And I drew out and brandished my pocket-book, in which, by a special grace of Providence, there happened to be a considerable sum of money.

Murmurs of approbation arose.  Then the Englishman sang out: 

“But what about the money we would have won, if that little fool had played the game properly?”

The remark was received with cheers.

“That amount, too,” said I, “I shall be happy to disburse.”

There was nothing more to be said, as everybody, banker and punt, were satisfied.  The raven in the dinner-jacket came up and informed me that my proposal solved the difficulty.  I besought him to make out the bill for my little entertainment as quickly as possible.  Then I dismounted from my chair and beckoned to the dwarf, still sitting white and piteous, to join me.  He obeyed like a frightened child who had been naughty.  All his swagger and braggadocio were gone.  His bosom heaved with suppressed sobs.  He sat down on the chair I had vacated and buried his face on the ecarte table.  We remained thus aloof from the crowd who were intent on the calculation at the baccarat table.  At last the raven in the dinner-jacket arrived with a note of the amount.  It was two thousand three hundred francs.  I gave him the notes, and, taking Anastasius by the arm, led him to the door, where the waiter stood with our hats and coats.  Before we could reach it, however, the banker, who had risen from his seat, crossed the room and addressed me.

“Monsieur,” said he, with an air of high-bred courtesy, “I infinitely regret this unpleasant affair and I thank you for your perfect magnanimity.”

I did not suggest that with equal magnanimity he might refund the forty-six pounds that had found its way from my pocket to his, but I bowed with stiff politeness, and made my exit with as much dignity as the attachment to my heels of the crestfallen Anastasius would permit.

Outside I constituted myself the guide, and took the first turning downhill, knowing that it would lead to the civilised centre of the town.  The dwarf’s roundabout route was characteristic of his tortuous mind.  We walked along for some time without saying anything.  I could not find it in my heart to reproach the little man for the expensiveness (nearly a hundred pounds) of his perilous adventure, and he seemed too dazed with shame and humiliation to speak.  At last, when we reached, as I anticipated, the Square de la Republique, I patted him on the shoulder.

“Cheer up, my dear Professor,” said I.  “We both are acquainted with nobler things than the ins and outs of gaming-hells.”

He reeled to a bench under the palm trees, and bursting into tears, gave vent to his misery in the most incoherent language ever uttered by man.  I sat beside him and vainly attempted consolation.

“Ah, how mad I am!  Ah, how contemptible!  I dare not face my beautiful cats again.  I dare not see the light of the sun.  I have betrayed my trust.  Accursed be the cards.  I, who had my gigantic combination.  It is all gone.  Beautiful lady, forgive me.  Generous-hearted friend, forgive me.  I am the most miserable of God’s creatures.”