THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя
Читать онлайн книгу.
I say? I was certain of it!”
And Clairon and Isnarde, who saw the bits of gold on which they relied disappearing, began to make fun of the young man and to look about for someone more lucky.
Marius bewildered in front of the gulf open before him, turned towards Sauvaire and said to him in a choking voice:
“You who know how to play, tell me what to do.”
“Oh!” answered the master-stevedore, “if you were to play like an angel you would lose. Chance is blind, it goes, you see, where it likes, one can never direct it. You had better withdraw.”
“No, no, I’ll see it out.”
“Well then! Let us try. Play the series.”
Marius played the series. Hand on hand he lost five hundred francs.
“The deuce!” exclaimed Sauvaire. “Play intermission then.”
Marius played intermission and lost again.
“I warned you, I warned you,” repeated the master-stevedore, “Try a martingale.”
Marius tried a martingale and had no better luck.
“It’s enough to drive one mad,” he exclaimed in anger.
“Don’t play any more,” said Sauvaire.
“Yes, I will play, I’ll play to the end.”
The master-stevedore rose, whistling between his teeth. He could not understand his friend’s nervous obstinacy, he who never risked more than a hundred francs on the green cloth.
“Look here!” he continued, “the banker has thrown up his hand and is leaving. Take his place. That will perhaps change the luck.”
Marius took the banker’s seat. He paid two francs for cards and slipped a franc into the slot in accordance with the custom of the club. He shuffled the cards and then presented them to the players, saying:
“Gentlemen, the cards pass.”
Some of the players shuffled the cards again and returned them to Marius, who shuffled them a third time as was his right. The game began again. The young man could now lose all he had in a few hands.
He lost twice running. Sauvaire continued to remain behind him. He ended by taking an interest in this intrepid youth. The latter was about to deal the cards again to the players, to the punters as they are called, when the master-stevedore stopped his arm and leaning over to his ear, said to him in a low voice:
“Take care, they are robbing you. You are dealing the cards like a young innocent.”
“How do you mean?”
“Yes, you hold them up as you deal them, so that the punters opposite see them pass and know what you have in your hand. All new bankers are victimized like that. Keep the pack slanting in your hand and lower the cards as you deal them out.”
Marius followed this wise advice and did very well. He won. In a few hands he had got back a fairly large sum. Then chance turned again and he lost. Next a sort of equilibrium was established between his winning and losings. Little by little, however, he felt the ten thousand francs slipping through his fingers.
He neglected nothing to make his luck change. On several occasions he stopped and called for fresh cards. At another time he dealt his hand right out, in order to lead chance astray and bring it back to him.
But all these tactics did him no good. Fortune now seemed to take pleasure in playing with its prey, in making it suffer longer and not killing it at one blow; then, all at once, she scratched it, she took away what she had just given and even more.
Sauvaire kept watch round the table, so as to see that his friend was not cheated too much. The latter had a man opposite him who was still young and who although playing for small stakes must already have won a good round sum; each time the cards were favourable to him his stake was twenty-five francs, and each time he lost he had only a silver five-franc piece before him, which was a mascotte, he said, and he paid with another coin.
The master-stevedore looked on this man with distrust. He watched his movements and perceived that he concealed a twenty-franc gold piece under his five-franc piece in silver; when he won he displayed it all and pocketed twenty-five francs; when he lost he left the gold coin hidden under the large silver piece and only gave Marius five francs. It seems that not a night passes without this clever robbery being practised in one of the gambling-houses at Marseille.
“Wait a bit, wait a bit,” murmured Sauvaire, “I’ll nail you, my gentleman.’’
In the hand that followed, Marius won. The cheat was preparing to give him five francs in change, when Sauvaire stretched out his arm, gave a flip to the five-franc piece and uncovered the gold coin beneath it.
“You are cheating, sir,” he exclaimed, “out you go!”
The rascal did not lose countenance.
“What are you meddling with?” he answered, insolently.
He left his twenty-five francs on the table, rose, took a few turns in the room and withdrew without molestation. The punters had limited themselves to growling.
Marius turned very pale. He had fallen, then, so low as that, he was playing with thieves. From that moment there was a cloud before his eyes which made him commit the grossest blunders. He lost and was almost happy to lose. All the fever hail left him, he no longer had the uncomfortable feeling in his throat. The money when he touched it was burning hot; he would have liked to have lost the whole of it and to have gone away with empty pockets.
Soon he had no more than two or three hundred francs before him.
Since the commencement of the evening he had had a young man beside him who had followed all the changes of fortune with lively anxiety. As he lost, he became more pale and haggard. He had begun with a considerable sum before him and gazed in despair on each piece of gold as it was swept away. Marius had heard him more than once utter disjointed words and had felt anxious about him. He could see that a frightful drama was being performed at his elbow.
A final stroke completed his neighbour’s ruin. He remained for a moment motionless, with contracted features. Then he placed a hand over his eyes, drew a pistol rapidly from his pocket, placed the barrel in his mouth, and fired.
There was a sound like the crack of a whip. The blood spurted out and large warm crimson drops fell on Marius’ hands.
All the players had risen in a fright. The body had just fallen on the table, the arms folded, the head hanging down. The bullet after piercing the neck had came out on the right below the ear, and there was a red hole there, from which ran a stream of blood. A pool of gore was formed on the green cloth; and, in this pool, the abandoned cards were soaking.
Alarming sentences, uttered in undertones, passed among the gamblers.
“Do you know the poor fellow?”
“I think it’s a collector of Lambert & Co.”
“His family is honourable. His brother purchased a solicitor’s practice six months ago.”
“He must have embezzled a large sum and killed himself when he lost it.”
“Anyhow he might have shot himself somewhere else. The police will be here in twenty minutes and close the club.”
“These people who have a mania for killing themselves are most annoying. We were very well here, we could gamble at ease. Now we must move.”
“Have they sent to inform the police commissary?”
“Yes.”
“I’m off.”
There was a general stampede. The players seized their hats and prudently slipped out on to the landing. One could hear them stumbling downstairs like drunkards.
Marius had remained seated beside the corpse.