your own luck to our friend, Monsieur Pujol," said he,
dealing the cards.

"He needs it," said Aristide.

"_Le roi_," said the Count, turning up the king.

The Count won the vole, or all five tricks, and swept the stakes towards
him. Then, fortune quickly and firmly deserted Mr. Miller. The Count
besides being an amazingly fine player, held amazingly fine hands. The
pile of folded notes in front of him rose higher and higher. Aristide
tugged at his beard in agitation. Suddenly, as the Count dealt a king as
trump card, he sprang to his feet knocking over the chair behind him.

"You cheat, monsieur. You cheat!"

"Monsieur!" cried the outraged dealer.

"What has he done?"

"He has been palming kings and neutralizing the cut. I've been watching.
Now I catch him," cried Aristide in great excitement. "_Ah, sale voleur!
Maintenant je vous tiens!_"

"Monsieur," said the Comte de Lussigny with dignity, stuffing his
winnings into his jacket pocket. "You insult me. It is an infamy. Two of
my friends will call upon you."

"And Monsieur Miller and I will kick them over Mont Revard."

"You cannot treat _gens d'honneur_ in such a way, monsieur." He turned
to Miller, and said haughtily in his imperfect English, "Did you see the
cheat, you?"

"I can't say that I did," replied the young man. "On the other hand that
torch-light procession of kings doesn't seem exactly natural."

"But you did not see anything! _Bon!_"

"But I saw. Isn't that enough, _hein_?" shouted Aristide brandishing his
fingers in the Count's face. "You come here and think there's nothing
easier than to cheat young foreigners who don't know the rules of
ecarte. You come here and think you can carry off rich young English
misses. Ah, _sale escroc!_ You never thought you would have to reckon
with Aristide Pujol. You call yourself the Comte de Lussigny. Bah! I
know you----" he didn't, but that doesn't matter--"your _dossier_ is in
the hands of the prefect of Police. I am going to get that _dossier_.
Monsieur Lepine is my intimate friend. Every autumn we shoot together.
Aha! You send me your two galley-birds and see what I do to them."

The Comte de Lussigny twirled the tips of his moustache almost to his
forehead and caught up his hat.

"My friends shall be officers in the uniform of the French Army," he
said, by the door.

"And mine shall be two gendarmes," retorted Aristide. "_Nom de Dieu!_"
he cried, after the other had left the room. "We let him ta