He began to talk presently of Harding,--Rupert Harding he called him; and though he pretended to have eyes only for his cards, I believed that he was covertly watching our faces. Marcel thought to lead him to a pleasanter subject, but he would not follow, and the life, career, and ambitions of Rupert Harding seemed to have become a weight upon his mind, of which he must talk. Chills, each colder than its predecessor, raced up and down my backbone, but my face looked calm, and I was proud that I could keep it so. Marcel, unable to draw Belfort away from Rupert Harding, began by and by to show an interest in the subject and to talk of it as volubly as Belfort himself. But I noticed that nearly everything he said was an indirect question, and I noticed, too, that he was steadily drawing from Belfort a full history of this troublesome young man, for the arrival of whom we were now looking every moment. Marcel dropped a card presently, and when he leaned over to pick it up, he whispered,-- "You are keeping a splendid face, old comrade. Let it never be said that we flinched." A certain spirit of recklessness now took possession of me. We were past all helping, we had suffered the torments of anticipated detection, and having paid the penalty, we might endure the short shrift that was left to us. I laughed with the loudest and grew reckless with the cards. Luck having deserted me at all other points, now, as an atonement, made me a favorite at the gaming-table, and I won rapidly. The arrival of Harding was long delayed, and I hoped it would be further postponed, at least long enough for me to win ten more pounds. Then my ambition would be satisfied. "It has been a long time since you have seen Harding, has it not?" asked Belfort of Marcel. By pure chance all the players happened to be quiet then, but it seemed as if they were silent merely to hear his answer. "It has been such a while since I have held a good hand of cards," replied Marcel, with a comic gesture of despair, "that my mind can hold no other measurements of time." "Don't be downcast, Montague," said Catron, laughing; "your luck will change if you only play long enough." "Unless the bottom of my pocket is reached first," said Marcel, with another rueful face. Only he and I knew how little was in that pocket. "Why is that cousin of mine such a laggard?" asked Marcel, presently. "We have been at the cards nearly an hour and he has not come." "He will be here," said Belfort. "Does he play a good game?" "If he doesn't play better than I do," replied Marcel, "he ought to be banished forever from such good company as this." "Come, come, Montague!" said Catron, "a soldier like you, who can look into the angry face of an enemy, should show more courage before the painted face of a card."