So as somehow to get away from his self-torturing, introspective dialogue, Laszlo got up and moved slowly over to the card-table. Near Arzenovics there was an empty chair and pulling it slightly away from the table, Laszlo sat down, putting his glass, now filled with neat brandy, on a small table beside him. Thinking that it might distract his thoughts, he called for a float of twenty hundred-crown chips, deciding that he would place just an occasional side bet to keep himself amused.
‘Won’t you join us?’ asked Wuelffenstein who, since Laszlo started gambling, had quite changed towards him and now courted his friendship.
‘Not today,’ said Laszlo, and to soften the effect of a curt refusal, he explained: ‘You see, today I have a superstitious feeling — a presentiment — that I should only bet on the side!’
Occasionally, therefore, he threw in a chip or two. It was an excellent narcotic as he had to pay attention and at least notice if he won or lost. Gradually he became calmer and, as he did so, his little store of chips vanished from the table in front of him. Then, after several big ‘hits’, a big bank came up which the ponte could not quite cover.
‘Two more thousand will do it!’ said the banker, confident of his luck. This was just the sum the Laszlo had lost. It’s fate, he thought, if I win this I’ll break even. So he spoke up: ‘Je reste.’
Cards were dealt and the banker won. Laszlo signalled to the steward to bring him the rest of his credit. After a short time this, too, had gone and then he ordered a further five thousand crowns’ worth of chips for which someone willingly offered to countersign. From this float he continued to play, throwing in a chip here and there when an occasion arose — but now his bets were rarely less than five hundred or a thousand.
I’m not breaking my promise, Laszlo said to himself reassuringly; after all, I’m not touching the cards, only betting as one does at the races!
But nothing went right. The five thousand soon disappeared, and so did another, and now Laszlo, as he never had before, started ‘chasing his money’. Previously he had always taken his wins and his losses calmly and philosophically, unmoved by either good or bad luck; but now he became stubbornly determined to win, recklessly plunging, because of the bitterness in his soul — or perhaps because the quantity of alcohol that he had put away had removed all sense of moderation. He would win it back, he would!
When Laszlo’s losses had nearly reached fifteen thousand crowns, Pray called across the table:
‘Your presentiment has hardly been a lucky one tonight, friend Laszlo!’ he said, winking slyly, for there was nothing he liked more than teasing the other players and turning the knife in their wounds. Laszlo did not reply, but poured himself another large glass of brandy which he drank down at once. Outwardly he appeared in perfect control, but inside he was not himself. What stupidity, he was thinking, to stay out of the game, losing money on other men’s bet! No one can win like this, making side bets on the bad luck of others: only the man who holds the bank can win. This was idiotic, quite idiotic…
Well, he’d join the game properly. Just this once, he’d explain to Klara, just this once. He’d explain it so that she’d understand …
Laszlo asked for more credit and changed the few thousands he had in his pocket as well. When the cards came his way he called out: ‘Passe le main!’
As he did so he was shaken by the overpowering thought that he should desist, that this was something he must not do. But the magic words had been spoken and once said, no one should back out. If he got up now the others would laugh at him — and his fifteen thousand crowns would be gone forever.
It was four in the morning when Laszlo joined the game, and at this hour even the most faithful of the onlookers who had passed an agreeable evening being horrified at the scale of the high play in front of them, were beginning to drift away and make for their beds. They left well satisfied, knowing that they would have plenty to talk about in the morning, deploring, with great indignation, what the world was coming to. Naturally they disapproved; it sounded better that way.
Laszlo played deliberately, paying great attention to whoever seemed to have the run of the cards and where the taille was leading. He had never watched the game with such care and in less than half an hour he had won back all his previous losses and some ten thousand crowns more. He then rose and left the table without a word.
That night Laszlo walked home as dawn was breaking filled with a sense of triumph as he told himself he had defied Fate and crushed that infamous goddess. He would show them, he said to himself, with all the arrogance born of a skinful of brandy, he would show them!
As he walked he thought also of his broken promise to Klara. Well, Klara was just worried about him. She was as timid and fearful as women were so apt to be; that was the only reason she had exacted that tiresome little promise. There was nothing to fear — women never understood these things. He would explain that anyone who really knew how to play had nothing to fear. And that he, Laszlo, did know, was proved by what had happened that night.
He would explain, and Klara would see reason. Of course she would see reason, even if she worried a little; and it didn’t matter much if a girl worried a little over one …
Klara had spent the four days since the King’s Cup Race in a frame of mind quite different from Laszlo’s. She, too, was deeply upset by their separation and, as they had seen each other daily for several months, she missed his presence beside her. However, since her childhood she had become accustomed to having her life ruled by other people and accepted that it was they who decided what she did each day, who escorted her when she went out, watched over her and protected her. It was obvious to Klara that her stepmother was determined to keep her away from any chance of meeting Laszlo, and so the excursions and picnics, the visits to country houses, and indeed all those plans that were kept secret from her until the last minute so that she could not send word to Laszlo, merely made her smile in pity. All this trouble that Mama Agnes took, all this cunning lavished on secret telephone calls and private little messages. It was all so futile! What did it matter if she didn’t see Laszlo for a few days or even a few weeks? After all he had given up gambling and one day, be it sooner or later, she would stand before her father and confront him with the fact. And then, whatever had gone before, she would have won. For Klara, Laszlo’s promise was like a buried treasure whose whereabouts only she knew, for only she knew of its existence, and, as a result, no one could steal it from her. This knowledge kept Klara calm and happy and so, while she docilely followed Princess Kollonich to all these elaborately planned expeditions, she did so with a secret smile and almost pitied her as she dutifully did what she was told.
The fate of the little maid, which had so affected Laszlo, hardly touched Klara at all since she never knew what had happened. One day she was dressed by Fräulein Schulze and when Klara asked where Ilus was the German maid replied casually: ‘Sie müsste nachHausegehen — she had to go home.’ And Klara, who knew so little about the girl who had served her daily for so many years, assumed that her parents had sent for her. It did not seem very nice of the girl to leave without saying goodbye, thought Klara, but then she dismissed the idea, reflecting that perhaps someone had died and that the girl had had to leave in a hurry. She did not worry about it, thinking that sooner or later she would be back.