the sparkling of the diamonds admirably masked those motions of his
fingers which needed to be masked; they almost insensibly drew away
the eyes of the players from his fingers, and this was most of all
what Sergei Kovroff desired.

Round the table about thirty guests were gathered. Some of them sat,
but most of them played standing, with anxious faces, feverishly
sparkling eyes, and breathing heavily and unevenly. Some were pale,
some flushed, and all watched with passionate eagerness the fall of
the cards. There were also some who had perfect command of themselves,
distinguished by extraordinary coolness, and jesting lightly whether
they lost or won. But such happily constituted natures are always a
minority when high play is going on.

Silence reigned in the Inferno. There was almost no conversation; only
once in a while was heard a remark, in a whisper or an undertone,
addressed by a player to his neighbor; the only sound was that short,
dry rustle of the cards and the crackling of new bank notes, or the
tinkle of gold coins making their way round the table from the bank to
the players, and from the players back to the bank.

The two Princes Shadursky, father and son, both lost heavily. They sat
opposite Sergei Kovroff, and between them sat Baroness von Döring, who
played in alliance with them. The clever Natasha egged them on,
kindling their excitement with all the skill and calculation possible
to one whose blood was as cold as the blood of a fish, and both the
Shadurskys had lost their heads, no longer knowing how much they were
losing.