“In fact, his evil star began to get into the ascendant. And that which inward dissatisfaction commenced, was completed by a wicked fellow who had formerly been a croupier at his banque, and who, by various crafty speeches, brought matters to such a point that the Chevalier came to consider his present mode of existence childish and ridiculous, and could not comprehend how, for the sake of a woman, he should be abandoning a life which appeared to him the only one worth living.

  “So very soon the Chevalier’s banque, with its heaps of gold, was going on again more brilliantly than ever. His luck had not forsaken him; victim after victim fell a prey, and money was amassed. But Angela’s happiness was a thing of the past — destroyed, in a terrible fashion, like a brief, bright dream. The Chevalier treated her with indifference — more than that, with contempt. Often she did not see him for weeks and months. An old house-steward looked after the household matters; the servants were changed according to the Chevalier’s caprice; so that Angela, a stranger in her own home, found no comfort anywhere. Often, in sleepless nights, when she heard the Chevalier’s carriage draw up at the door, the heavy money-chest brought up the stairs, and he himself come up, cursing and swearing in monosyllables, and shut the door of his distant room with a bang, a torrent of tears would burst from her eyes, and in the deepest, most heartbreaking tones of misery, she would call a hundred times on the name Duvernet, and implore the Eternal Power to make an end of her wretched existence.

  “One night a young gentleman of good family, after losing all he possessed at the Chevalier’s banque, sent a bullet through his head in the gaming-house — and indeed in the very room where the banque was established — so that the blood and brains besprinkled the players, who scattered out of the way in alarm. The only person unaffected by this was the Chevalier, who, when every one was about to leave the room, asked whether it was according to rule and custom to leave the game because a young fool had chosen to commit an absurdity, before the regular time for closing.

  “This incident excited much comment. The most experienced, most hardened gamblers were indignant at the Chevalier’s unexampled behaviour. Every one took part against him. The police ordered his banque to be closed. He was accused of unfair play; and his extraordinary luck spoke for the truth of this accusation. He was unable to clear himself, and the fine inflicted on him ran away with a considerable slice of his fortune. Finding himself robbed of his good name, and despised by all, he betook himself back to the arms of the wife whom he had ill-treated, who gladly welcomed him in his repentance. The recollection that her father, too, had renounced the miserable life of a gambler, allowed a gleam of hope to dawn upon her mind that perhaps, as the Chevalier was advancing somewhat in years, his alteration of life might be lasting.

  “He left Paris with her, and they went to Genoa, her birth-place. Here, at first, he lived a sedate life; but it was impossible to re-establish the old, peaceful, domestic existence with Angola which his evil angel had destroyed. Very soon his inward restlessness and disquiet awoke and drove him out, away from his house, in unsettled restlessness. His ill-repute had followed him from Paris. He dared not establish a banque, though he felt impelled to do so with the most irresistible force.

  “About this time a French Colonel, obliged, by serious wounds, to retire from active service, was keeping the most important banque in Genoa. The Chevalier went to this banque, with envy and deep hatred in his heart, expecting his usual luck to stand by him soon, so that he might be the ruin of this rival. The Colonel hailed the Chevalier with a merry humour (not at other times characteristic of him), saying that now, when the Chevalier de Menars had appeared in the field, the game was worth winning at last, since there was something in the nature of a real contest to give some interest to the issues.

  “And, in fact, during the first few deals, the cards fell to the Chevalier with just his old luck. But when, trusting to his invincible fortune, he at last called out: ‘Va, Banque!’ he lost a very considerable sum of money at one stroke.

  “The Colonel was, ordinarily, completely cool and impassive, whether lucky or unlucky; but, this time, he drew in his winnings with the liveliest marks of the utmost delight.

  “From that moment luck turned away from the Chevalier, utterly and completely. He played every night, and lost every night, till he had nothing left but two or three thousand ducats, in paper.

  “He had been on foot all day, converting this paper into cash, and only went home to his house late in the evening. When night was coming on, he was going out with his last gold coins in his pocket, when Angela came to him (suspecting the truth, no doubt), threw herself at his feet with a stream of tears, imploring him, by the Virgin and all the saints, to abandon his evil courses, and not leave her in need and poverty.

