“Who?”

“Salvinski.”

“Ah!  And the count?”

“Follows immediately.  I expect him to-morrow or next day.  Salvinski is talking to the archduke; and see, he beckons to me.  I suppose I am going to be presented.”

The chevalier moved forward, followed by the baron and Vivian.

“Any friend of Prince Salvinski I shall always have great pleasure in having presented to me.  Chevalier, I feel great pleasure in having you presented to me!  Chevalier, you ought to be proud of the name of Frenchman.  Chevalier, the French are a grand nation.  Chevalier, I have the highest respect for the French nation.”

“The most subtle diplomatist,” thought Vivian, as he recalled to mind his own introduction, “would be puzzled to decide to which interest his imperial highness leans.”

The archduke now entered into conversation with the prince, and most of the circle who surrounded him.  As his highness was addressing Vivian, the baron let slip our hero’s arm, and seizing hold of the Chevalier de Boeffleurs, began walking up and down the room with him, and was soon engaged in very animated conversation.  In a few minutes the archduke, bowing to his circle, made a move and regained the side of a Saxon lady, from whose interesting company he had been disturbed by the arrival of Prince Salvinski—­an individual of whose long stories and dull romances the archduke had, from experience, a particular dread; but his highness was always very courteous to the Poles.

“Grey, I’ve dispatched De Boeffleurs to the house to instruct the servant and Ernstorff to do the impossible, in order that our rooms may be all together.  You’ll be delighted with De Boeffleurs when you know him, and I expect you to be great friends.  Oh! by the by, his unexpected arrival has quite made us forget our venture at rouge-et-noir. Of course we’re too late now for anything; even if we had been fortunate, our doubled stake, remaining on the table, is of course lost; we may as well, however, walk up.”  So saying, the baron reached the table.

“That is your excellency’s stake!—­that is your excellency’s stake!” exclaimed many voices as he came up.

“What’s the matter, my friends? what’s the matter?” asked the baron, very calmly.

“There’s been a run on the red! there’s been a run on the red! and your excellency’s stake has doubled each time.  It has been 4—­8—­16—­32—­64—­128—­256; and now it’s 512!” quickly rattled a little thin man in spectacles, pointing at the same time to his unparalleled line of punctures.  This was one of those officious, noisy little men, who are always ready to give you unasked information on every possible subject, and who are never so happy as when they are watching over the interest of some stranger, who never thanks them for their unnecessary solicitude.

Vivian, in spite of his philosophy, felt the excitement and wonder of the moment.  He looked very earnestly at the baron, whose countenance, however, remained perfectly unmoved.