threw a louis on the square
marked 5, waited for the croupier to push him his winnings, seven louis
and his stake on the little white horse, and walked into the baccarat
room. A bank was being called for thirty louis at the end table.

"_Quarante_," said Aristide.

"_Ajuge a quarante louis_," cried the croupier, no one bidding higher.

Aristide took the banker's seat and put down his forty louis. Looking
round the long table he saw the Comte de Lussigny sitting in the punt.
The two men glared at each other defiantly. Someone went "banco."
Aristide won. The fact of his holding the bank attracted a crowd round
the table. The regular game began. Aristide won, lost, won again. Now it
must be explained, without going into the details of the game, that the
hand against the bank is played by the members of the punt in turn.

Suddenly, before dealing the cards, Aristide asked, "_A qui la main?_"

"_C'est a Monsieur_," said the croupier, indicating Lussigny.

"_Il y a une suite_," said Aristide, signifying, as was his right, that
he would retire from the bank with his winnings. "The face of that
gentleman does not please me."

There was a hush at the humming table. The Count grew dead white and
looked at his fingernails. Aristide superbly gathered up his notes and
gold, and tossing a couple of louis to the croupiers, left the table,
followed by all eyes. It was one of the thrilling moments of Aristide's
life. He had taken the stage, commanded the situation. He had publicly
offered the Comte de Lussigny the most deadly insult and the Comte de
Lussigny sat down beneath it like a lamb. He swaggered slowly through
the crowded room, twirling his moustache, and went into the cool of the
moonlit deserted garden beyond, where he waited gleefully. He had a
puckish knowledge of human nature. After a decent interval, and during
the absorbing interest of the newly constituted bank, the Comte de
Lussigny slipped unnoticed from the table and went in search of
Aristide. He found him smoking a large corona and lounging in one wicker
chair with his feet on another, beside a very large whisky and soda.

"Ah, it's you," said he without moving.

"Yes," said the Count furiously.

"I haven't yet had the pleasure of kicking your friends over Mont
Revard," said Aristide.

"Look here, _mon petit_, this has got to finish," cried the Count.

"_Parfaitement._ I should like nothing better than to finish. But let us
finish like well-bred people