The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1896-09-30
At a Game of Baccarat.

The last chapters in the "Recollectlons
of Alphonse Daudet" (now just published
by the Macmillan house, are devoted to
1.-THE Provinces" An adventure in a
country club is related with especial hui
NOR and vividness. He paints for us the
club members, some twenty stoHdly built
mountaineers, in new gloves vast shirt
fronts, open collars and some faint at
tempts at hair curling a la Russo, which
made them all look like great Over-colored
dolls. They aped the manners as weh
as the dress of the blase Parsans 1T
was worth while to see these lusty fellows
greeting one another with langud How
are you, old mann sink down on the d.
vans in attitudes of the utmost detection,
stretch themselves in front of the mir
rorS, and say with strong rustic accent,
Life's a swindle! Everythings bore )"
Suddenly there appeared upon the scene
a real Partisan dandy, the younger duke
of NJ, who had just managed to get
through the last million but one of the
parental fortunes, and had been sent TO
rusticate by his alarmed guardians. Il
understand at once all the languishing
airs of these provincial youths the dis
play of shirt fronts, the pretentious pro-
nunciation; the model was before my
eyes.
A game of baccarat was started.
AnlOiiB the BldySIS WIS Ollc III PAL llCuldI
who interested me. He was a tall, over
grown youth, with the big, good-natured
face of a bearded child, simple. unpublished
and primitive, notwithstanding all his
Demidoff curls, on whose open counte-
nance every passing emotion was easy to
read. This lad lost continually. Two or
three times / noticed him rise from the
table and leave the room quickly then
after few minutes he would return to
his place. red and perspiring, and l said
to myself: You have been to your mother
or sisters with some pitiful tale to get
money from them The fact is that each
time the poor devil returned with full
pockets and resumed play with redoubled
fury. But luck was persstently against
him. He lost, he lost necessarily. 1 felt
him to be trembling no longer having
even the power to put a good face upon
misfortune. AS each card fell, he dug his
nails into the wooden cloth; it was heart
rending.
"And then the end came. There was
violent blow of the fist upon the table.
The unfortunate wretch had lost every
thing" There was no one left now save
the duke and the loser. AS he gazed at
the former, picking up the gold pieces
scattered on the cloth, the rustic rose with
a terrible cry D
MY money! Good Godl Give me back
my money!
linen, ike the cnllu ne was, ne began TO
sob: "Give it back to mel Give II back to
me!' He lisped no longer now. His nat
ural voice had returned to him; affect
ing as that of all strong beings to whom
tears come rarely and when they come
are a true suffering. Colby, cynically,
his adversary watched him without NOV
ing a muscle. Then the poor fellow went
down on his knees and said quite low
in a voice that trembled: That money
was not mine. l stole it. My father left
it with me to meet a BILL"
Suffocated by shame, he could say no
more.
cat the first mention of stolen money
the duke had arisen. A faint animation
glowed in his cheeks. The head assum-
ed an expression of pride which became
him well. He emptied his pockets on
the table, and, himself dropping for
moment his dandys mask, he said, in
kind and natural voice: Take 1t back,
you idiot Did you suppose we were play
ing in earnest?
Il could have Rugged the true gentle
mani"