All eyes were fixed upon the unfortunate advocate
when it came his turn to deal. He staked two hundred louis, and
lost them. There was a slight commotion round the table; and one
of the players who had lost most heavily, remarked in an
undertone: "Don't look so hard at the gentleman--he won't have any
more luck."
As Pascal heard this ironical remark, uttered in a tone which made
it as insulting as a blow, a gleam of light darted through his
puzzled brain. He suspected at last, what any person less honest
than himself would have long before understood. He thought of
rising and demanding an apology; but he was stunned, almost
overcome by the horrors of his situation. His ears tingled, and
it seemed to him as if the beating of his heart were suspended.
However the game proceeded; but no one paid any attention to it.
The stakes were insignificant, and loss or gain drew no
exclamation from any one. The attention of the entire party was
concentrated on Pascal; and he, with despair in his heart,
followed the movements of the cards, which were passing from hand
to hand, and fast approaching him again. When they reached him
the silence became breathless, menacing, even sinister. The
ladies, and the guests who were not playing, approached and leaned
over the table in evident anxiety. "My God!" thought Pascal, "my
God, if I can only lose!"
He was as pale as death; the perspiration trickled down from his
hair upon his temples, and his hands trembled so much that he
could scarcely hold the cards.
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