In a magnificently furnished salon of the Club a number of these young men were now assembled. Gathered from every nation of Europe,--many of them bearing names of high historical interest,--they were, so far as dress, air, and appearance went, no ignoble representatives of the class they belonged to. The proud and haughty Spaniard, the fierce-eyed, daring-looking Pole, the pale, intellectual-faced Italian, the courteous Russian, and the fair-haired, stalwart Saxon were all there; and, however dissimilar in type, banded together by the magic influence of the “set” they moved in, to an almost perfect uniformity of sentiment and opinion. “I vote that any man be fined ten Louis that alludes, however remotely, to this confounded question again,” cried Count Gardoni, rising impatiently from his chair and approaching a card-table. “And I second you!” exclaimed a Polish prince, with a Russian decoration at his button-hole. “Carried _nem. con._” said Captain Martin, seating himself at the play-table. “And now for the 'Lansquenet.'” And in a moment every seat was occupied, and purses of gold and pocket-books of bank-notes were strewed over the board. They were all men who played high; and the game soon assumed the grave character that so invariably accompanies large wagers. Wonderfully little passed, except the terms of the game itself. Gambling is a jealous passion, and never admits its votaries to wander in their attention. And now large sums passed from hand to hand, and all the passions of hope and fear racked heads and hearts around, while a decorous silence prevailed; or, when broken, some softly toned voice alone interrupted the stillness. “Are you going, Martin?” whispered the young French Count de Nevers, as the other moved noiselessly back from the table. “It is high time, I think,” said Martin; “this is my seventeenth night of losing,--losing heavily, too. I'm sick of it!” “Here 's a chance for you, Martin,” said a Russian prince, who had just assumed “the bank.” “You shall have your choice of color, and your own stake.” “Thanks; but I'll not be tempted.” “I say red, and a thousand francs,” cried a Neapolitan. “There 's heavier play outside, I suspect,” said Martin, as a wild, hoarse shout from the streets re-echoed through the room. “A fine,--a fine,--Martin is fined!” cried several around the table. “You have n't left me wherewithal to pay it, gentlemen,” said he, laughing. “I was just about to retire, a bankrupt, into private life.” “That's platoon fire,” exclaimed the Pole, as the loud detonation of small arms seemed to shake the very room. “Czernavitz also fined,” cried two together. “I bow in submission to the Court,” said the Pole, throwing down the money on the table. “Lend _me_ as much more,” said Martin; “it may change my luck.” And with this gambler's philosophy, he again drew nigh the table.