"It was after you had refused to come to the Opera with me, that's when, how, and why it happened."
"In that case I suppose I am an accessory before the fact or something--look, there's Mr. Sydney dressed; we're dining early."
"No, of course I'll not forget to-morrow, duke--it's our last spin."
Rémy could never understand why it was that the duke was so bad-tempered that night as he dressed him for dinner. But then Rémy was not paid to understand the moods of so exalted a personage as the Duc de Choleaux Lasuer.
"I remember seeing in a Club I visited last year in Buda, some framed hands of cards--remarkable hands that had occurred in the play there. It is a pretty custom. I have often since wished to start a similar collection. Permit me."
And Señor Gabriel Dasso screwed a monocle into a cold and calculating eye and crossed over to the card table.
"May I take them?--thanks. Most extraordinary. And how much did you win, Lieutenant Mozara, on your four kings?"
The young officer addressed nicked the ash from his cigarette and glanced carelessly over the pile of notes and gold before him.
"Oh, about four hundred crowns--thereabouts," he answered carelessly.
"Then the fair Julie of the _Casino_ has a rosy future before her for--shall we say nearly a week?"
At this a laugh came from the Lieutenant's two opponents, and Dasso continued, gathering up the cards as he spoke--
"You're sure, gentlemen, you don't mind. I'll have them framed with a little brass plate with all the particulars. Let me see, Count, you, was it not, who held the full house, aces high too--and you, Captain Olalla, the flush--am I right?"
He went over to where a handsome inlaid writing table stood near the window and returned with three envelopes. The players watched idly whilst he put five cards into each; afterwards placing the three in a larger envelope, which latter he stuck down. Then, taking a tiny fountain pen from the pocket of his white vest, he wrote:--
_Three hands at Poker, held by Count Petola, Captain Olalla, and Lieutenant Mozara--Friday the fifteenth of January_ 1908.
"Many thanks, gentlemen, and a thousand apologies for interrupting your game."
Señor Dasso returned to his position by the fire, one arm resting on the high mantleboard and letting his monocle fall with a little tinkle against his shirt front. The men at the table tore open another pack of cards and resumed their game.