Romayne was excited, but not stupefied, by the wine he had drunk.  He answered, discreetly enough, “I must beg you to excuse me; I am a poor card player.”

The General suddenly looked grave.  “You are speaking, sir, under a strange misapprehension,” he said.  “Our game is lansquenet—­essentially a game of chance.  With luck, the poorest player is a match for the whole table.”

Romayne persisted in his refusal.  As a matter of course, I supported him, with all needful care to avoid giving offense.  The General took offense, nevertheless.  He crossed his arms on his breast, and looked at us fiercely.

“Does this mean, gentlemen, that you distrust the company?” he asked.

The broken-nosed Commander, hearing the question, immediately joined us, in the interests of peace—­bearing with him the elements of persuasion, under the form of a lady on his arm.

The lady stepped briskly forward, and tapped the General on the shoulder with her fan.  “I am one of the company,” she said, “and I am sure Mr. Romayne doesn’t distrust me.”  She turned to Romayne with her most irresistible smile.  “A gentleman always plays cards,” she resumed, “when he has a lady for a partner.  Let us join our interests at the table—­and, dear Mr. Romayne, don’t risk too much!” She put her pretty little purse into his hand, and looked as if she had been in love with him for half her lifetime.

The fatal influence of the sex, assisted by wine, produced the inevitable result.  Romayne allowed himself to be led to the card table.  For a moment the General delayed the beginning of the game.  After what had happened, it was necessary that he should assert the strict sense of justice that was in him.  “We are all honorable men,” he began.

“And brave men,” the Commander added, admiring the General.

“And brave men,” the General admitted, admiring the Commander.  “Gentlemen, if I have been led into expressing myself with unnecessary warmth of feeling, I apologize, and regret it.

“Nobly spoken!” the Commander pronounced.  The General put his hand on his heart and bowed.  The game began.

As the poorest man of the two I had escaped the attentions lavished by the ladies on Romayne.  At the same time I was obliged to pay for my dinner, by taking some part in the proceedings of the evening.  Small stakes were allowed, I found, at roulette; and, besides, the heavy chances in favor of the table made it hardly worth while to run the risk of cheating in this case.  I placed myself next to the least rascally-looking man in the company, and played roulette.

For a wonder, I was successful at the first attempt.  My neighbor handed me my winnings.  “I have lost every farthing I possess,” he whispered to me, piteously, “and I have a wife and children at home.”  I lent the poor wretch five francs.  He smiled faintly as he looked at the money.  “It reminds me,” he said, “of my last transaction, when I borrowed of that gentleman there, who is betting on the General’s luck at the card table.  Beware of employing him as I did.  What do you think I got for my note of hand of four thousand francs?  A hundred bottles of champagne, fifty bottles of ink, fifty bottles of blacking, three dozen handkerchiefs, two pictures by unknown masters, two shawls, one hundred maps, and—­five francs.”