When he awoke next morning he was conscious of nothing but an intense longing to meet once more the lady he had encountered on the stairs. III The next night Wenk was invited to a _soirée musicale_ in the neighbourhood of Schramm’s restaurant. A young pianist was performing modern phantasies. Wenk was bored, became fidgety and was the prey to wandering thoughts. It seemed to him as if he were neglecting some special opportunity elsewhere. He grew so uneasy that he finally slipped away, merely leaving a card of apology for his hostess. He reached Schramm’s and was about to pass quickly by. Then it occurred to him to look up at the first floor of the villa where the new restaurant and gaming-house was established, and try to see the windows of the little room in which he had played the previous night. The ground-floor windows were large, and through their old-gold curtains a faint light gleamed, but the four windows on the first floor showed no signs of occupation. Yet he said to himself, “Behind those unlighted windows there gleams light ... _her_ light,” and he went in, full of hope that he might encounter the mysterious lady who had so bewitched him. The head-waiter approached him at once, took hat and coat, whispering, “The marble table?” and looking closely at the visitor as he did so. Wenk gave a nod of assent, and the head-waiter rapidly preceded him to the back, Wenk following more leisurely. Then he was led up the winding stair. The first person he saw at the gaming-table was the sandy-bearded man. He sat in his niche, his broad shoulders bent forward, with his eyes fixed in a steady gaze upon a player opposite. His attitude was that of a beast of prey who has already played his victim and is only waiting to pounce upon him. He seemed to be all sinews--at least, that was the impression he made upon Wenk, who started back at his aspect. There was one empty seat. Wenk took it and drew out his pocket-book. An idea crossed his mind, that something special had occurred at the table. He saw all the players cowering over the little heaps of money in front of them, and yet there was in them all a distinct, even if unintentional, glance given to one among their number. The sandy-bearded stranger was holding the bank, and now he looked up. Wenk noticed how, at first, annoyed at the disturbance, he raised his eyes towards him, and then it was clearly noticeable that his face quivered. At the same moment, however, he closed his jaws so firmly that his beard stood out round them. The rest was a mere impression, but this Wenk saw clearly. A shudder went through him as if at some sudden and dangerous encounter. At this moment the “banker” displayed the cards he held. Someone said, “Basch has lost again!” All turned to look openly at the pale thin man whom they had been furtively regarding when Wenk entered.