Midnight was approaching.

The baroness's rooms were brilliantly lit up, but, thanks to the thick
curtains which covered the windows, the lights could not be seen from
the street, though several carriages were drawn up along the sidewalk.

Opening into the elegant drawing-room was a not less elegant card
room, appreciatively nicknamed the Inferno by the band. In it stood a
large table with a green cloth, on which lay a heap of bank notes and
two little piles of gold, before which sat Sergei Antonovitch Kovroff,
presiding over the bank with the composure of a true gentleman.

What Homeric, Jovine calm rested on every feature of his face! What
charming, fearless self-assurance, what noble self-confidence in his
smile, in his glance! What grace, what distinction in his pose, and
especially in the hand which dealt the cards! Sergei Kovroff's hands
were decidedly worthy of attention. They were almost always clad in
new gloves, which he only took off on special occasions, at dinner, or
when he had some writing to do, or when he sat down to a game of
cards. As a result, his hands were almost feminine in their delicacy,
the sensibility of the finger tips had reached an extraordinary degree
of development, equal to that of one born blind. And those fingers
were skillful, adroit, alert, their every movement carried out with
that smooth, indefinable grace which is almost always possessed by the
really high-class card sharper. His fingers were adorned with numerous
rings, in which sparkled diamonds and other precious stones. And it
was not for nothing that Sergei Kovroff took pride in them! This
glitter of diamonds, scattering rainbow rays, dazzled the eyes of his
fellow players. When Sergei Kovroff sat down to preside over the bank,