Zebiline, vol 1 | Page 9

Monsieur. How much a point?"
"Ten francs, if that is not too much."
"Not at all! I was about to propose that amount myself."
A quick movement of curiosity ran through the assembly, and a circle
was formed around the two opponents in this exciting match.
Every one knows that bezique is played with four packs of cards, and
that the number of points may be continued indefinitely. The essential
thing is to win at least one thousand points at the end of each hand;
unless a player does this he is said to "pass the Rubicon," becoming
twice a loser--that is, the victor adds to his own score the points lost by
his adversary. Good play, therefore, consists largely in avoiding the
"Rubicon" and in remaining master of the game to the last trick, in
order to force one's adversary over the "Rubicon," if he stands in
danger of it. The first two hands were lost by Landry, who, having each
time approached the "Rubicon," succeeded in avoiding it only by the
greatest skill and prudence. Immediately his opponent, still believing
that good luck must return to him, began to neglect the smaller points
in order to make telling strokes, but he became stranded at the very port
of success, as it were; so that, deducting the amount of his first winning,

he found at the end of the fifth hand that he had lost six thousand points.
Notwithstanding his wonderful self-control, it was not without
difficulty that the young officer preserved a calm demeanor under the
severe blows dealt him by Fortune. Paul Landry, always master of
himself, lowered his eyes that their expression of greedy and merciless
joy should not be seen. The nearer the game drew to its conclusion, the
closer pressed the circle of spectators, and in the midst of a profound
silence the last hand began. Favored from the beginning with the
luckiest cards, followed by the most fortunate returns, Paul Landry
scored successively "forty, bezique," five hundred and fifteen hundred.
He lacked two cards to make the highest point possible, but Henri, by
their absence from his own hand, could measure the peril that menaced
him. So, surveying the number of cards that remained in stock, he
guarded carefully three aces of trumps which might help him to avert
disaster. But, playing the only ace that would allow him to score again,
Paul Landry announced coldly, laying on the table four queens of
spades and four knaves of diamonds:
"Four thousand five hundred!" This was the final stroke. The last hand
had wiped out, by eight thousand points, the possessions of Landry's
adversary. The former losses of the unfortunate Marquis were now
augmented by one hundred and forty thousand francs. Henri became
very pale, but, summoning all his pride to meet the glances of the
curious, he arose, rang a bell, and called for a pen and a sheet of
stamped paper. Then, turning to Paul Landry, he said, calmly
"Monsieur, I owe you four hundred thousand francs. Debts of honor are
payable within twenty-four hours, but in order to realize this sum, I
shall require more time. How long a delay will you grant me?"
"As long as you wish, Monsieur."
"I thank you. I ask a month."
A waiter appeared, bringing the pen and paper.
"Oh, your word will be sufficient for me," said Landry.
"Pardon me!" said the Marquis. "One never knows what may happen. I

insist that you shall accept a formal acknowledgment of the debt."
And he wrote:
"I, the undersigned, acknowledge that I owe to Monsieur Paul Landry
the sum of four hundred thousand francs, which I promise to pay in
thirty days, counting from this date."
He dated, signed, and folded the paper, and handed it to Paul Landry.
Then, glancing at the clock, whose hands pointed to a quarter before
four, he said:
"Permit me to take leave of you, gentlemen. I have barely time to reach
Vincennes before roll-call."
He lighted a cigar, saluted the astonished assembly with perfect
coolness, slowly descended the stairs, and jumped into his carriage, the
chasseur of the restaurant holding open the door for him.
"To Vincennes!" he cried to the coachman; "and drive like the devil!"

CHAPTER V
A DESPERATE RESOLUTION
The chimneys and roofs of the tall houses along the boulevards stood
out sharp and clear in the light of the rising sun. Here and there squads
of street-cleaners appeared, and belated hucksters urged their horses
toward the markets; but except for these, the streets were deserted, and
the little coupe that carried Caesar and his misfortunes rolled rapidly
toward the Barriere du Trone.
With all the coach-windows lowered, in order to admit the fresh
morning air, the energetic nobleman, buffeted by ill-luck, suddenly
raised his head and