“Nineteen and four—­twenty-three!”

“You are out of it, Desmonts!”

“Not yet!”

“Twelve and twelve!”

“There!  What did I tell you?”

“Wait! wait!  Now, Merri!  Now!  Remember I have backed you for ten assignats, which I propose to steal from the nearest Jew this very night.”

“Thirteen and twelve!  Twenty-five, by all the demons and the ghouls!” came with a triumphant shout from the last thrower.

“Merri has it!  Vive Merri!” was the unanimous and clamorous response.

Merri was evidently the most popular amongst the three gamblers.  Now he sprawled upon the bench, leaning his back against the table, and surveyed the assembled company with the air of an Achilles having vanquished his Hector.

“Good luck to you and to your aristo!” began his backer lustily—­would, no doubt, have continued his song of praise had not a violent fit of coughing smothered the words in his throat.  The hand which he had raised in order to slap his friend genially on the back now went with a convulsive clutch to his own chest.

But his obvious distress did not apparently disturb the equanimity of Merri, or arouse even passing interest in the lookers-on.

“May she have as much money as rumour avers,” said one of the men sententiously.

Merri gave a careless wave of his grubby hand.

“More, citizen; more!” he said loftily.

Only the two losers appeared inclined to scepticism.

“Bah!” one of them said—­it was Desmonts.  “The whole matter of the woman’s money may be a tissue of lies!”

“And England is a far cry!” added Guidal.

But Merri was not likely to be depressed by these dismal croakings.

“’Tis simple enough,” he said philosophically, “to disparage the goods if you are not able to buy.”

Then a lusty voice broke in from the far corner of the room: 

“And now, citizen Merri, ’tis time you remembered that the evening is hot and your friends thirsty!”

The man who spoke was a short, broad-shouldered creature, with crimson face surrounded by a shock of white hair, like a ripe tomato wrapped in cotton wool.

“And let me tell you,” he added complacently, “that I have a cask of rum down below, which came straight from that accursed country, England, and is said to be the nectar whereon feeds that confounded Scarlet Pimpernel.  It gives him the strength, so ’tis said, to intrigue successfully against the representatives of the people.”

“Then by all means, citizen,” concluded Merri’s backer, still hoarse and spent after his fit of coughing, “let us have some of your nectar.  My friend, citizen Merri, will need strength and wits too, I’ll warrant, for, after he has married the aristo, he will have to journey to England to pluck the rich dowry which is said to lie hidden there.”

“Cast no doubt upon that dowry, citizen Rateau, curse you!” broke in Merri, with a spiteful glance directed against his former rivals, “or Guidal and Desmonts will cease to look glum, and half my joy in the aristo will have gone.”