with despair in his heart, followed the movements of the cards,
which were passing from hand to hand, and fast approaching him again.
When they reached him the silence became breathless, menacing, even
sinister. The ladies, and the guests who were not playing, approached
and leaned over the table in evident anxiety. "My God!" thought Pascal,
"my God, if I can only lose!"

He was as pale as death; the perspiration trickled down from his hair
upon his temples, and his hands trembled so much that he could scarcely
hold the cards. "I will stake four thousand francs," he faltered.

"I take your bet," answered a voice.

Alas! the unfortunate fellow's wish was not gratified; he won. Then
in the midst of the wildest confusion, he exclaimed: "Here are eight
thousand francs!"

"Taken!"

But as he began to deal the cards, his neighbor sprang up, seized him
roughly by the hands and cried: "This time I'm sure of it--you are a
thief!"

With a bound, Pascal was on his feet. While his peril had been vague and
undetermined, his energy had been paralyzed. But it was restored to him
intact when his danger declared itself in all its horror. He pushed away
the man who had caught his hands, with such violence that he sent him
reeling under a sofa; then he stepped back and surveyed the excited
throng with an air of menace and defiance. Useless! Seven or eight
players sprang upon him and overpowered him, as if he had been the
vilest criminal.

Meanwhile, the executioner, as he had styled himself, had risen to his
feet with his cravat untied, and his clothes in wild disorder. "Yes,"
he said, addressing Pascal, "you are a thief! I saw you slip other cards
among those which were handed to you."

"Wretch!" gasped Pascal.

"I saw you--and I am going to prove it." So saying he turned to
the mistress of the house, who had dropped into an arm-chair, and
imperiously asked, "How many packs have we used?"

"Five."

"Then there ought to be two hundred and sixty cards upon the table."

Thereupon he counted them slowly and with particular care, and he found
no fewer than three hundred and seven. "Well, scoundrel!" he cried; "are
you still bold enough to deny it?"

Pascal had no desire to deny it. He knew that words would weigh as
nothing against this material, tangible, incontrovertible proof.
Forty-seven cards had been fraudulently inserted among the others.
Certainly not by him! But by whom? Still he, alone, had been the gainer
through t