“M. de Talleyrand was much astonished to find that there was anything in the world to which Fénélon attached importance, and rallied him upon the discovery; but, surprising to say, this jest was not met by the usual spirited rejoinder. His companion answered not, but calling for more champagne, swallowed a tremendous bumper at a single draught.
“M. de Talleyrand, of course, could offer no objection to this reasoning, and with a heavy purse and lightened heart he bade his friend good night, and left the room. Scarcely, however, had he reached the outer door of the apartment, when the valet-de-chambre, who had been fast asleep in the ante-chamber, came running after him, with a request from his master that he would return. The chevalier was standing over the fire, leaning against the chimney, and clasping the urn, which he had taken from the book-case where it had reposed, close to his heart. In an instant, M. de Talleyrand could perceive that the bottle which he had left upon the table was now emptied; and, as Fénélon turned towards him, he was startled at beholding his discomposed and agitated countenance. ‘I have changed my mind,’ said he; ‘this may be to me what the pin is to you. I have resolved to try its magic influence against that which has protected you. Speak not a word—ask me no question—I shall deem the slightest remark as a summons to meet you in the _Bois de Boulogne_, with witnesses and loaded weapons!’
“M. de Talleyrand did as he was requested; he placed his _enjeu_ before him; but he observed that Fénélon grasped the urn with trembling fingers, until compelled to lose his hold in order to survey his game. A frightful oath—frightful from the compressed energy with which it was uttered, flew from his white lips as he looked at his cards; and, with the instinct of an experienced gamester, beheld his fate. By a really extraordinary chance, it so happened that this time the cards held by M. de Talleyrand were what he calls _fabuleuses_—_pique_, _repique_ and _capot_ were carried in the one hand, and the chevalier sat amazed and stupified, not having been called upon to count a single point. He rose from the table in desperation, and seized the urn, which M. de Talleyrand remarked he had removed from the table with almost religious care when the game began, and handed it to his friend, but at arm’s length and with averted gaze. The prince had not courage to pursue the torture, and he said, as he waved it back, ‘Do not press me to accept the trinket, M. de Fénélon. Take it, I beseech you, as a gift from me; ’twill be but an earnest of the rest of all I have won of you, for you are sure to have it back again. You know well that I always succeed in keeping my winnings just long enough to make the loss of them more severely felt.’