THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя

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СКАЧАТЬ he got up and went hanging round the little brunette. The truth was that he was afraid of losing his cash. He found gambling ran away with such a lot of money. The excitement of winning and losing was too rapid for him: he wanted solid, lasting enjoyment.

      The banker shuffled the cards.

      “Make your game, gentlemen,” he said.

      Marius placed fifty francs on the cloth with a shudder. He had decided that he would play his hundred francs in two stakes.

      Red light passed before his eyes; he heard a sort of growling within him which made him feel giddy; his ears tinkled and his sight was troubled. The sensation he experienced was so violent that his heart almost ceased beating. “Nothing more goes!” said the banker.

      And he dealt the cards. It was Marius’ turn to take them. He picked them up and looked at them in a stupid way. He had five. He asked for cards and remained with four. The hands were thrown down. The banker had three. A murmur of astonishment passed round the table. Marius had won.

      From that moment the young man was beside himself. He lived in a sort of dream. He remained there for more than five hours, downcast, overcome, sent half asleep by the monotony of the game, winning always, losing only to win still more. He played with an audacity that made the other gamblers tremble, and won contrary to every probability, clearing out the bankers one after the other.

      Beside him was an elderly man who watched him with a stupefied and envious look. This person at length bent towards him and asked him in a low tone of voice:

      “Sir, would you be so good as to tell me what your mascotte is?”

      Marius did not hear him. A mascotte in the slang of Provençal gamblers, is a sort of talisman which shields the person who possesses it against ill-luck. All gamblers are more or less superstitious and each of them invents a little protecting divinity as a means of ensuring fortune.

      The old gentleman seemed wounded at Marius’ silence.

      “I don’t think I have been indiscreet,” he continued; “I should have been curious to know what could possibly have given you such luck. I don’t hide what I do. Here’s my mascotte.”

      He took off his hat and displayed an image of the Virgin Mary inside of it. If Marius had been calm, he would have laughed; but he was enervated by several hours’ play, and he made a movement of impatience, and continued to pile up the gold before him without uttering a single word.

      Sauvaire, who was astounded at his companion’s luck, had placed himself behind his chair. He preferred to watch the game to playing himself. He enjoyed the sight of large sums of money spread out on the gaming-table when he did not run the risk of losing. Clairon and Isnarde had followed him and leant familiarly on the back of Marius’ seat. They bent over towards the young man, smiled at him, fondled him with their eyes. The odour of gold had made them hasten forward like birds of prey.

      Five o’clock struck. The pale daylight was streaming in at the windows. The gamblers went off one by one. Marius ended by finding himself alone. He had ten thousand francs in winnings before him.

      The young man would have sat at the gaming-table until evening, until the following day, without being conscious of it, without complaining of the fatigue which was overpowering him. For more than five hours he had been playing mechanically, having but one idea in his head, that of winning, of always winning. He wanted to finish with it at a single stroke, to win the sum he required in one night, and not put his feet in the hell again.

      When he found himself alone at the table, stupid, blind, his limbs aching with excitement and weariness, he was in despair, his eyes sought someone to go on playing with. He had just counted the money he had won, and he knew it only amounted to ten thousand francs.

      He wanted five thousand francs more. He would have given anything in the world for daylight not to have appeared. Perhaps he might have had time to complete Philippe’s ransom. And he was there, staring at his gold pieces, putting them slowly into his pocket, folding up the bank notes one by one, looking round the room for a belated gambler.

      There was a man at a small table near him who had been watching the play all the evening, without risking anything himself. When he had seen Marius winning, he had approached and had not lost sight of him. He seemed to be waiting. He let the other gamblers go away one by one, fixing his eyes on the young man, following the fever that agitated him, lying in wait for him as for a sure prey. When the latter, vexed and shivering, was making up his mind to leave, the stranger rose hurriedly and approached him.

      “Sir,” he inquired, “will you have a game at écarté with me?”

      Marius was about to accept joyfully, when Sauvaire, who was following him step by step, seized him by the arm, and whispered:

      “Don’t play.”

      The young man turned round and threw an inquiring look on the master-stevedore.

      “Don’t play,” the latter continued, “if you wish to keep the ten thousand francs you’ve got in your pocket. For the love of Providence, refuse and come quickly. You will thank me afterwards.”

      Marius had a good mind not to listen to Sauvaire; but the master-stevedore got him little by little near the door, and seeing him hesitate he undertook to speak for him.

      “No, no, Monsieur Felix,” he said to the man who was offering to play écarté, “my friend is tired, he can’t stay any longer. Good day, Monsieur Felix.”

      M. Felix seemed very much annoyed at this answer. He stared fixedly at Sauvaire as if to say to him: “What the deuce are you meddling with?” Then he turned on his heels, whistled between his teeth and murmured:

      “And so I’ve lost my night.”

      Sauvaire had not let go of Marius. When they were both in the street, the young man inquired of his companion in an irritated tone:

      “Why did you prevent me playing?”

      “Ah! Poor innocent,” answered the master-stevedore, “because I took pity on you, because I didn’t want M. Felix to win your ten thousand francs from you.”

      “That man’s a rascal then?”

      “Oh! no, he remains within the strictest limits of honesty.”

      “Then I should have won.”

      “No, you would have lost. The calculations of M. Felix are sure. This is how he proceeds. He never plays during the night. Towards morning, when the other players are racked with fever, he addresses one of them and makes him seat himself at an écarté table. It is no longer a question of a game of chance, but of a game in which you need all your intelligence, and all your calm. M. Felix is calm and prudent; he has a head that is fresh and reposed; his adversary is feverish, blind, he does not even see his cards, and in a few deals he is stripped in the most straightforward fashion in the world.”

      “I understand and I thank you.”

      “M. Felix has already won quite a fortune by putting his system into practice every evening. But I repeat that he plays in a perfectly honourable manner, only he arranges things in such a way that his adversaries always play like perfect jackasses; and that is how clever people succeed. If I were in his place I’d take out a patent.”

      Marius СКАЧАТЬ