"_Mille mercies_, dear mademoiselle. _Eh, bien!_ I will do myself the honor to keep you au courant with my history. History pleases mademoiselle; she is a good listener--_ma foi!_ a very good listener. "_Voila!_ I begin at the end of the volume. I begin, as do the Hebrews, at the last page, and read from right to left, to meet this end of the little tale which you have just heard. "Some months ago--perhaps eighteen--I, the illustrious Chevalier de Calembours, arrived at Canterbury, on business of mine. "In time I meet a very great man there; we play _rouge-et-noir_; _mon Dieu!_ he cheats me at _rouge-et-noir_. Mademoiselle, _rouge-et-noir_ is my own great weapon, _ma foi!_ I must have learned it in my cradle when an infant; with it I have beat the world, with it I have cheated the world--and this greatest of men cheats me! "I stop the game, I contemplate him with exalted emotions, with admiration, with awe; tears start to the eyes, I offer him the hand. "Monsieur," I cry, with much enthusiasm, "tell me your name. You shall be my great model in this noble game; I shall be your pupil." "The great man glares at me through those cavernous eyes; his lips, so thin and evil, smile sourly, and his long fingers make me the gambler's sign. Ah! he is the gambler by profession, then--the sly sharper, the hanger-on upon the young of the military. I marvel no more at his proficiency in the art in which, beside him, I am but an amateur. "'My name is Roland Mortlake,' he says, unwillingly; 'you are welcome to any hints you think I can give you; but I was admiring your play all the time. I've never seen it equalled.' "Mademoiselle, this man had played in Germany, in Italy, in France, and he had never seen my play equalled. "I listen to the delicious praise; the heart swells with generous pride; I rise, I embrace him as a brother. "'You do me too much honor, Monsieur Mortlake,' I cry; 'you do the Count of Santo Spirito, Turin, too much honor.' "We became acquaintances, friends, inseparable brothers--we became necessary to each other. "We combine our forces, we cheat the world, and we reap a golden harvest. "The world is _so_ gullible _chère amie_. Why not glean the benefit then? "'I must go to London,' says my friend, in March; 'better come along. We can always pigeon the subs, and they are always to be found there.' "My friend was a great player, but he spoke ill, even coarsely at times. "So be it, _camerade_!' I cry and we go. "At first we do well; we enter humble circles, and we mount to higher every day; the purse is very full, the heart is very merry, when, _ouais!_ hush! Monsieur Mortlake becomes mysterious, close, unjust--says: "'Better keep out of sight for a while, Calembours; I can't be seen with a notorious harpy like you just now; the circle I'm getting into won't care for a dirty little Frenchman. They're exclusive.'