he rose late, and as he was lounging over his breakfast, entered lord bagshot and the baron. already the young duke began to experience one of the gamester’s curses, the intrusive society of those of whom you are ashamed. eight-and-forty hours ago, lord bagshot would no more have dared to call on the duke of st. james than to call at the pavilion; and now, with that reckless want of tact which marks the innately vulgar, he seemed to triumph in their unhallowed intimacy, and lounging into his grace’s apartment with that half-shuffling, hair-swaggering air indicative of the ‘cove,’ hat cocked, and thumbs in his great-coat pockets, cast his complacent eye around, and praised his grace’s ‘rooms.’ lord bagshot, who for the occasional notice of the duke of st. james had been so long a ready and patient butt, now appeared to assume a higher character, and addressed his friend in a tone and manner which were authorised by the equality of their rank and the sympathy of their tastes. if this change had taken place in the conduct of the viscount, it was not a singular one. the duke also, to his surprise, found himself addressing his former butt in a very different style from that which he had assumed in the ballroom of doncaster. in vain he tried to rally, in vain he tried to snub. it was indeed in vain. he no longer possessed any right to express his contempt of his companion. that contempt, indeed, he still felt. he despised lord bagshot still, but he also despised himself.
the soft and silky baron was a different sort of personage; but there was something sinister in all his elaborate courtesy and highly artificial manner, which did not touch the feelings of the duke, whose courtesy was but the expression of his noble feelings, and whose grace was only the impulse of his rich and costly blood. baron de berghem was too attentive, and too deferential. he smiled and bowed too much. he made no allusion to the last night’s scene, nor did his tutored companion, but spoke of different and lighter subjects, in a manner which at once proved his experience of society, the liveliness of his talents, and the cultivation of his taste. he told many stories, all short and poignant, and always about princes and princesses. whatever was broached, he always had his apropos of vienna, and altogether seemed an experienced, mild, tolerant man of the world, not bigoted to any particular opinions upon any subject, but of a truly liberal and philosophic mind.
when they had sat chatting for half-an-hour, the baron developed the object of his visit, which was to endeavour to obtain the pleasure of his grace’s company at dinner, to taste some wild boar and try some tokay. the duke, who longed again for action, accepted the invitation; and then they parted.
our hero was quite surprised at the feverish anxiety with which he awaited the hour of union. he thought that seven o’clock would never come. he had no appetite at breakfast, and after that he rode, but luncheon was a blank. in the midst of the operation, he found himself in a brown study, calculating chances. all day long his imagination had been playing hazard, or rouge et noir. once he thought that he had discovered an infallible way of winning at the latter. on the long run, he was convinced it must answer, and he panted to prove it.
seven o’clock at last arrived, and he departed to brunswick terrace. there was a brilliant party to meet him: the same set as last night, but select. he was faint, and did justice to the cuisine of his host, which was indeed remarkable. when we are drinking a man’s good wine, it is difficult to dislike him. prejudice decreases with every draught. his grace began to think the baron as good-hearted as agreeable. he was grateful for the continued attentions of old castlefort, who, he now found out, had been very well acquainted with his father, and once even made a trip to spa with him. lord dice he could not manage to endure, though that worthy was, for him, remarkably courteous, and grinned with his parchment face, like a good-humoured ghoul. temple grace and the duke became almost intimate. there was an amiable candour in that gentleman’s address, a softness in his tones, and an unstudied and extremely interesting delicacy in his manner, which in this society was remarkable. tom cogit never presumed to come near the young duke, but paid him constant attention. he sat at the bottom of the table, and was ever sending a servant with some choice wine, or recommending him, through some third person, some choice dish. it is pleasant to be ‘made much of,’ as shakspeare says, even by scoundrels. to be king of your company is a poor ambition, yet homage is homage, and smoke is smoke, whether it come out of the chimney of a palace or of a workhouse.
the banquet was not hurried. though all wished it finished, no one liked to appear urgent. it was over at last, and they walked up-stairs, where the tables were arranged for all parties, and all play. tom cogit went up a few minutes before them, like the lady of the mansion, to review the lights, and arrange the cards. feminine tom cogit!
the events of to-night were much the same as of the preceding one. the duke was a loser, but his losses were not considerable. he retired about the same hour, with a head not so hot, or heavy: and he never looked at the moon, or thought of may dacre. the only wish that reigned in his soul was a longing for another opportunity, and he had agreed to dine with the baron, before he left brunswick terrace.
thus passed a week, one night the duke of st. james redeeming himself, another falling back to his old position, now pushing on to madrid, now recrossing the tagus. on the whole, he had lost four or five thousand pounds, a mere trifle to what, as he had heard, had been lost and gained by many of his companions during only the present season. on the whole, he was one of the most moderate of these speculators, generally played at the large table, and never joined any of those private coteries, some of which he had observed, and of some of which he had heard. yet this was from no prudential resolve or temperate resolution. the young duke was heartily tired of the slight results of all his anxiety, hopes, and plans, and ardently wished for some opportunity of coming to closer and more decided action. the baron also had resolved that an end should be put to this skirmishing; but he was a calm head, and never hurried anything.
‘i hope your grace has been lucky to-night!’ said the baron one evening, strolling up to the duke: ‘as for myself, really, if dice goes on playing, i shall give up banking. that fellow must have a talisman. i think he has broken more banks than any man living. the best thing he did of that kind was the roulette story at paris. you have heard of that?’
‘was that lord dice?’
‘oh yes! he does everything. he must have cleared his hundred thousand last year. i have suffered a good deal since i have been in england. castlefort has pulled in a great deal of my money. i wonder to whom he will leave his property?’
‘you think him rich?’
‘oh! he will cut up large!’ said the baron, elevating his eyebrows. ‘a pleasant man too! i do not know any man that i would sooner play with than castlefort; no one who loses his money with better temper.’
‘or wins it,’ said his grace.
‘that we all do,’ said the baron, faintly laughing. ‘your grace has lost, and you do not seem particularly dull. you will have your revenge. those who lose at first are always the children of fortune. i always dread a man who loses at first. all i beg is, that you will not break my bank.’
‘why! you see i am not playing now.’ ‘i am not surprised. there is too much heat and noise here,’ said he. ‘we will have a quiet dinner some day, and play at our ease. come tomorrow, and i will ask castlefort and dice. i should uncommonly like, entre nous, to win some of their money. i will take care that nobody shall be here whom you would not like to meet. by-the-bye, whom were you riding with this morning? fine woman!’
