“I remember a story Prince Salvinski once told me.” “No, no, that is too bad; none of that Polish bear’s romances; if we have his stories, we may as well have his company.” “But it is a very curious story,” continued the Chevalier, with a little animation. “Oh! so is every story, according to the storier.” “I think, Von Konigstein, you imagine no one can tell a story but yourself,” said De Boeffleurs, actually indignant. Vivian had never heard him speak so much before, and really began to believe that he was not quite an automaton. “Let us have it!” said St. George. “It is a story told of a Polish nobleman, a Count somebody: I never can remember their crack-jaw names. Well! the point is this,” said the silent little Chevalier, who, apparently, already repented of the boldness of his offer, and, misdoubting his powers, wished to begin with the end of his tale: “the point is this, he was playing one day at ecarté with the Governor of Wilna; the stake was trifling, but he had a bet, you see, with the Governor of a thousand roubles; a bet with the Governor’s secretary, never mind the amount, say two hundred and fifty, you see; then, he went on the turn-up with the Commandant’s wife; and took the pips on the trumps with the Archbishop of Warsaw. To understand the point of the story, you see, you must have a distinct conception how the game stood. You see, St. George, there was the bet with the Governor, one thousand roubles; the Governor’s secretary, never mind the amount, say two hundred and fifty; turn-up with the Commandant’s lady, and the pips with the Archbishop of Warsaw. Proposed three times, one for the king, the Governor drew ace; the Governor was already three and the ten. When the Governor scored king, the Archbishop gave the odds, drew knave queen one hand. The count offered to propose fourth time. Governor refused. King to six, ace fell to knave, queen cleared on. Governor lost, besides bets with the whole état-major; the Secretary gave his bill; the Commandant’s lady pawned her jewels; and the Archbishop was done on the pips!” “By Jove, what a Salvinski!” “How many trumps had the Governor?” asked St. George. “Three,” said the Chevalier. “Then it is impossible: I do not believe the story; it could not be.” “I beg your pardon,” said the Chevalier; “you see the Governor had--” “By Jove, don’t let us have it all over again!” said the Baron. “Well! if this be your model for an after-dinner anecdote, which ought to be as piquant as an anchovy toast, I will never complain of your silence in future.” “The story is a true story,” said the Chevalier; “have you got a pack of cards, Von Konigstein? I will show it you.” “There is not such a thing in the room,” said the Baron. “Well, I never heard of a room without a pack of cards before,” said the Chevalier; “I will send for one to my own apartments.” “Perhaps Ernstorff has got a pack. Here, Ernstorff, have you got a pack of cards? That’s well; bring it immediately.”