“But I am not ordinary in anything, my dear sir,” laughed Aristide, in his large boastfulness. “If I were, do you think I would have agreed to your absurd proposal? Voyons, I only wanted to show you that in dealing cards I am your equal. Now, the letters——” The Count threw a small packet on the table. “You will permit me? I do not wish to read them. I verify only. Good,” said he. “And the confession?”
“What you like,” said the Count, coldly. Aristide scribbled a few lines that would have been devastating to the character of a Hyrcanean tiger and handed the paper and fountain pen to the Count.
“Will you sign?”
The Count glanced at the words and signed.
“Voilà,” said Aristide, laying Mrs. Errington’s cheque beside the documents. “Now let us play. The best of three games?”
“Good,” said the Count. “But you will excuse me, monsieur, if I claim to play for ready money. The cheque will take five days to negotiate and if I lose, I shall evidently have to leave Aix to-morrow morning.”
“That’s reasonable,” said Aristide.
He drew out his fat note-case and counted twenty-five one-thousand-franc notes on to the table. And then began the most exciting game of cards he had ever played. In the first place he was playing with another person’s money for a fantastic stake, a girl’s honour and happiness. Secondly he was pitted against a master of ecarté. And thirdly he knew that his adversary would cheat if he could and that his adversary suspected him of fraudulent designs. So as they played, each man craned his head forward and looked at the other man’s fingers with fierce intensity.
Aristide lost the first game. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. In the second game, he won the vole in one hand. The third and final game began. They played slowly, carefully, with keen quick eyes. Their breathing came hard. The Count’s lips parted beneath his uptwisted moustache showed his teeth like a cat’s. Aristide lost sense of all outer things in the thrill of the encounter. They snarled the stereotyped phrases necessary for the conduct of the game. At last the points stood at four for Aristide and three for his adversary. It was Aristide’s deal. Before turning up the eleventh card he paused for the fraction of a second. If it was the King, he had won. He flicked it neatly face upward. It was not the King.
“J’en donne.”