Oh heavens! how beautiful she was with her graceful head bent over the table, her heavenly eyes resting upon the cards, and her features composed to an expression of thoughtfulness. How could I think of the miserable game while she was sitting opposite to me? I thought of only one marriage, and that was with the fair one herself. She played eagerly, but in her eagerness displayed the most child-like, guileless soul. When she won—and I always let her win—when my one hundred-franc pieces slipped over the green cloth toward her, and she looked at the heap of gold beside her, she clapped her hands like a child beaming with innocence and simplicity. I was blest; I looked at her, and lost with the greatest delight—for was not my purse inexhaustible? “That is enough for to-night,” said she at last, smiling graciously as she entrusted the heap of gold to an old servant. “One must not go too far, even in their favorite enjoyments. To-morrow I hope to give you your revenge, dear marquis.” She tripped away to her mother at the faro-table. I was intoxicated with delight—I was beside myself. She had called me dear marquis, and in a tone of voice which rung through my soul. In this blissful state I looked toward the faro-table, but Joannes was no longer there. “He must have lost all,” I said to myself, “and will trouble me no more with his Viennese chariots and Andalusian ponies.” I longed for solitude, and retired to a little room, lighted only by the tapers of the great saloon. Throwing myself upon an ottoman, I thought upon my love and my happiness. I compared my present with my former prospects. Poor Gabriel Mostert! How often hast thou been compelled to wait before great men’s doors, waiting for the permission, which was necessary, before I could venture to intrude. And now, when the Marquis della Mostarda appears, all doors are thrown open, and cringing lackeys attend everywhere to wait on him—all the treasures of the earth are spread out before him for his choice. To be sure just now the finger upon which Kate had put the forget-me-not ring pinched me a little. But why need the marquis keep a promise which the tradesman had made? The thing was not to be thought of. Spite of this reasoning, my conscience would not let me think of the burgomaster’s daughter without a twinge. But I called Angelica’s image to my aid, and little Kate vanished. “She is an angel from heaven, this duke’s daughter,” cried I aloud. Just at this moment a loud, distinct voice in an adjoining dark room enchained my attention.