"You can't," said the doctor, mockingly; "you'll be the first to touch them. I thought of nothing but a quiet game at whist, a game for pious hermits. Time, however, will show what you will make of these packs; there they lie by the candlesticks." "Don't listen to the tempter," cried one of the lieutenants, laughing. "Whoever touches the cards first shall forfeit a breakfast to the party," said another. "Here is the punch," said Bolling, setting down the bowl. "Taste it, oh man of blood!" "Raw!" pronounced the oracle; "it would be drinkable to-morrow evening." While these gentlemen were disputing about the merits of the beverage, Eugene took up one of the packs of cards, and mechanically cut them. The doctor exclaimed, "Caught, I declare! He himself is the one to pay the forfeit." All laughed, and crowded round the table. "The bank, doctor," cried the officers, throwing him the cards. Soon other packs came out of other pockets; and the doctor laying a little heap of paper and silver on the table, the game began. The stakes were not high, and light jests accompanied the loss and gain of the players. Even Anton took a card and staked away without much thought. He found it difficult, though, to take any cordial part in the entertainment, and looked with sincere sympathy at young Rothsattel bending, in his ignorance, over the cards. He himself won a few dollars, but remarked with pain that Eugene was invariably unlucky. As, however, he was a party concerned in this, he made no remark; but the doctor himself said to his patient, after having again swept away the ducats the former had put down, "You are getting hot; you are feverish; if you are prudent, you will play no more. I have never yet had a fever-patient who did not lose at Pharao." "That won't do, doctor," replied Eugene, sharply, and staked again. "You are unlucky, Eugene," cried the good-humored Bolling. "You go on too fast." His deal over, the doctor took up the cards and placed them in his pocket. "The bank has won immensely," said he; "but I leave off; I have made enough." Again a storm arose among the officers. "I will hold the bank," cried Eugene; "give me your cash, Wohlfart." The doctor protested, but at length gave in, thinking, "Perhaps he'll have a run of luck as banker; one must not refuse a man a chance of compensation." Anton took some bank-notes out of his pocket, and laid them down before Eugene, but he himself played no more. He sat there sadly, and looked at his friend, who, heated by wine and fever, stared fixedly at the cards of the players. Deal succeeded deal, and Eugene lost all he had before him. The officers glanced at each other in amazement. "I too propose that we leave off," said Bolling; "we will give you your revenge another time."