" My revenge," he cried with rage, from
time to time. The other held his own ; and
at each fresh stroke of luck, it seemed to me



In the Provinces, 241



*. /■** v/X/ K* ^.^ \>^



that an evil smile, disdainful and almost
imperceptible, curled his aristocratic lip. I
heard him announce " the conqueror 1 " then
there was a violent blow of the fist upon the
table ; it was all over, the unfortunate wretch
had lost everything.
He remained for a moment stunned, look-
ing at his cards without a word, his frock-
coat hunched up, his shirt front rumpled and
damp as if he had been fighting. Then, all
at once, seeing the Duke picking up the gold
pieces scattered on the cloth, he rose with a
terrible cry : " My money ! Good God I
Give me back my money ! " and then like the
child he still was, he began to sob : " Give
it back to me, give it back to me 1 " Ah !
I can assure you he lisped no longer, his
natural voice had returned to him ; affecting
as that of all strong beings to whom tears
come rarely and are a true suffering. Still
cold, still ironical, his adversary watched him
without moving a muscle. Then the poor
fellow went down upon his knees, and said
quite low, in a voice that trembled : " That
money was not mine. I stole it. My
father left it with me to *meet a bill."
Suffocated by shame, he could say no more.
24' RecolUctions of a Literary Man.
