"That will be very difficult; for we have no cards here. When by chance I have found some upstairs which have been left by my master and his friends I have burned or sold them."
"That is very awkward; and I, who have nearly always a pack in my pocket, necessarily left mine at home."
"Wait, Chaudoreille! taste this liqueur. That will be much better than playing."
Thus saying, Marcel filled two glasses with crême de vanille and placed one before his comrade.
"Yes, I am very fond of liqueur," said Chaudoreille. "This has an exquisite perfume. We could have drunk and played at the same time."
"But I tell you that I have not any cards."
"Devil stifle you! How shall we pass the time without playing? Oh, what a delightful idea! I have thought of a very agreeable little game which you will easily understand. You have before you a full glass of liqueur and I have the same. They are of equal size; I will play you a crown on the first fly."
"Listen now. There are a good many flies in this room, and he whose glass is first visited by one of them will win a crown from the other. Is it agreed?"
"That is a droll game, but I like it well enough."
"In that case let's shake hands on it. That settled, attend to our play."
Chaudoreille no longer budged. With his eyes fixed attentively on his own glass and that of his adversary, he waited impatiently for a fly to come and taste the sweet liqueur. Neither of them made a movement, for fear of frightening the winged insects. They had already remained motionless for five minutes before their glasses when Marcel sneezed.
"The devil confound you?" cried Chaudoreille. "You drove away the most beautiful fly which was approaching my glass. She was just going in."
"Is it my fault if I feel a desire to sneeze?"
"It is a trick, my dear fellow, and, in all conscience, you should lose the game.
"Well I will pass over the sneeze, but if you begin again that will count. Wait! The flies are coming."
They observed silence anew. From time to time Chaudoreille looked into the air and seemed to implore the flies to come and taste his liqueur. At last, after some minutes of waiting, a fly sipped from Marcel's glass.
"One moment," said Chaudoreille, spitefully stamping his foot. "Leave me to judge of this affair."