Monsieur Laboussole's tone was becoming affectingly sentimental. They drank, and touched glasses; the bottles rapidly succeeded one another; their brains began to get heated, especially Sans-Cravate's, which took fire very easily. Ere long, Jean Ficelle called for a pack of cards. "I'll play you a game of piquet, Laboussole," he cried; "piquet, the honest man's game--just for fun, to pass the time, and to see if you know how to play it." "I play like an oyster," rejoined Laboussole; "but still I'll play whatever you say. Because I always assert that luck may come my way. Let's have a drink!" The waiter brought the cards. Jean Ficelle took them and sat down opposite Laboussole. "Sans-Cravate don't play," he said; "he don't like cards." "Why shouldn't I play, eh?" cried Sans-Cravate, with a violent blow on the table. "Piquet! why, that's my favorite game; I'm very strong at it." "Well, you shall play after a while," replied Jean Ficelle, winking at his vis-à-vis. "Let me give the inspector of fleas a beating first." The game began; the players announced that they were playing for two francs the game, but no money was put up. Laboussole lost three games in succession; whereupon Jean Ficelle rose, with a laugh, and said: "You certainly ain't on your game, old man. I've got six francs to eat up; that's not bad, and I don't want you to ruin yourself treating us." Sans-Cravate took Jean Ficelle's place, after asking Laboussole: "Have you had enough?" "I! nonsense! do I ever cry _baby_? I'm always on deck when a friend proposes a game. Besides, as I said just now, luck may come my way; she's a female, so she ought to change often. What are we playing for?" "Whatever you say." "A thirty-sou piece----" "The devil! that's rather high!" "We must make the game interesting." "All right; thirty sous it is." The game began; Jean Ficelle took his stand behind Sans-Cravate. Monsieur Laboussole frequently looked up into the air, as if to invoke Fortune and implore her to smile upon him; but his eyes always met Jean Ficelle's, who signalled to him with his fingers. Sans-Cravate lost the first game; and Monsieur Laboussole cried, with his most affable air: "You see, my boys, luck may turn any time; that's what I rely on." "My revenge!" cried Sans-Cravate. "Always, my boy! always at your service; a well-bred card player never refuses a revenge, under penalty of being called a _carotteur_; and I've never been called that. But let's have some wine first and drink a bumper! Cards make me horribly thirsty." Jean Ficelle undertook to fill the glasses. Sans-Cravate lost the second game, and demanded another, which he also lost; but Laboussole did not cease to exclaim: "You play much better than I do; I can't imagine how I succeed in beating you!"