"Nonsense! nonsense!" said Canolles; "court holy water, which transforms a piece of arrant impudence into a trifling rudeness; that's all of that. _Corbleu!_ I'm in a ferocious humor! Pick a quarrel with me, Richon! You refuse? Wait a moment. _Sarpejeu!_ Richon, my friend, I consider you an ill-favored villain!" Richon began to laugh. "In this mood, baron," said he, "you would be quite capable of winning a hundred pistoles from me this evening, if we should play. Luck, you know, always favors the disappointed." Richon knew Canolles, and designedly opened this vent for his ill-humor. "Ah! _pardieu!_" he cried; "let us play. You are right, my friend, and the suggestion reconciles me to your company. Richon, you are a very agreeable fellow; you are as handsome as Adonis, Richon, and I forgive Monsieur de Cambes.--Cards, Castorin!" Castorin hurried in, accompanied by Biscarros; together they prepared a table, and the two guests began to play. Castorin, who had been dreaming for ten years of a martingale at _trente-et-quarante_, and Biscarros, whose eye gleamed covetously at the sight of money, stood on either side of the table looking on. In less than an hour, notwithstanding his prediction, Richon had won forty pistoles from his opponent, whereupon Canolles, who had no more money about him, bade Castorin bring him a further supply from his valise. "It's not worth while," said Richon, who overheard the order; "I haven't time to give you your revenge." "What's that? you haven't time?" exclaimed Canolles. "No; it is eleven o'clock," said Richon, "and at midnight I must be at my post." "Nonsense! you are joking!" rejoined Canolles. "Monsieur le Baron," observed Richon, gravely, "you are a soldier, and consequently you know the rigorous rules of the service." "Then why didn't you go before you won my money?" retorted Canolles, half-smiling, half-angry. "Do you mean to reproach me for calling upon you?" "God forbid! But consider; I haven't the slightest inclination to sleep, and I shall be frightfully bored here. Suppose I should propose to bear you company, Richon?" "I should decline the honor, baron. Affairs of the nature of that upon which I am engaged are transacted without witnesses." "Very good! You are going--in what direction?" "I was about to beg you not to ask me that question." "In what direction has the viscount gone?" "I am obliged to tell you that I have no idea." Canolles looked at Richon to make sure that there was no raillery in his disobliging answers; but the kindly eye and frank smile of the governor of Vayres disarmed his curiosity, if not his impatience. "Well, well, you are a perfect treasure-house of mysteries, my dear Richon; but no compulsion. I should have been disgusted enough if any one had followed me three hours ago, although, after all, the man who followed me would have been as disappointed as I was myself. So one last glass of Callioure and good luck to you!"