The Captain arranged the card-table, whilst Fritz removed the tea-things. We took our seats, and the General, as I thought, fixed the counters tolerably high.

The old man seemed to undergo a thorough change the moment he held the cards in his hand. His dull, sleepy eyes brightened with intelligence and sparkled with enthusiasm. Every limb moved; the tips of his fingers trembled, and yet they still held the cards firmly whilst he examined them to calculate, with mathematical precision, what was wanting in ours. His pale cheeks flushed a deep red, his nostrils expanded or contracted according to the chances of the game; and the melancholy man, who usually sat with his head bowed down as though overburdened, was of a sudden seized by a spirit of audacity, of rashness, of foolhardiness, that not seldom gained him splendid success, and reminded me of the saying, “Good luck is with the rash man.” It certainly is with the audacious player.

As for myself I made many blunders, which greatly amused my companions. I had already lost a considerable sum, when the door opened and Francis appeared in evening costume.

I threw down my cards on the table to offer her a chair. The General, who sat with his back to the door, looked at me angrily, whilst the Captain cried—

“Our Major in full dress.”

“What strange whim is this?” growled the General, with difficulty suppressing his anger, for he had an excellent hand of cards this time. “The whole day you have gone about like a Cinderella, and now——”

“The fairy has come, and I appear as a princess,” replied Francis.

“And the famous glass slipper is not wanting,” I said, admiring the beautiful little slippers peeping out from under her dress.

“Perhaps; but I will take care not to lose it.”

“Why not?” I asked, looking fixedly at her.

“Because I will not make the romance of an hour a question for life.”

“All you are saying to Francis may be very gallant and witty, nephew,” cried the General, “but it is not polite to leave the card-table in the midst of a game.”

“If the Freule would join us we could play quadrille,” said Rolf.

“Thanks, Captain, I prefer playing the piano, if it does not disturb you.”

Her playing was like herself, fantastic and bizarre; gradually, however, it became sweet and melancholy, and moved me almost to tears. My thoughts were with the music, and I lost every game afterwards. The General was furious, and let me perceive it. I was about to pay my debt, when Francis entered precipitately, and said in a decided tone—so decided, indeed, as to displease me—that I should not pay. I answered in the same tone, and to cut short all arguments I placed the money on the table. She then tried to snatch out of Rolf’s hand the note I had given him. I told her I thought her interference very unbecoming.

“Oh, very well; it’s all the same to me if you wish to be plundered.”

And with this she returned to the piano; whilst the General, who seemed to gloat over his gains, remained silent during this little scene. It gave me a painful insight into his character. I pitied the old man, who played not for amusement but for the sake of money, and would take it in large or small sums from a poor relation or a richer man.

But at the same time, as I went to join Francis at the piano, I thought my money well spent in discovering the General’s weakness, which had so influenced his granddaughter’s past life.

“Will you play?” she asked, brusquely.

“I don’t feel disposed.”

“As you like,” she said, turning to the instrument and striking the keys as if she would break them.

I took up an old newspaper and pretended to be reading it.

In the end she played a prelude, and then began the air of Bettly in the chÂlet—