elf through the whole afternoon, now
at last would come a repetition of those joys for which his very soul
had sighed so eagerly.

CHAPTER XLII.

CAPTAIN VIGNOLLES ENTERTAINS HIS FRIENDS.

Mountjoy, when he reached Captain Vignolles's rooms, was received
apparently with great indifference. "I didn't feel at all sure you
would come. But there is a bit of supper, if you like to stay. I saw
Moody this morning, and he said he would look in if he was passing this
way. Now sit down and tell me what you have been doing since you
disappeared in that remarkable manner." This was not at all what
Mountjoy had expected, but he could only sit down and say that he had
done nothing in particular. Of all club men, Captain Vignolles would be
the worst with whom to play alone during the entire evening. And
Mountjoy remembered now that he had never been inside four walls with
Vignolles except at a club. Vignolles regarded him simply as a piece of
prey whom chance had thrown up on the shore. And Moody, who would no
doubt show himself before long, was another bird of the same covey,
though less rapacious. Mountjoy put his hand up to his breast-pocket,
and knew that the fifty pounds was there, but he knew also that it would
soon be gone.

Even to him it seemed to be expedient to get up and at once to go. What
delight would there be to him in playing piquet with such a face
opposite to him as that of Captain Vignolles, or with such a one as that
of old Moody? There could be none of the brilliance of the room, no
pleasant hum of the voices of companions, no sense of his own equality
with others. There would be none to sympathize with him when he cursed
his ill-luck, there would be no chance of contending with an innocent
who would be as reckless as was he himself. He looked round. The room
was gloomy and uncomfortable. Captain Vignolles watched him, and was
afraid that his prey was about to escape. "Won't you light a cigar?"
Mountjoy took the cigar, and then felt that he could not go quite at
once. "I suppose you went to Monaco?"

"I was there for a short time."

"Monaco isn't bad,--though there is, of course, the pull which the tables
have against you. But it's a grand thing to think that skill can be of
no avail. I often think that I ought to play nothing but rouge et noir."

"You?"

"Yes; I. I don't deny that I'm the luckiest fellow going; but I never
can remember cards. Of course I know my trade. Every fellow knows his
t