Let him who stands not by his honour fall by the sword."
"And you invoke that sentence if either of us fail his word? Be it so; let Signor Mascari cast for us."
"Well said! — Mascari, the dice!"
The Prince threw himself back in his chair; and, world-hardened as he was, could not suppress the glow of triumph and satisfaction that spread itself over his features. Mascari took up the three dice, and rattled them noisily in the box. Zanoni, leaning his cheek on his hand, and bending over the table, fixed his eyes stedfastly on the parasite; Mascari in vain struggled to extricate himself from that searching gaze: he grew pale, and trembled — he put down the box.
"I give the first throw to your Excellency. Signor Mascari, be pleased to terminate our suspense."
Again Mascari took up the box; again his hand shook, so that the dice rattled within. He threw; the numbers were sixteen.
"It is a high throw," said Zanoni, calmly; "nevertheless, Signor Mascari, I do not despond."
Mascari gathered up the dice, shook the box, and rolled the contents once more on the table: the number was the highest that can be thrown — eighteen.
The Prince darted a glance of fire at his minion, who stood with gaping mouth, staring at the dice, and trembling from head to foot.
"I have won, you see," said Zanoni; "may we be friends still?"
"Signor," said the Prince, obviously struggling with
