“Let’s take coffee upstairs,” said Vidal.
Near the counter there was a door; from this rose a very narrow winding stairway to the mezzanine. The stairway led to a door of ground glass. Vidal pushed it open and they walked into a corridor flanked with green screens.
At the end of this passage, a man sat at a table, writing. He looked up at Vidal and Manuel and then resumed his work. Vidal opened another door, drew aside a heavy curtain and made way for them both.
They found themselves in a large room with three little balconies that looked out upon the street and three others giving upon the patio. On the side toward the street stood a large green table, sunken in at the two longer sides; near the patio was a smaller table, illuminated by two lamps, around which were crowded some thirty or forty persons. There was a deep silence; nothing was heard save the voices of the two croupiers and the sounds of their rakes scraping in the money laid upon the green carpet.
After each play there would be a discussion among the players. Then the monotonous voice of the banker would say:
“Faites vos jeux, messieurs.”
The murmur of conversation would cease and the silence would be so great that one might hear the shuffling of the cards between the fingers of the croupier.
“This looks like a church, doesn’t it?” whispered Vidal. “As one of the gentlemen who comes here says, gambling is the only religion that’s left.”
They had some coffee and a glass of whiskey.
“Have you any cigars?” asked Vidal.