The Chevalier went back to the antechamber.
“Only two,” Mont Rouge was saying, as he entered the room, “only two threw sixes, two ladies curiously enough, the Comtesse des Forges and the Marquise de Beau Séjour.”
“How stupid,” yawned the Comtesse. “Must we throw again? Or, perhaps, Mademoiselle Denise will kindly withdraw and leave me victor?”
“No, no,” protested Mont Rouge, “the cast of the dice must be fairly played out; I insist.” And the company unanimously agreed with him.
“Oh, very well.” The Comtesse shrugged her shoulders. “Comte, you shall throw for me this time.”
Mont Rouge took up one of the dice-boxes which he had been fingering for some minutes.
“And will the Marquise permit me to throw for her,” inquired the Chevalier.
Denise assented with a nod. But the suggestion did not seem to please the Comtesse. A gleam of vindictive malevolence lingered under her heavy lids, but a glance from Mont Rouge reassured her.
The Chevalier advanced and threw a four and a three. Mont Rouge, the company standing round and watching eagerly, threw carelessly enough a two and a one.
“Bungler!” cried the Comtesse, “you have lost.”