in his eyes. "You are going to play--you?"

"Yes. Why not?"

"Take care!"

"Of what, pray? The worst I can do is to lose what I have in my
pocket--something over two hundred francs."

The viscount shook his head thoughtfully. "It isn't that which one has
cause to fear. The devil always has a hand in this business, and the
first time a man plays he's sure to win."

"And is that a misfortune?"

"Yes, because the recollection of these first winnings is sure to lure
you back to the gaming-table again. You go back, you lose, you try to
recover your money, and that's the end of it--you become a gambler."

Pascal Ferailleur's smile was the smile of a man who has full confidence
in himself. "My brain is not so easily turned, I hope," said he. "I have
the thought of my name, and the fortune I must make, as ballast for it."

"I beseech you not to play," insisted the viscount. "Listen to me; you
don't know what this passion for play is; the strongest and the coldest
natures succumb--don't play."

He had raised his voice, as if he intended to be overheard by two guests
who had just approached the sofa. They did indeed hear him. "Can I
believe my own eyes and ears!" exclaimed one of them, an elderly man.
"Can this really be Ferdinand who is trying to shake the allegiance of
the votaries of our noble lady--the Queen of Spades?"

M. de Coralth turned quickly round: "Yes, it is indeed I," he answered.
"I have purchased with my patrimony the right of saying: 'Distrust
yourself, and don't do as I've done,' to an inexperienced friend."

The wisest counsels, given in a certain fashion, never fail to produce
an effect diametrically opposed to that which they seemingly aim at.
M. de Coralth's persistence, and the importance he attached to a mere
trifle, could not fail to annoy the most patient man in the world, and
in fact his patronizing tone really irritated Pascal. "You are free, my
friend, to do as you please," said he; "but I----"

"Are you resolved?" interrupted the viscount.

"Absolutely."

"So be it, then. You are no longer a child, and I have warned you. Let
us play, then." Thereupon they approached the table; room was made
for them, and they seated themselves, Pascal being on M. Ferdinand de
Coralth's right-hand side.

The guests were playing "Baccarat tournant," a game of terrible and
infantile simplicity. There are no such things as skill or combination
possible in it; science and calculation are useless. Chanc