Madame de Grandcourt was stretched out on a long chair in a corner. A short man with whiskers and moustache sat on a stool almost at her feet; he had passed one arm about his charmer's waist, and the hand of the other was screened from view by the folds of a faded satin gown. The old baroness and the young viscountess were playing _creps_ with the chevalier. The faces of the ladies were much flushed; the baroness had a glass of punch before her, and was gazing with glassy eyes at the dice, shrieking and disputing over a ten-sou piece which she would not admit that she had lost. The viscountess had recovered the use of her tongue by eating sweetmeats, and she indulged in frequent solecisms which must have opened Dubourg's eyes if he had been himself; but he was not; his losses had disturbed his mental balance, already shaken by the punch and liqueurs. He strode about the salon, looking without seeing, listening without hearing the marchioness's compliments, and passing his hand across his forehead as if to tranquillize his thoughts. He tried to go away, but returned again and again to the card-tables, saying to himself: "I absolutely must win back my three thousand francs!" He took a seat at the _creps_ table and called to the count, who was talking in a corner with the man in the threadbare coat who staked rolls of louis which no one saw. "Monsieur," said Dubourg, raising his voice, "I trust that you will not refuse to give me my revenge at this game, at which I may perhaps have better luck." "With great pleasure," replied the count with the lace cuffs. He hastened to the _creps_ table, which the viscountess and baroness instantly quitted; indeed, they soon left the salon, as did Madame de Grandcourt; but Dubourg was too intent upon his game to observe the disappearance of the ladies. All the men formed a circle about the _creps_ table. Dubourg was allowed to choose whether he would punt or be banker. He chose the latter, and madame la marquise, seated close beside him, took pains always to pick up the dice and the box and hand them to him. Dubourg lost; he no longer knew what he was doing; he threw dice and dice-box on the floor. Someone proposed _trente-et-un_, and he accepted; that finished him; in less than half an hour, the rest of the contents of his cash-box vanished. He felt in all his pockets, in his fob--not a sou! he had lost everything, and the money was not his! He did not speak, but paced the floor for some moments, pale and haggard, biting his lips, clenching his fists, and uttering a fierce oath from time to time. The candles began to go out; the counts and chevaliers whispered together and seemed embarrassed; the marchioness withdrew to a corner of the salon, not deeming the moment favorable for treading on Monsieur de Potoski's foot.