"I will stake four thousand
francs," he faltered.
"I take your bet," answered a voice.
Alas! the unfortunate fellow's wish was not gratified; he won.
Then in the midst of the wildest confusion, he exclaimed: "Here
are eight thousand francs!"
"Taken!"
But as he began to deal the cards, his neighbor sprang up, seized
him roughly by the hands and cried: "This time I'm sure of it--
you are a thief!"
With a bound, Pascal was on his feet. While his peril had been
vague and undetermined, his energy had been paralyzed. But it was
restored to him intact when his danger declared itself in all its
horror. He pushed away the man who had caught his hands, with
such violence that he sent him reeling under a sofa; then he
stepped back and surveyed the excited throng with an air of menace
and defiance. Useless! Seven or eight players sprang upon him and
overpowered him, as if he had been the vilest criminal.
Meanwhile, the executioner, as he had styled himself, had risen to
his feet with his cravat untied, and his clothes in wild disorder.
"Yes," he said, addressing Pascal, "you are a thief! I saw you
slip other cards among those which were handed to you."
"Wretch!" gasped Pascal.
"I saw you--and I am going to prove it." So saying he turned to
the mistress of the house, who had dropped into an arm-chair, and
imperiously asked, "How many packs have we used?"
"Five."
"Then there ought to be two hundred and sixty cards upon the
table.
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