bets, gentlemen," yelped the Negro. "Make your bets."

"Wait, you beast," called Bielowsky. "Don't you see that the glasses
are empty? Here, Cacambo."

The goblets were filled immediately by the jolly masseur.

"Cut," said Koukou, addressing Sydya, the beautiful Targa who sat at
his right.

The girl cut, like one who knows superstitions, with her left hand.
But it must be said that her right was busy lifting a cup to her lips.
I watched the curve of her beautiful throat.

"My deal," said Koukou.

We were thus arranged: at the left, the Hetman, Aguida, whose waist he
had encircled with the most aristocratic freedom, Cacambo, a Tuareg
woman, then two veiled Negroes who were watching the game intently. At
the right, Sydya, myself, the old manicure, Rosita, Barouf, the
barber, another woman and two white Tuareg, grave and attentive,
exactly opposite those on the left.

"Give me one," said the Hetman.

Sydya made a negative gesture.

Koukou drew, passed a four-spot to the Hetman, gave himself a five.

"Eight," announced Bielowsky.

"Six," said pretty Sydya.

"Seven," broke in Koukou. "One card makes up for another," he added
coldly.

"I double," said the Hetman.

Cacambo and Aguida followed his example. On our side, we were more
careful. The manicure especially would not risk more than twenty
francs at a time.

"I demand that the cards be evened up," said Koukou imperturbably.

"This fellow is unbearable," grumbled the count. "There, are you
satisfied?"

Koukou dealt and laid down a nine.

"My country and my honor!" raged Bielowsky. "I had an eight."

I had two kings, and so showed no ill temper. Rosita took the cards
out of my hands.

I watched Sydya at my right. Her heavy black hair covered her
shoulders. She was really very beautiful, though a bit tipsy, as were
all that fantastic company. She looked at me, too, but with lowered
eyelids, like a timid little wild animal.

"Oh," I thought. "She may well be afraid. I am labelled 'No
trespassing.'"

I touched her foot. She drew it back in fright.

"Who wants cards?" Koukou demanded.

"Not I," said the Hetman.

"Served," said Sydya.

The cook drew a four.

"Nine," he said.

"That card was meant for me," cursed the count. "And five, I had a
five. If only I had never promised his Majesty the Emperor Napoleon II
never to cut fives! There are times when it is hard, very hard. And
look at that beast of a Negro who plays Charlemagne."

It wa