ain spun
round; the inexorable pea fell; the raking and raining were repeated,
and again the Count's stake lay glittering before him. His eyes
glittered even more brightly than the silver. Lewis concluded that he
must have been brought down to desperate poverty, and meant to recover
himself by desperate means, for he left the whole stake again on the
same spot.

This time the pea fell into black. The colour was symbolic of the
Count's feelings, for next moment the silver heap was raked from before
him, along with other heaps, as if nothing unusual had happened; and, in
truth, nothing had. Wholesale ruin and robbery was the daily occupation
there!

For a few seconds the Count gazed at the blank space before him with an
expression of stony unbelief; then springing suddenly to his feet, he
spurned his chair from him and rushed from the room. So quick was the
movement, that he had reached the door and passed out before Lewis could
stop him.

Springing after him with a feeling of great alarm, the youth dashed
across the entrance-hall, but turned in the wrong direction. Being put
right by a porter, he leaped through the doorway and looked for Antoine,
who, he knew, must have seen the Count pass, but Antoine was not there.

As he quickly questioned one who stood near, he thought he saw a man
running among the adjacent shrubbery. He could not be sure, the night
being dark, but he promptly ran after him. On dashing round a turn in
the gravel-walk, he found two men engaged in what appeared to be a
deadly struggle. Suddenly the place was illumined by a red flash, a
loud report followed, and one of the two fell.

"Ah! Monsieur," exclaimed Antoine, as Lewis came forward, "aid me here;
he is not hurt, I think."

"Hurt! Do you mean that he tried to shoot himself?"

"He had not time to try, but I'm quite sure that he meant to," said
Antoine; "so I ran after him and caught his hand. The pistol exploded
in the struggle."

As the guide spoke, the Count rose slowly. The star-light was faint,
but it sufficed to show that the stony look of despair was gone, and
that the gentle expression, natural to him, had returned. He was deadly
pale, and bowed his head as one overwhelmed with shame.

"Oh pardon, Monsieur!" exclaimed poor Antoine, as he thought of the
roughness with which he had been compelled to treat him. "I did not
mean to throw you."

"You did not throw me, friend. I tripped and fell," replied the Count,