s play. The best of three games?"

"Good," said the Count. "But you will excuse me, monsieur, if I claim to
play for ready money. The cheque will take five days to negotiate and if
I lose, I shall evidently have to leave Aix to-morrow morning."

"That's reasonable," said Aristide.

He drew out his fat note-case and counted twenty-five one-thousand-franc
notes on to the table. And then began the most exciting game of cards he
had ever played. In the first place he was playing with another person's
money for a fantastic stake, a girl's honour and happiness. Secondly he
was pitted against a master of ecarte. And thirdly he knew that his
adversary would cheat if he could and that his adversary suspected him
of fraudulent designs. So as they played, each man craned his head
forward and looked at the other man's fingers with fierce intensity.

Aristide lost the first game. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. In
the second game, he won the vole in one hand. The third and final game
began. They played slowly, carefully, with keen quick eyes. Their
breathing came hard. The Count's lips parted beneath his uptwisted
moustache showed his teeth like a cat's. Aristide lost sense of all
outer things in the thrill of the encounter. They snarled the
stereotyped phrases necessary for the conduct of the game. At last the
points stood at four for Aristide and three for his adversary. It was
Aristide's deal. Before turning up the eleventh card he paused for the
fraction of a second. If it was the King, he had won. He flicked it
neatly face upward. It was not the King.

_"J'en donne."_

_"Non. Le roi."_

The Count played and marked the King. Aristide had no trumps. The game
was lost.

He sat back white, while the Count smiling gathered up the bank-notes.

"And now, Monsieur Pujol," said he impudently, "I am willing to sell
you this rubbish for the cheque."

Aristide jumped to his feet. "Never!" he cried. Madness seized him.
Regardless of the fact that he had nothing like another thousand pounds
left wherewith to repay Mrs. Errington if he lost, he shouted: "I will
play again for it. Not ecarte. One cut of the cards. Ace lowest."

"All right," said the Count.

"Begin, you."

Aristide watched his hand like cat, as he cut. He cut an eight. Aristide
gave a little gasp of joy and cut quickly. He held up a Knave and
laughed aloud. Then he stopped short as he saw the Count about to pounce
on the documents and the cheque. He made a