‘I was counted the best player at Watier’s,’ said he.  ’With even luck you deserve to get off if you beat me.’

So we tethered our two horses and sat down one on either side of a great flat rock.  The Bart took a pack of cards out of his tunic, and I had only to see him shuffle to convince me that I had no novice to deal with.  We cut, and the deal fell to him.

My faith, it was a stake worth playing for.  He wished to add a hundred gold pieces a game, but what was money when the fate of Colonel Etienne Gerard hung upon the cards?  I felt as though all those who had reason to be interested in the game—­my mother, my hussars, the Sixth Corps d’Armee, Ney, Massena, even the Emperor himself—­were forming a ring round us in that desolate valley.  Heavens, what a blow to one and all of them should the cards go against me!  But I was confident, for my ecarte play was as famous as my swordsmanship, and save old Bouvet of the Hussars of Bercheny, who won seventy-six out of one hundred and fifty games off me, I have always had the best of a series.

The first game I won right off, though I must confess that the cards were with me, and that my adversary could have done no more.  In the second, I never played better and saved a trick by a finesse, but the Bart voled me once, marked the king, and ran out in the second hand.  My faith, we were so excited that he laid his helmet down beside him and I my busby.

‘I’ll lay my roan mare against your black horse,’ said he.

‘Done!’ said I.

‘Sword against sword.’

‘Done!’ said I.

‘Saddle, bridle, and stirrups!’ he cried.

‘Done!’ I shouted.

I had caught this spirit of sport from him.  I would have laid my hussars against his dragoons had they been ours to pledge.

And then began the game of games.  Oh, he played, this Englishman—­he played in a way that was worthy of such a stake.  But I, my friends, I was superb!  Of the five which I had to make to win, I gained three on the first hand.  The Bart bit his moustache and drummed his hands, while I already felt myself at the head of my dear little rascals.  On the second, I turned the king, but lost two tricks—­and my score was four to his two.  When I saw my next hand I could not but give a cry of delight.  ‘If I cannot gain my freedom on this,’ thought I, ’I deserve to remain for ever in chains.’

Give me the cards, landlord, and I will lay them out on the table for you.

Here was my hand:  knave and ace of clubs, queen and knave of diamonds, and king of hearts.  Clubs were trumps, mark you, and I had but one point between me and freedom.  He knew it was the crisis, and he undid his tunic.  I threw my dolman on the ground.  He led the ten of spades.  I took it with my ace of trumps.  One point in my favour.  The correct play was to clear the trumps, and I led the knave.  Down came the queen upon it, and the game was equal.  He led the eight of spades, and