The Belgian capitalist, this count apparently so
respectable, was only an expert card-sharper whom Chauvignac had
brought from Paris to play out the vile tragi-comedy, the
denouement of which would be the ruin of the unfortunate Olivier.
At the moment when the latter left the card-table to go to
Chauvignac, the pretended millionnaire changed the pack of cards
they had been using for two other packs.
Supper went off very pleasantly. They drank very moderately, for
the head had to be kept cool for what had to follow. They soon
sat down again at the card-table. 'Now,' said the Parisian card-
shaper, on resuming his seat, 'I should like to end the matter
quickly: I will stake the twenty thousand francs in a lump.'
Olivier, confident of success after his previous achievement,
readily assented; but, alas, the twenty thousand francs of which
he made sure was won by his adversary.
Forty thousand francs went in like manner. Olivier, breathless,
utterly prostrate, knew not what to do. All his manoeuvres were
practised in vain; he could give himself none but small cards.
His opponent had his hands full of trumps, and HE dealt them to
him! In his despair he consulted Chauvignac by a look, and the
latter made a sign to him to go on.
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