The uhlan listened attentively to the story about the robbers, but when a pause came he rose and quietly ordered cards to be brought. The fat landowner was the first to speak out.
‘Well, gentlemen, why lose precious time? If we mean business let’s begin.’
‘Yes, you walked off with a pile of half-rubles last night so you like it,’ said the Greek.
‘I think we might start,’ said the garrison officer.
Ilyín looked at Lúkhnov. Lúkhnov looking him in the eye quietly continued his story about robbers dressed up like devils with claws.
‘Will you keep the bank?’ asked the uhlan.
‘Isn’t it too early?’
‘Belóv!’ shouted the uhlan, blushing for some unknown reason, ‘bring me some dinner – I haven’t had anything to eat yet, gentlemen – and a bottle of champagne and some cards.’
At this moment the count and Zavalshévski entered the room. It turned out that Túrbin and Ilyín belonged to the same division. They took to one another at once, clinked glasses, drank champagne together, and were on intimate terms in five minutes. The count seemed to like Ilyín very much; he looked smilingly at him and teased him about his youth.
‘There’s an uhlan of the right sort!’ he said. ‘What moustaches! Dear me, what moustaches!’
Even what little down there was on Ilyín’s lip was quite white.
‘I suppose you are going to play?’ said the count: ‘Well, I wish you luck, Ilyín! I should think you are a master at it,’ he added with a smile.
‘Yes, they mean to start,’ said Lúkhnov, tearing open a bundle of a dozen packs of cards, ‘and you’ll join in too, Count, won’t you?’
‘No, not to-day. I should clear you all out if I did. When I begin “cornering” in earnest the bank begins to crack! But I have nothing to play with – I was cleaned out at a station near Volochók. I met some infantry fellow there with rings on his fingers – a sharper I should think – and he plucked me clean.’
‘Why, did you stay at that station long?’ asked Ilyín.
‘I sat there for twenty-two hours. I shan’t forget that accursed station! And the superintendent won’t forget me either …’
‘How’s that?’
‘I drive up, you know; out rushes the superintendent looking a regular brigand. “No horses!” says he. Now I must tell you that it’s my rule, if there are no horses I don’t take off my fur cloak but go into the superintendent’s own room – not into the public room but into his private room – and I have all the doors and windows opened on the ground that it’s smoky. Well, that’s just what I did there. You remember what frosts we had last month? About twenty degrees!10 The superintendent began to argue, I punched his head. There was an old woman there, and girls and other women; they kicked up a row, snatched up their pots and pans and were rushing off to the village.… I went to the door and said, “Let me have horses and I’ll be off. If not, no one shall go out: I’ll freeze you all!” ’
‘That’s an infernally good plan!’ said the puffy squire, rolling with laughter. ‘It’s the way they freeze out cockroaches …’
‘But I didn’t watch carefully enough and the superintendent got away with the women. Only one old woman remained in pawn on the top of the stove; she kept sneezing and saying her prayers. Afterwards we began negotiating: the superintendent came and from a distance began persuading me to let the old woman go, but I set Blücher at him a bit. Blücher’s splendid at tackling superintendents! But still the rascal didn’t let me have horses until the next morning. Meanwhile that infantry fellow came along. I joined him in another room, and we began to play. You have seen Blücher?… Blücher!…’ and he gave a whistle.
Blücher rushed in, and the players condescendingly paid some attention to him though it was evident that they wished to attend to quite other matters.
‘But why don’t you play, gentlemen? Please don’t let me prevent you. I am a chatterbox, you see,’ said Túrbin. ‘Play is play whether one likes it or not.’
III
LÚKHNOV drew two candles nearer to him, took out a large brown pocket-book full of paper money, and slowly, as if performing some rite, opened it on the table, took out two one-hundred ruble notes and placed them under the cards.
‘Two hundred for the bank, the same as yesterday,’ said he, adjusting his spectacles and opening a pack of cards.
‘Very well,’ said Ilyín, continuing his conversation with Túrbin without looking at Lúknov.
The game11 started. Lúkhnov dealt the cards with machine-like precision, stopping now and then and deliberately jotting something down, or looking sternly over his spectacles and saying in low tones, ‘Pass up!’ The fat landowner spoke louder than anyone else, audibly deliberating with himself and wetting his plump fingers when he turned down the corner of a card. The garrison officer silently and neatly noted the amount of his stake on his card and bent down small corners under the table. The Greek sat beside the banker watching the game attentively with his sunken black eyes, and seemed to be waiting for something. Zavalshévski standing by the table would suddenly begin to fidget all over, take a red or blue bank-note12 out of his trouser pocket, lay a card on it, slap it with his palm and say: ‘Little seven, pull me through!’ Then he would bite his moustache, shift from foot to foot, and keep fidgeting till his card was dealt. Ilyín sat eating veal and pickled cucumbers, which were placed beside him on the horsehair sofa, and hastily wiping his hands on his coat laid down one card after another. Túrbin, who at first was sitting on the sofa, quickly saw how matters stood. Lúkhnov did not look at or speak to Ilyín, only now and then his spectacles would turn for a moment towards the latter’s hand, but most of Ilyín’s cards lost.
‘There now, I’d like to beat that card,’ said Lúkhnov of a card the fat landowner, who was staking half-rubles, had put down.
‘You beat Ilyín’s, never mind me!’ remarked the squire.
And indeed Ilyín’s cards lost more often than any of the others. He would tear up the losing card nervously under the table and choose another with trembling fingers. Túrbin rose from the sofa and asked the Greek to let him sit by the banker. The Greek moved to another place, the count took his chair and began watching Lúkhnov’s hands attentively, not taking his eyes off them.
‘Ilyín!’ he suddenly said in his usual voice, which quite unintentionally drowned all the others. ‘Why do you keep to a routine? You don’t know how to play.’
‘It’s all the same how one plays.’
‘But you’re sure to lose that way. Let me play for you.’
‘No, please excuse me. I always do it myself. Play for yourself if you like.’
‘I said I should not play for myself, but I should like to play for you. I am vexed that you are losing.’
‘I suppose it’s my fate.’
The count was silent, but leaning on his elbows he again gazed intently at the banker’s hands.
‘Abominable!’ he suddenly said in a loud, long-drawn tone.
Lúkhnov glanced at him.
‘Abominable, quite abominable!’ he repeated still louder, looking straight into Lúkhnov’s eyes.
The game continued.
‘It is not right!’ Túrbin remarked again, just as Lúkhnov beat a heavily-backed card of Ilyín’s.
‘What is it you don’t like, Count?’ inquired the banker with polite indifference.
‘This! – that you let Ilyín win his simples and beat his corners. That’s what’s bad.’
Lúkhnov made a slight movement with his brows and shoulders, expressing the advisability of submitting to fate in everything, and continued to play.
‘Blücher!’ shouted the count, rising and whistling to the dog. ‘At him!’ he added quickly.