“And you did not once allow yourself to be tempted to back the red?...  Your firmness astonishes me.”

“But what do you think of Hermann?” said one of the guests, pointing to a young Engineer:  “he has never had a card in his hand in his life, he has never in, his life laid a wager, and yet he sits here till five o’clock in the morning watching our play.”

“Play interests me very much,” said Hermann:  “but I am not in the position to sacrifice the necessary in the hope of winning the superfluous.”

“Hermann is a German:  he is economical—­that is all!” observed Tomsky.  “But if there is one person that I cannot understand, it is my grandmother, the Countess Anna Fedotovna.”

“How so?” inquired the guests.

“I cannot understand,” continued Tomsky, “how it is that my grandmother does not punt.”

“What is there remarkable about an old lady of eighty not punting?” said Narumov.

“Then you do not know the reason why?”

“No, really; haven’t the faintest idea.”

“Oh! then listen.  About sixty years ago, my grandmother went to Paris, where she created quite a sensation.  People used to run after her to catch a glimpse of the ‘Muscovite Venus.’  Richelieu made love to her, and my grandmother maintains that he almost blew out his brains in consequence of her cruelty.  At that time ladies used to play at faro.  On one occasion at the Court, she lost a very considerable sum to the Duke of Orleans.  On returning home, my grandmother removed the patches from her face, took off her hoops, informed my grandfather of her loss at the gaming-table, and ordered him to pay the money.  My deceased grandfather, as far as I remember, was a sort of house-steward to my grandmother.  He dreaded her like fire; but, on hearing of such a heavy loss, he almost went out of his mind; he calculated the various sums she had lost, and pointed out to her that in six months she had spent half a million francs, that neither their Moscow nor Saratov estates were in Paris, and finally refused point blank to pay the debt.  My grandmother gave him a box on the ear and slept by herself as a sign of her displeasure.  The next day she sent for her husband, hoping that this domestic punishment had produced an effect upon him, but she found him inflexible.  For the first time in her life, she entered into reasonings and explanations with him, thinking to be able to convince him by pointing out to him that there are debts and debts, and that there is a great difference between a Prince and a coachmaker.  But it was all in vain, my grandfather still remained obdurate.  But the matter did not rest there.  My grandmother did not know what to do.  She had shortly before become acquainted with a very remarkable man.  You have heard of Count St. Germain, about whom so many marvellous stories are told.  You know that he represented himself as the Wandering Jew, as the discoverer of the elixir of life, of the philosopher’s