“She has made me promise to take her in to supper,” Kew said, with a sigh.
“She will poison you,” said the other. “Why have they abolished the roue chez nous? My word of honour they should retabliche it for this woman.”
“There is one in the next room,” said Kew, with a laugh, “Come, Vicomte, let us try our fortune,” and he walked back into the play-room.
That was the last night on which Lord Kew ever played a gambling game. He won constantly. The double zero seemed to obey him; so that the croupiers wondered at his fortune. Florac backed it; saying with the superstition of a gambler, “I am sure something goes to arrive to this boy.” From time to time M. de Florac went back to the dancing-room, leaving his mise under Kew’s charge. He always found his heaps increased; indeed the worthy Vicomte wanted a turn of luck in his favour. On one occasion he returned with a grave face, saying to Lord Rooster, “She has the other one in hand. We are going to see.” “Trente-six encor! et rouge gagne,” cried the croupier with his nasal tone, Monsieur de Florac’s pockets overflowed with double Napoleons, and he stopped his play, luckily, for Kew putting down his winnings, once, twice, thrice, lost them all.
When Lord Kew had left the dancing-room, Madame d’Ivry saw Stenio following him with fierce looks, and called back that bearded bard. “You were going to pursue M. de Kew,” she said: “I knew you were. Sit down here, sir,” and she patted him down on her seat with her fan.
“Do you wish that I should call him back, madame?” said the poet, with the deepest tragic accents.
“I can bring him when I want him, Victor,” said the lady.
“Let us hope others will be equally fortunate,” the Gascon said, with one hand in his breast, the other stroking his moustache.
“Fi, monsieur, que vous sentez le tabac! je vous le défends, entendez-vous, monsieur?”
“Pourtant, I have seen the day when Madame la Duchesse did not disdain a cigar,” said Victor. “If the odour incommodes, permit that I retire.”