Diligently the white knight, as the knights began to call the pallid Bertram—diligently the white knight arranged the gaming tables, and when his friend took the dice-box into his hand, he came and stood near him, slightly smiling.
“Thou shouldst double the stakes, Robert,” said the white knight, after the youth had lost freely. “Fortune hates the niggard hand. Double, friend, double.” And here the white hand gathered up the dice.
“Well, double the stakes!”
“Nay—if thou treblest, then thy chance is almost a surety.”
“Treble the stakes!”
Thrown, and lost.
“Fortune hates the niggard hand; hesitate not—play!”
Again the rattle of the dice was heard, again the knight lost.
Again, and yet again, he played and lost! Then he even wagered the jewels from his robe; then his horses, and his armor. Yet with fell purpose fortune turned her back upon him.
“Fortune doth try thee, Robert. Still tempt her: she loveth the brave.”