In order to obtain the necessary money he left the room, Valérie uttering some words of encouragement as he did so.
A few minutes later he returned with several crisp English notes in his hand. Having converted two of them into louis, play was resumed. Again the fates were against him. He was flushed with excitement, and played carelessly. A number of successive rounds he lost to Adolphe, whose pile of coin as rapidly increased as his diminished, while much good-humoured chaff was levelled at him by his companions.
Then, for the first time, he recognised the amount of his loss, and determined, if possible, to recoup himself.
Flinging his two remaining notes—each of the value of one hundred pounds—upon the table, he remarked rather bitterly—
“It seems I’ve been overtaken by a run of infernal bad luck. Will any one ‘play’ me for the bank?”
“As you please,” assented the count.
“Ma foi! you’ve played pluckily, although it’s been a losing game.”
“It’s really too bad,” declared Valérie pouting. “But I expect when Hugh has his revenge he will ruin us all.”
“Scarcely,” replied Trethowen, raising his glass to his lips.
“How much is in the bank?” asked Adolphe unconcernedly, as the cards were being dealt.