‘Sir,’ returned the young soldier, ’my tutor taught me that when a man goes to see his friends it is neither prudent to leave his own money behind him nor civil to take theirs.’

‘Well,’ answered Turenne, ’I can tell you you will find neither much money nor deep play among us; but that it cannot be said that we allowed you to go off without playing, suppose we each of us stake a horse.’

De Grammont agreed, and, lucky as ever, won from the officers some fifteen or sixteen horses, by way of a joke; but seeing several faces pale, he said, ’Gentlemen, I should be sorry to see you go away from your general’s quarters on foot; it will do very well if you all send me to-morrow your horses, except one, which I give for the cards.’

The valet-de-chambre thought he was jesting.  ‘I am serious,’ cried the Chevalier. ’Parole d’honneur I give a horse for the cards; and what’s more, take which you please, only don’t take mine.’

‘Faith,’ said Turenne, pleased with the novelty of the affair, ’I don’t believe a horse was ever before given for the cards.’

Young people, and indeed old people, can perhaps hardly remember the time when, even in England, money used to be put under the candlesticks ‘for the cards,’ as it was said, but in fact for the servants, who waited.  Winner or loser, the tax was to be paid, and this custom of vails was also prevalent in France.

Trino at last surrendered, and the two friends rushed from their campaigning life to enjoy the gaieties of Turin, at that time the centre of pleasure; and resolved to perfect their characters as military heroes—­by falling in love, if respectably, well; if disreputably, well too, perhaps all the more agreeable, and venturesome, as they thought.

The court of Turin was then presided over by the Duchess of Savoy, Madame Royale, as she was called in France, the daughter of Henry IV. of France, the sister of Henrietta Maria of England.  She was a woman of talent and spirit, worthy of her descent, and had certain other qualities which constituted a point of resemblance between her and her father; she was, like him, more fascinating than respectable.

The customs of Turin were rather Italian than French.  At that time every lady had her professed lover, who wore the liveries of his mistress, bore her arms, and sometimes assumed her very name.  The office of the lover was, never to quit his lady in public, and never to approach her in private:  to be on all occasions her esquire.  In the tournament her chosen knight-cicisbeo came forth with his coat, his housings, his very lance distinguished with the cyphers and colours of her who had condescended to invest him with her preference.  It was the remnant of chivalry that authorized this custom; but of chivalry demoralized—­chivalry denuded of her purity, her respect, the chivalry of corrupted Italy, not of that which, perhaps, fallaciously, we assign to the earlier ages.