  “The Chevalier raised her, pressed her, with painful fervour, to his heart, and said, in a hollow voice: ‘Angela! — my sweet, beloved Angela! — there is no help for it. I must do it. I cannot help it. But to-morrow — to-morrow, all your cares will be over. For, by the Eternal Destiny which is above us, I swear that I play this night for the very last time. Do not distress yourself, my darling child. Go to sleep! Dream of happy days! — of a better life which is coming speedily. That will bring me luck.’

  “He kissed her, and ran off, not to be stopped.

  “In two deals he had lost everything — all that he possessed. He remained standing motionless near the Colonel, staring, in a dazed manner, at the gaming table.

  “‘Won’t you go on, Chevalier?’ asked the Colonel, shuffling the cards for the next deal.

  “‘I have lost my all,’ the Chevalier answered, powerfully constraining himself to be calm.

  “‘Do you mean to say you have nothing left?’ the Colonel asked at the next deal.

  “‘I am a beggar,’ the Chevalier cried, in a voice quivering with fury and pain, as he continued to stare at the gaming table. He did not notice that those who were staking were getting more and more the better of the banquier.

  “The Colonel calmly continued the game.

  “As he shuffled the cards for the third deal, he said to the Chevalier (without looking on him), ‘You have a beautiful wife, you know!’

  “‘What do you mean?’ cried the Chevalier angrily. The Colonel turned away a little without answering him.

  “‘Ten thousand ducats — or Angela!’ he said, half averting his face, as the cards were being cut.

  “‘You are out of your senses!’ cried the Chevalier, who had, however, now regained his composure a good deal, and began to observe that the Colonel was losing at every deal.

  “‘Twenty thousand ducats, or Angela!’ the Colonel said almost in a whisper, as he paused for a moment during the shuffling of the cards. The Chevalier said not a word. The Colonel played again, and nearly all the cards were in favour of the players — against him.

  “‘Done!’ the Chevalier whispered in the Colonel’s ear when the next deal began; and he threw the Queen on the table.

  “The Queen lost.

  “The Chevalier drew back, grinding his teeth, and leaned at the window with despair and death in his white face.

  “The game ended, and, with a jeering ‘Well! what next?’ the Colonel came up to the Chevalier.

  “‘Oh, God!’ cried the Chevalier, quite beside himself. ‘You have made me a beggar, but you must be a madman if you think you have won my wife! Are we in the West Indies? Is my wife a slave — a chattel in her husband’s power, so that he can sell her, or gamble her away at faro? It is true, of course, that you would have had to pay me twenty thousand ducats if the Queen had won, so that I have lost the right to make any objection if my wife chooses to leave me and go away with you. Come home with me, and despair when my wife repulses with horror the man whom she would have to follow as a dishonoured mistress.’

  “‘Despair yourself, Chevalier!’ said the Colonel with a scornful laugh, ‘when Angela turns from you with horror — from you, the miserable wretch who has brought her to beggary — and throws herself into my arms with eager rapture; despair yourself, when you find that the Church’s benediction unites us — that fate crowns our most eager desires. You say I must be mad! — Ha, ha! All I wanted was to gain power of veto. I knew of a certainty that your wife belonged to me. Ho, ho, Chevalier! Let me tell you that your wife loves me — me — unutterably, to my certain knowledge. Let me tell you that I am that Duvernet, the neighbour’s son, brought up with Angela, united to her in the warmest affection, which you, with your devilish artifices, dispelled. Alas! it was not till I had to depart on field service that Angela knew what I was to her. I know the whole matter. It was too late then. But the dark spirit told me that I should succeed in ruining you at play — that was why I devoted myself to it and followed you to Genoa. And I have done it! — come now to your wife!’

  “The Chevalier stood like one annihilated, stricken by a thousand burning lightnings. The mystery so long sealed to him was explained. Now, for the first time, he saw the full extent of the misfortunes which he had brought upon poor Angela.

  “‘My wife shall make her decision,’ he said in a hollow tone, and followed the Colonel, who stormed away.

  “When they came to the house, and the Colonel seized the handle of Angela’s door, the Chevalier thrust him back, saying, ‘My wife is in a sweet sleep; would you awaken her?’

  “‘Ha!’ said the Colonel. ‘Has Angela ever been in a sweet sleep since you brought nameless misery upon her?’

