"He did sing, I admit it; but his expression was no more hilarious, for all that; he tried to appear so--that may be; but there is a long distance between real gayety and bursts of forced laughter!" "Nonsense, Beausseilly! no more of that; I fancy, my dear fellow, that the fumes of this Spanish wine are beginning to go to your head!" "No, messieurs, I am quite sober, I am in full possession of my senses. I will not agree to retain them all night, by the way, for there are some lovely eyes here quite capable of depriving me of them!--But to return to Léodgard. Come, I will leave it to his mistress; ask Camilla if she does not think that his manner is less cheerful, less frank, less open, than it used to be.--Answer, O terrestrial divinity!" The beautiful courtesan took a bunch of flowers from a vase and threw it in Beausseilly's face, saying: "You do not know what you are talking about; Léodgard is charming; try to be as gallant as he, and all the ladies will adore you.--Do you want to see a serious cavalier, who never laughs, and who does not even look at the ladies?--Well, I will show you one now--there is no need to seek far. See--that man all in black at yonder card table; if you have seen him smile once to-night, I will give you my chin to kiss!" "She means Jarnonville," said Sénange, laughing. "Jarnonville, yes, that is what they call him," said Camilla; "but tell me, my noble friends, why that funereal face comes to a joyous party like this?" "Did you not see him at table? He drank for four!" "Then he must carry his wine well; for he looks no more cheerful with it all!" "He's a brave fellow--he fights as well as he drinks!" "That does not make him any more attractive.--Ah! by the way, Flavia, that madcap Flavia, has bet that she will make a conquest of that dark-browed knight. I am sure that she will have nothing to show for her ogling and her sighs! I must go and watch." The fascinating Camilla left the banquet hall and returned to the card room. The playing was very animated; the young nobles, excited by wine, risked large sums on a card or the fall of the dice. Léodgard was banker at a lansquenet table. Luck, which had been unfavorable to him at first, had changed; he won on every deal, and the gold lay in piles before him. He raked in his adversaries' money with the utmost sang-froid. He was in no wise excited by his good fortune; from time to time he glanced about with a vague expression and seemed to give little thought to the pastime in which he was indulging. "Evidently, it is hopeless to play against the Comte de Marvejols to-night," said the Chevalier de la Valteline, leaving the card table in a pet; "I believe he has sold himself to the devil; he has a familiar demon who favors him!" "Nonsense!" said Montrevert; "we must not find fault with his good luck; he lost steadily for a long enough time; he was even reduced once to staking his cloak.--Do you remember that night, Léodgard?"