'I know they played one night,' said the Count, 'but I have not been to Mélanie's since first Sir Ofton arrived. And they have been playing écarté, _ces gaillards_, have they? Which has been the winner?' 'At first milord; but about the third night fortune changed, and milord has lost _énormément_--Mélanie herself says _cinq mille livres sterlings_.' 'That is bad for Mélanie,' said the Count, giving the points of his moustaches an insinuating twist, 'for Lor' Frosfeel was very devoted and very generous to her.' 'So I thought, and yet she doesn't seem to feel it much,' said the Baron. 'However, you must come to-night, for they are going to play _quitte à quitte_, and there are several wagers, amounting to about as much, which milord proposes to settle in the same way.' 'Hein!' said the Count; 'they are curious people these English, certainly the most eccentric nation in the world. I have no great love for them, and shall certainly be present to see one of them ruin the other.' At three o'clock the next morning, though upwards of fifty people remained in the large room at Madame de Nerval's, standing round a table at which two players were engaged, not a word was spoken, not a sound was heard save that made from time to time by the dealing of the cards. Gradually the interest and expectancy increased; the spectators ppushed forward with held breath and straining eyes. Then suddenly the ccrowd fell back, a long 'A-h!' conveying their pent-up feelings, and Lord Forestfield rose from his seat. He was pale, and had a seared strained look round the eyes, but otherwise was quite calm. 'You have been fortunate, Sir Nugent Uffington,' he said, with a slight tremor in his voice, 'and I am in your debt exactly double the sum for which you hold my acknowledgment. I will do myself the pleasure of calling on you to-morrow;' and with a stately bow to the company he walked out of the room. '_Trés-bien fait!_' whispered the Count to his neighbour. 'It is on occasions like this that an Englishman's natural _froideur_ is of so much use to him.' CHAPTER XIV. UFFINGTON'S BARGAIN. The next morning Sir Nugent Uffington, notwithstanding the late hour at which he had retired to rest, woke early, and stretching out his hand, gathered up some papers which lay on the table by his bedside. The first in his grasp was a crumpled green telegraph form, which, being untwisted and spread out, read as follows: 'Messrs. Moss and Moss, Thavies Inn, London, to Sir Nugent Uffington, Bart., Hôtel Meurice, Paris. Richards has made over to you Woodburn mortgage. We hold it on your account. Foreclosure so soon as orders received.'