  “He was about to enter the room, but the Chevalier prostrated himself at his feet, and cried, in utter despair, ‘Have some mercy! You have made me a beggar! Leave me my wife!’

  “‘So lay old Vertua at your feet, unfeeling monster that you were, and could not move your stony heart. Therefore, may the vengeance of Heaven be upon you!’

  “So saying, the Colonel again turned towards Angela’s room.

  “The Chevalier sprang to the door, burst it open, dashed up to the bed where his wife was lying, drew the curtains aside, cried ‘Angela! Angela!’ — bent over her — took her hand — shuddered like one convulsed in the death agony, and cried out in a terrible voice —

  “‘See here! What you have won from me is my wife’s corpse!’

  “The Colonel hurried to the bedside in terror. There was no trace of life. Angela was dead.

  “The Colonel raised his clenched hands to heaven, and rushed away with a hollow cry. He was no more seen.”

  It was thus that the stranger finished his narrative, and having done so, he went quickly away, before the Baron, much moved by it, was able to utter any word.

  A day or two afterwards the stranger was found insensible in his room, stricken by apoplexy. He was speechless till his death, which happened in a few hours. His papers showed that, though he was known by the name of Baudasson, he really was none other than the unfortunate Chevalier Menars.

  The Baron recognized the warning of Heaven which had brought the Chevalier Menars to him just when he was nearing the abyss, and he took a solemn vow that he would resist all the temptations of the deceptive Gambler’s Fortune. Hitherto he has kept his vow.

  “Would one not suppose,” said Lothair, when Theodore had ended, “that you were a man who knew all about gambling, and were great at all those games yourself, though perhaps your conscience might now and then give you a slap in the face? and yet I know very well that you never touch a card.”

  “That is quite the case,” said Theodore. “And yet I derived much assistance, in my story, from a strange experience which I had myself once.”

  “It would be the best finale to your tale,” said Ottmar, “to tell us this said experience of yours.”

  “You know,” said Theodore, “that when I was finishing my education I lived for some time with an old uncle of mine in G —— . There was a certain friend of this uncle’s who, though our ages were very different, took a great pleasure in my society, chiefly, perhaps, because at that time I was always filled with a brilliant vein of humour, sometimes amounting to the mischievous. This gentleman was, I can assure you, one of the most extraordinary characters I ever came across. Mean in all the relationships of life, ill-tempered, grumbling, sulky, with a great tendency to miserliness, he had the utmost appreciation for everything in the shape of fun and amusement. To use a French expression, he was in the highest degree amusable, but not in the least amusant. At the same time he was excessively vain, and one form of his vanity was that he was always dressed in the utmost extremity of the prevailing fashion, almost to a ludicrous extent. And there was a similar absurdity about his manner of hunting after every species of enjoyment in the very sweat of his brow, so to speak — striving, with a comic eagerness, to gulp down as much of it as he possibly could grasp. I remember so well three particular instances of this vanity and struggle for enjoyment of his that I must tell them to you. Picture to yourselves this man, being at a place among the hills, and invited by some people (ladies being among them), to go on a walking expedition to see some waterfalls in the neighbourhood, dressing himself for the occasion in a bran new silk coat, never worn before, with beautiful shining steel buttons, and white silk stockings, shoes with steel buckles, and his finest rings on his fingers. In the thickest part of the pine forest which had to be passed through, a tremendous thunderstorm came on; the rain fell in torrents, the brooks, swollen by the rain, came rushing over the paths. You can well imagine the state my poor friend found himself in very soon.

  “It chanced that the tower of the Dominican Church at G —— was one night struck by lightning. My friend was in raptures with the grand fire-pillar which arose in the darkness, magically illuminating all the country round; but he soon came to the conclusion that to get the real picturesque effect of it in all its perfection, it would be the right thing to go and look at it from a certain rising ground just outside the town. So he set off as quickly as his carefulness in such matters would permit him, not forgetting to put a packet of macaroons and a flask of wine into certain of his pockets, or to carry a beautiful bouquet of flowers in his hand, and a camp stool under his arm. Thus equipped, he paced calmly out of the city gate and up on to the eminence, where he sat himself down to enjoy the spectacle, smelling at his bouquet, munching a macaroon, washing that down with a mouthful of wine, in the most complete, beatific, quiescent state of enjoyment. Really this fellow was — taking him all round — —”

  “Stop! stop!” cried Lothair, “you were going to tell us the adventure of your own which helped you in writing your ‘Gamester’s Fortune,’ and you cannot get away from a fellow who seems to have been as ludicrous as repulsive to every ordinarily constituted person’s feelings.”

