Now Stellan had no longer a sunburnt, cursing country youth opposite him. Over his cards he saw a pale immobile mask. It was the pallor of a race fifty generations removed from forest and field but for whom calculation is second nature. Yes, it seemed as if he had the very soul of money pitted against him. He felt all the time that his winnings were insecure and that he would inevitably lose.
Levy sat there with half-closed eyes as if half asleep, and in the end won from Stellan all that he had won and more into the bargain. He had seen that his opponent was not at ease, and that he had had to win that evening. And that is exactly the time when one is most likely to lose. Levy had only to wait till he had won enough in the ups and downs of the game. Then he proposed higher stakes than Stellan could afford. Then it was Stellan’s turn to rise from the table and take a whiskey and soda.
“How can you find anything in this miserable gambling?” Levy scornfully flung after him.
Then he kissed Laura’s hand and drove home with the thousand-crown notes and Manne’s I.O.U. in his pocketbook....
It was late. All the guests except Stellan and Manne had already said good-bye. Laura yawned openly. But Manne insisted on staying and would not go.
“Laura dear, do let me stay till six. Only till six when my horse is groomed. I must mount him a moment before ... before ... oh, good God....”
Laura knew what was coming. Manne was going to be sentimental. The situation no longer had any novelty. She had an irresistible longing to go to bed and with a mocking curtsey entrusted Manne to the care of Stellan, who never slept after a night’s gambling. Then she withdrew.
And as Laura sat in her lace nightdress and pink silk boudoir cap and counted out her neat little winnings on the eiderdown, Stellan and Manne lounged in their easy chairs in front of the fireplace. The fire had gone out long ago.
The dawn was raw and dismal. Half-emptied glasses with lip marks and thumb marks, cigar ash and stinking, saliva-soaked cigar ends were everywhere. And then the pitiless sharp grey light peeping in through the blinds and the cold anguish of the dry air itself in a room where people have worn out their nerves with barren excitement.
On the carpet lay a torn knave of spades grinning at them.