Best Short Stories Omnibus - Volume 2

I

ISergius Koumenskihad unconsciously walked toward the Casino. What led him there that evening he never afterward could say. He was no gambler, never had been so, even in his younger days, and now that he was about to finally settle down in life he certainly felt no inclination for the card-table. He was so happy to-night! Olga Kriwenko had at last definitely allowed him to fix their wedding-day. Yes, he was going to marry Olga, the beautiful Pole—he, Sergius Kousmenski, Governor of Warsaw, whose severe rigor against the conquered race had been so much commented upon and so highly commended in St. Petersburg. No doubt, when his impending marriage would become known, he would be asked to resign the governorship. But what of that? Olga loved him; she was young, and would transform his gloomy castle, far out there beyond the steppes, into an enchanted palace of love and beauty.

It was thus, dreaming, that His Excellency had wandered through the streets of Warsaw toward the gaily lighted Casino. The brilliancy of the place, mingled with lively music, heard faintly from within, seemed to harmonize with his pleasant frame of mind. Somebody, he forgot whom, had advised him in the morning to have a look at the gamblers, male and female, who nightly filled the rooms. Sergius Kousmenski went in. The porters and attendants bowed respectfully to His Excellency, and a good many astonished looks followed the dreaded governor as he ascended the wide, carpeted stairs.

In the gaming-room at first all seemed noise, bustle, and agitation. A confusion of tongues greeted Sergius’ ears as he entered, while a military band stationed at one end was playing Russian patriotic songs. Men and women alike were crowding around the tables, where every description of games of chance was being carried on.

Sergius Kousmenski watched the players nearest to him for some little time, then his attention was drawn toward the farther end of the room where “va banque” was being played.

“Va banque” is the simplest means of parting with money, and is much favored in Russia. The banquier merely deals to each player and to himself a card. Each player then stakes; the cards are turned up, and those whose cards are of lesser value than the banquier’s lose their stakes to him, while he in his turn pays those whose cards turn out to be of greater value than his own.

A flat-faced Russian was holding the bank. He seemed excited and anxious. Probably he was losing heavily, Sergius thought, for a lady, whose face he could not see (her back was turned toward him), had a large heap of gold and notes by her side, while the banquier’s pile seemed sadly diminished. Sergius caught himself wondering who the lucky winner was. He saw very little of her, only an exquisitely gloved hand from time to time.

The banquier had started a fresh deal, while Sergius, full of curiosity, endeavored to get a closer view of the lady.

“Six hundred roubles,” she said in a melodious voice that made Sergius Kousmenski start, and set his pulses throbbing violently.

It was Olga’s voice! What was she doing here in this gambling den? His fiancée, his would-be wife!

He had turned very pale, and made strenuous efforts to get a nearer view of the woman over there, who was a gambler and yet had Olga’s voice. He stood close behind her now, so close he might have touched her shoulder, and he could distinctly see the card she was holding, and the pile of gold, 600 roubles, lying in front of her.

It all seemed like a dream that the beautiful girl he loved, the one whose rigid devotions so often had caused him to smile, should be sitting in the Casino, gambling among the roués and demi-mondaines of Warsaw.

The dealer now turned up an ace, the highest card possible; the players had lost, and all the piles of gold, Olga’s included, were swept away in favor of the banquier. Sergius could not see her face, but the hand that once more put up the stake, a heavier one this time, trembled slightly. Every one had been very astonished when the unknown lady lost. “She always wins,” was whispered among the crowd.

“Always!” She often came here, then, and her presence at the tables was a familiar one to this r****e!

The game proceeded—Olga lost again. Sergius could not help being glad; perhaps if she lost all she would go away, and he would beg of her never to return again. Her manner had become a little more excited, and her hand was now trembling visibly as she again and again put up sum after sum of money, only to see it each time gathered up by the dealer’s indiscriminating rake.

Her luck had obviously turned—she was losing hard. The crowd was becoming deeply interested, and many a comment, not wholly sympathetic, was passed upon Olga’s ill-luck. Sergius heard them, and it made his heart ache and his cheeks flush with shame.

“Some luck in love,” said one of the bystanders, laughingly; “that’s why the cards are playing her false.”

Olga had now only a pile of bank notes in front of her. Most of the other players had stopped; some were leaving the table, and she remained for the time almost isolated. One man—her immediate neighbor—had just risen, and as he did so, Sergius, whose very soul was in his eyes, caught sight of a card—the ace of hearts —lying just underneath her chair; it had dropped there, probably by accident. Sergius wondered that nobody else saw it; he wondered if Olga did. No! for she apparently did not, either, notice her handkerchief, which also at that moment dropped to the floor. She was evidently too excited and too much intent upon the game. She seemed to have resolved to place all the remnant of her wealth upon this last chance; after she had staked, she stood to lose or win some 90,000 roubles. Sergius did not take his eyes off her. She was very pale, and her eyes looked hard and set. He had noticed the card that had been dealt to her; it was a “seven,” a comparatively low one, and the chances of her winning seemed to Sergius very remote.

The bystanders had transferred their attention to the dealer, only Sergius was looking with a certain amount of sympathy at Olga’s hand, which was twitching nervously. She looked for her hand-kerchief, noticed she had dropped it, and stooped slightly to pick it up. The next moment the banquier turned up his card: it was a queen.

“I pay king or ace,” he said.

“You pay me,” said Olga quietly, as she turned up her card—the ace of hearts.

Sergius looked at her; she seemed ready to faint as the dealer, with a muttered curse, counted out 90,000 roubles to her. He did not at first understand it all, for he had distinctly seen that she held a “seven;” till presently he chanced to look upon the floor—the card from there had disappeared.

When he looked up again, Olga had collected her money, her gloves, her handkerchief, and had risen to go. Then she turned and faced him, and their eyes met.

She knew he had seen all; he met her look of terror with one of such unutterable contempt that she closed her eyes to shut out the fearful vision.

When she opened them again he was gone.

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