  “You must not blame me,” said Theodore, “for lingering over this personage who was so intimately brought into connection with my life. But, to business! — this man whom I have been describing to you invited me to make a trip with him to a certain watering place, and, although I saw quite clearly that I was to play the rôle of soother, calmer, tranquilizer, and maítre-de-plaisírs to him, I was quite satisfied to make this charming excursion amongst the mountains at his expense. At the watering-place there was some high play going on — a bank of several thousand thalers. My companion eyed the heaps of gold with greedy simpers, paced up and down the room, circled nearer and nearer to the play table, dived into his pockets, brought out a Friedrich-d’or between his finger and thumb, dropped it back again — in a word, lusted for money. Only too glad would he have been to pocket a little haul from that heaped-up treasure, but he had no belief in his star. At last he put an end to this droll contest between his longings and his fears, which brought the perspiration in drops on to his forehead, by begging me to stake for him, to which end he put five or six Friedrichs-d’or into my hand. However, I would have nothing to do with the arrangement until he assured me that he had not the least belief that he would have any luck whatever, but looked upon the sum which he staked as so much lost cash. What happened was what I did not in the least degree expect. To me, the unpractised, inexperienced player, fortune was propitious. I won for my friend in a very short time something like thirty Friedrichs-d’or, which he put in his pocket with much glee. Next evening he wanted me to play for him again, but to this hour I cannot explain how the idea came into my head that I should then play on my own account. I had not had the slightest intention of playing any more, nay, rather, I was on the very point of going away, out of the room, to take a walk outside, when my friend came up to me with his request. When I had plainly told him in set terms that I meant to play on my own account (but not till then), I walked calmly up to the table and pulled out of my little waistcoat pocket two Friedrichs-d’or, the only two which I possessed. If fortune had been propitious to me the night before, this time it seemed as if some Spirit of Might, at whose command luck stood, was in covenant with me. Whatever I did, whatever I staked upon, everything turned up in my favour — in fact, just as I said in my story, what happened at first to Baron Siegfried happened to me. My brain reeled! When a fresh haul of money was handed over to me I often felt as if I were in a dream, and should be sure to wake up just as I was pocketing my winnings. When the clock struck two the game came to an end as usual.

  “Just as I was leaving the room, an old officer took me by the shoulder, and said, transfixing me with a grave, powerful eye:

  “‘Young man, if you had known what you were about, you would have broken the banque. But if ever you do know about it, no doubt you will go to the devil, like all the rest.’ He left me, without waiting for my answer.

  “The day was breaking when I got to my room, and emptied the money out of all my pockets on to the table. Picture to yourselves the feelings of a mere boy, entirely dependent on his relatives, restricted to a miserable mite of an allowance of weekly pocket-money, who suddenly, as if at the wave of a magic wand, finds himself in possession of a sum which is, at all events, considerable enough to appear, in his eyes, a fortune! But, as I gazed at the heaps of coin, all my mind was suddenly filled with an anxiety, a strange, alarmed uneasiness, which put me into a cold perspiration. The words of the old officer came back to me, as they had not struck me before, in the most terrible significance. I felt as though the coin which was blinking at me there on the table was the earnest money of a bargain whereby I had sold my soul to the powers of darkness, so that there was no escape more for it possible, and it was destroyed for evermore. The blossoms of my life seemed to be gnawed upon by a hidden worm, and I sank into inconsolable despair. The morning dawn was flaming up behind the eastern hills. I lay down in the window-seat. I gazed, with the most intense longing, for the rising of the sun which should drive away the darksome spirits of night; and when the woods and plains shone forth in his golden glory, it was day in my soul once more, and there came to me the most inspiriting sense of a power to resist all temptation, and shield my life from that demoniacal impulse, which was full of the power of — somehow and somewhere — impelling it to utter destruction. I made then a most sacred vow that I would never touch a card again, and that vow I have kept most strictly. And the first use I made of my money was to part from my friend, to his immense surprise, and set out on that excursion to Dresden, Prague, and Vienna, of which I have told you.”