Servigny nodded and said: "At your disposal, my dear boy."

The dancers elbowed them aside, as they were forming for a
quadrille.

"Now let us go and see the sharpers," said Servigny. And they
entered the gambling-room.

Around each table stood a group of men, looking on. There was very
little conversation. At times the clink of gold coins, tossed upon
the green cloth or hastily seized, added its sound to the murmur of
the players, just as if the money was putting in its word among the
human voices.

All the men were decorated with various orders, and odd ribbons, and
they all wore the same severe expression, with different
countenances. The especially distinguishing feature was the beard.

The stiff American with his horseshoe, the haughty Englishman with
his fan-beard open on his breast, the Spaniard with his black fleece
reaching to the eyes, the Roman with that huge mustache which Italy
copied from Victor Emmanuel, the Austrian with his whiskers and
shaved chin, a Russian general whose lip seemed armed with two
twisted lances, and a Frenchman with a dainty mustache, displayed
the fancies of all the barbers in the world.

"You won't join the game?" asked Servigny.

"No, shall you?"