The poor Marquis glided into the grooves that slant downward, much as the French Marquis of tradition was wont to glide; not that he appeared to live extravagantly, but he needed all he had for his pocket-money, and had lost that dread of being in debt which he had brought up from the purer atmosphere of Bretagne. But there were some debts which; of course, a Rochebriant must pay--debts of honour--and Alain had, on the previous night, incurred such a debt and must pay it that day. He had been strongly tempted, when the debt rose to the figure it had attained, to risk a change of luck; but whatever his imprudence, he was incapable of dishonesty. If the luck did not change, and he lost more, he would be without means to meet his obligations. As the debt now stood, he calculated that he could just discharge it by the sale of his coupe and horses. It is no wonder he left his letters unopened, however charming they might be; he was quite sure they would contain no cheque which would enable him to pay his debt and retain his equipage. The door opened, and the valet announced M. le Chevalier de Finisterre-- a man with smooth countenance and air _distinque_, a pleasant voice and perpetual smile. "Well, mon cher," cried the Chevalier, "I hope that you recovered the favour of Fortune before you quitted her green table last night. When I left she seemed very cross with you." "And so continued to the end," answered Alain, with well-simulated gaiety--much too _bon gentilhomme_ to betray rage or anguish for pecuniary loss. "After all," said de Finisterre, lighting his cigarette, "the uncertain goddess could not do you much harm; the stakes were small, and your adversary, the Prince, never goes double or quits." "Nor I either. 'Small,' however, is a word of relative import; the stakes might be small to you, to me large. _Entre nous, cher ami_, I am at the end of my purse, and I have only this consolation_-I am cured of play: not that I leave the complaint, the complaint leaves me; it can no more feed on me than a fever can feed on a skeleton." "Are you serious?" "As serious as a mourner who has just buried his all." "His all? Tut, with such an estate as Rochebriant!" For the first time in that talk Alain's countenance became overcast. "And how long will Rochebriant be mine? You know that I hold it at the mercy of the mortgagee, whose interest has not been paid, and who could if, he so pleased, issue notice, take proceedings--that--" "Peste!" interrupted de Finisterre; "Louvier take proceedings! Louvier, the best fellow in the world! But don't I see his handwriting on that envelope? No doubt an invitation to dinner."