“Madame,” said he, “if you offer him a thousand pounds for the letters, and a written confession that he is not the Comte de Lussigny, but a common adventurer, I stake my reputation that he will accept.”
They walked along for a few moments in silence; the opera had begun at the adjoining Villa des Fleurs and the strains floated through the still August air. After a while she halted and laid her hand on his sleeve.
“Monsieur Pujol, I have never been faced with such a thing, before. Will you undertake for me this delicate and difficult business?”
“Madame,” said he, “my life is at the service of yourself and your most exquisite daughter.” She pressed his hand. “Thank God, I’ve got a friend in this dreadful place,” she said brokenly. “Let me go in.” And when they reached the lounge, she said, “Wait for me here.”
She entered the lift. Aristide waited. Presently the lift descended and she emerged with a slip of paper in her hand.
“Here is a bearer cheque, Monsieur Pujol, for a thousand pounds. Get the letters and the confession if you can, and a mother’s blessing will go with you.”
She left him and went upstairs again in the lift. Aristide athirst with love, living drama and unholy hatred of the Comte de Lussigny, cocked his black, soft-felt evening hat at an engaging angle on his head and swaggered into the Villa des Fleurs. As he passed the plebeian crowd round the petits-chevaux table—these were the days of little horses and not the modern equivalent of la boule—he threw a louis on the square marked 5, waited for the croupier to push him his winnings, seven louis and his stake on the little white horse, and walked into the baccarat room. A bank was being called for thirty louis at the end table.
“Quarante,” said Aristide.
“Ajugé à quarante louis,” cried the croupier, no one bidding higher.
Aristide took the banker’s seat and put down his forty louis. Looking round the long table he saw the Comte de Lussigny sitting in the punt. The two men glared at each other defiantly. Someone went “banco.” Aristide won. The fact of his holding the bank attracted a crowd round the table. The regular game began. Aristide won, lost, won again. Now it must be explained, without going into the details of the game, that the hand against the bank is played by the members of the punt in turn.