There was a card party at the rooms of Narumoff, a lieutenant in the
Horse Guards. A long winter night had passed unnoticed, and it was five
o’clock in the morning when supper was served. The winners sat down to
table with an excellent appetite; the losers let their plates remain
empty before them. Little by little, however, with the assistance of
the champagne, the conversation became animated, and was shared by all.
“How did you get on this evening, Surin?” said the host to one of his
“Oh, I lost, as usual. I really have no luck. I play _mirandole_. You
know that I keep cool. Nothing moves me; I never change my play, and
yet I always lose.”
“Do you mean to say that all the evening you did not once back the red?
Your firmness of character surprises me.”
“What do you think of Hermann?” said one of the party, pointing to a
young Engineer officer.
“That fellow never made a bet or touched a card in his life, and yet he
watches us playing until five in the morning.”
“It interests me,” said Hermann; “but I am not disposed to risk the
necessary in view of the superfluous.”
“Hermann is a German, and economical; that is the whole of the secret,”
cried Tomski. “But what is really astonishing is the Countess Anna
“How so?” asked several voices.
“Have you not remarked,” said Tomski, “that she never plays?”
“Yes,” said Narumoff, “a woman of eighty, who never touches a card;
that is indeed something extraordinary!”
“You do not know why?”
“No; is there a reason for it?”
“Just listen. My grandmother, you know, some sixty years ago, went to
Paris, and became the rage there. People ran after her in the streets,
and called her the ‘Muscovite Venus.’ Richelieu made love to her, and
my grandmother makes out that, by her rigorous demeanour, she almost
drove him to suicide. In those days women used to play at faro. One
evening at the court she lost, on _parole,_ to the Duke of Orleans,
a very considerable sum. When she got home, my grandmother removed
her beauty spots, took off her hoops, and in this tragic costume went
to my grandfather, told him of her misfortune, and asked him for the
money she had to pay. My grandfather, now no more, was, so to say, his
wife’s steward. He feared her like fire; but the sum she named made him
leap into the air. He flew into a rage, made a brief calculation, and
proved to my grandmother that in six months she had got through half a
million rubles. He told her plainly that he had no villages to sell in
Paris, his domains being situated in the neighbourhood of Moscow and
of Saratoff; and finally refused point blank. You may imagine the fury
of my grandmother. She boxed his ears, and passed the night in another
[Illustration: “THE OLD MAGICIAN CAME AT ONCE.”]
“The next day she returned to the charge. For the first time in her
life, she condescended to arguments and explanations. In vain did she
try to prove to her husband that there were debts and debts, and that
she could not treat a prince of the blood like her coachmaker.
“All this eloquence was lost. My grandfather was inflexible. My
grandmother did not know where to turn. Happily she was acquainted with
a man who was very celebrated at this time. You have heard of the Count
of St. Germain, about whom so many marvellous stories were told. You
know that he passed for a sort of Wandering Jew, and that he was said
to possess an elixir of life and the philosopher’s stone.
“Some people laughed at him as a charlatan. Casanova, in his memoirs,
says that he was a spy. However that may be, in spite of the mystery of
his life, St. Germain was much sought after in good society, and was
really an agreeable man. Even to this day my grandmother has preserved
a genuine affection for him, and she becomes quite angry when anyone
speaks of him with disrespect.
“It occurred to her that he might be able to advance the sum of which
she was in need, and she wrote a note begging him to call. The old
magician came at once, and found her plunged in the deepest despair.
In two or three words she told him everything; related to him her
misfortune and the cruelty of her husband, adding that she had no hope
except in his friendship and his obliging disposition.
“‘Madam,’ said St. Germain, after a few moments’ reflection, ‘I could
easily advance you the money you want, but I am sure that you would
have no rest until you had repaid me, and I do not want to get you out
of one trouble in order to place you in another. There is another way
of settling the matter. You must regain the money you have lost.’
“‘But, my dear friend,’ answered my grandmother, ‘I have already told
you that I have nothing left.’
“‘That does not matter,’ answered St. Germain. ‘Listen to me, and I
“He then communicated to her a secret which any of you would, I am
sure, give a good deal to possess.”
All the young officers gave their full attention. Tomski stopped to
light his Turkish pipe, swallowed a mouthful of smoke, and then went on.
“That very evening my grandmother went to Versailles to play at the
Queen’s table. The Duke of Orleans held the bank. My grandmother
invented a little story by way of excuse for not having paid her debt,
and then sat down at the table, and began to stake. She took three
cards. She won with the first; doubled her stake on the second, and won
again; doubled on the third, and still won.”
“Mere luck!” said one of the young officers.
“What a tale!” cried Hermann.
“Were the cards marked?” said a third.
“I don’t think so,” replied Tom ski, gravely.
“And you mean to say,” exclaimed Narumoff, “that you have a grandmother
who knows the names of three winning cards, and you have never made her
tell them to you?”
“That is the very deuce of it,” answered Tomski. “She had three sons,
of whom my father was one; all three were determined gamblers, and not
one of them was able to extract her secret from her, though it would
have been of immense advantage to them, and to me also. Listen to what
my uncle told me about it, Count Ivan Ilitch, and he told me on his
word of honour.
“Tchaplitzki–the one you remember who died in poverty after devouring
millions–lost one day, when he was a young man, to Zoritch about three
hundred thousand roubles. He was in despair. My grandmother, who had no
mercy for the extravagance of young men, made an exception–I do not
know why–in favour of Tchaplitzki. She gave him three cards, telling
him to play them one after the other, and exacting from him at the same
time his word of honour that he would never afterwards touch a card as
long as he lived. Accordingly Tchaplitzki went to Zoritch and asked for
his revenge. On the first card he staked fifty thousands rubles. He
won, doubled the stake, and won again. Continuing his system he ended
by gaining more than he had lost.
“But it is six o’clock! It is really time to go to bed.”
Everyone emptied his glass and the party broke up.