have not forgotten, I see!"
The Prince nodded. "One hand, then!"
He proceeded to deal. He was certain of losing, or he would not have consented to such an outrage upon the game's refinements. And yet, he had hopes; the spirit that presides over cards is capricious.