"I prefer finishing the game as I commenced it. I have always remarked that I have more luck when there is no one by."
The cavalier was too much of a gamester himself not to see at once the full force of my scruples, and, turning to his companion, said, ""Tis as well as it is. Time presses. We must part here, although, if I have time, you may trust on my rejoining you at the fandango of Manantial; still, to speak truth, if certain infallible signs do not deceive me, the north wind will not be long in beginning to blow."
"To-morrow, then, if it is possible," answered the Jarocho; and the two cavaliers separated, the first following the direct road, while the horseman in the Indian robe took a path on the left.
"What the devil has the north wind to do with a fandango in a little village?" I asked, mechanically, of my valet.
"The cavalier in the Indian robe is perhaps afraid of catching cold," said Cecilio, with an affected air.
After this absurd explanation, we again began the game which had been so unexpectedly interrupted. I once more drew two cards out of the pack. One was the sota de bastos (knave of clubs). Cecilio chose it. I shuffled the cards this time with a trembling hand. My heart beat. Perhaps I was going to lose the daily companion of five long years. Cecilio wiped away the sweat which ran in streams down his forehead. Suddenly he uttered a cry which pierced to my innermost core. I was just turning up the knave of hearts.
"You have lost, sir!" cried he.
At these words, spoken in good French, I regarded Cecilio with mute surprise. He, meanwhile, stepping
