If not one way, why, then, in another, your
wager is lost."
"Is it?" He set his arms akimbo and eyed me derisively, his
thick-set frame planted squarely before me. "You are satisfied
that it is so? Quite satisfied, eh?" He leered in my face. "Why,
then, Monsieur le Marquis, we will see whether a few inches of steel
will win it back for me." And once more his hand flew to his hilt.
Rising, I flung the document I had accomplished upon the table.
"Glance first at that," said I.
He stopped to look at me in inquiry, my manner sowing so great a
curiosity in him that his passion was all scattered before it. Then
he stepped up to the table and lifted the paper. As he read, his
hand shook, amazement dilated his eyes and furrowed his brow.
"What - what does it signify?" he gasped.
"It signifies that, although fully conscious of having won, I prefer
to acknowledge that I have lost. I make over to you thus my estates
of Bardelys, because, monsieur, I have come to realize that that
wager was an infamous one - one in which a gentleman should have had
no part - and the only atonement I can make to myself, my honour,
and the lady whom we insulted - is that."
"I do not understand," he complained.
"I apprehend your difficulty, Comte. The point is a nice one. But
understand at least that my Picardy estates are yours. Only,
monsieur, you will be well advised to make your will forthwith, for
you are not destined, yourself, to enjoy them.
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