CHAPTER VIII.

As the clock struck five, Joseph Mohammed entered his master's bedroom, but the latter appeared but little inclined to open his eyes. Joseph, however, knew his duty. If M. de Morin had given an order that he was to be roused at so early an hour, there was evidently something important in the wind, and, consequently, he had no right to sleep. So Mohammed proceeded to pull down the bed-clothes with precisely the same precision with which he had tucked them in.

At the first symptom of cold the young painter showed a disposition to protest against such a brutal proceeding, but his valet, always respectful but firm, said to him—

"I am sure, sir, that you would not wish me to have passed a sleepless night to no purpose."

As this reproach had not the desired effect, Joseph thought himself bound to add—

"When an expedition to Africa is contemplated it is just as well to know how to get out of bed."

This time M. de Morin was convinced. With one bound he was on to the handsome tiger-skin which served him for a carpet; he put on his Eastern slippers, got into his dressing-gown, and went into his dressing-room, which Joseph had lit up to its fullest extent in order to dazzle his master's eyes and complete his awakening. His success was complete, and in five minutes' time M. de Morin had recovered all his gaiety and was hard at work at his toilet, humming the while the very latest air of Offenbach, set to the words of MM. Meilbac and Halevy.

Mohammed, however, did not appear to partake of this light-heartedness. He forgot none of his duties, it is true; he put in the wash-hand basin the proper quantity of _eau de Lubin_, stropped his favourite razor, and at a spirit-lamp warmed the curling-irons for his master's moustaches. But his countenance was gloomy, and his smile sad, and, every now and then, a sigh, but half-suppressed out of respect, escaped from his over-laden heart.

M. de Morin did not condescend to notice this by-play, and his valet, wishing, probably, to attract attention, became somewhat more demonstrative in his grief. At last the young man, whose ears had been saluted by a sigh deeper than usual, asked Joseph what was the matter with him.

"I am broken hearted, sir, broken hearted," was the reply.

"Really? And so you are broken hearted," said M. de Morin, with the utmost indifference, and buttoning his wristbands. "What has happened to you to make you so broken hearted? Have you been giving way to reflection during the night, and has the camel I promised you frightened you?"

"No, sir, it is not the camel which distresses me. I shall welcome that noble animal with open arms. At this moment, sir, I am not thinking of myself; all my thoughts are with you."

"I should not have thought so, Joseph, seeing that you have handed me a pair of black trousers, which, you will admit, are not quite the thing at 5 a.m."

"That depends, sir. In certain momentous circumstances in life black trousers are not to be despised, nor a high waistcoat either which hides the shirt, and does not allow a single spot of white to be seen or to serve as an aim."

This time M. de Morin was completely puzzled.

"What on earth do you mean," he exclaimed, "by your spots of white and your aims? Has the idea of travelling in Africa turned your brain? Put that razor down—you make me nervous."

"Do not be uneasy, sir. My good sense has not deserted me. I should not suffer as I do if I had lost my reason."

"Look here, Joseph. Though I am pretty well accustomed to your eccentricities, you are going a little too far now, and I insist on your explaining yourself, and that without delay. I did not get up at five o'clock in the morning for the sole purpose of giving you an audience."

"Oh! I am not ignorant that you have other affairs on hand, and it is just that which is distressing me."

"And, in your idea, what have I on hand?"

"That is easily guessed, and I am surprised, sir, that you should have imagined that you could keep your plans a secret from me."

"Keep my plans secret!"

"Yes, sir. It would have been very easy to have told me all, and I take the liberty of saying decidedly that my care, my zeal, and my devotion in your service are worthy of this proof of your confidence."

"Do I understand you, then, to imply that I am compelled to tell you where I am going?"

"There is no compulsion, sir. There is no question of any obligation towards me, but you would have only been acting with prudence by claiming my presence in such circumstances as these. I could, at all events, carry the swords or the pistols, keep off the gendarmes, and assist in conveying the wounded one to a carriage."

"Swords! Pistols! Gendarmes! The wounded!" echoed M. de Morin, wondering whether he had not turned prematurely silly. Suddenly he understood it all, and exclaimed—

"I have it I You fancy that I am going to fight a duel."

"What else could I think, sir?" said Joseph, very grave and solemn. "Did you not tell me that you were neither going on a journey, nor out shooting?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Well then, sir, for what other reason than an affair of honour would you leave the house at five o'clock in the morning, contrary to your usual custom and the usages of high life?"

He pronounced the words "high life" with an accent perfectly irresistible, and then went on to say—

"And besides, sir, you told me to fetch your duelling pistols from Devisme's. It is clear, it is more than clear—alas! it is evident."

This evidence apparently struck M. de Morin also, for he at once proceeded to reassure his faithful servant.

"You are mistaken, Joseph," he said, kindly, "and your vivid imagination has led you astray. I got up this morning at five o'clock simply to go to my club, where, for a reason which, with your permission, I will keep to myself, I wish to arrive calm and collected, after a few hours' sleep. You may come with me, if that will ease your mind. As regards my pistols, I desire, in anticipation of this expedition, to practice my shooting every day, and you can take them to the shooting-gallery in the course of the morning. And now that my frank explanations have restored you to your usual serenity, perhaps you will have the goodness to bring in the soup and claret I ordered, and once more resume that engaging manner which becomes you so well."

This last suggestion was superfluous, for a smile was once more visible on Joseph's lips.

A quarter of an hour afterwards M. de Morin ascended the staircase of his club, passed through an entrance hall where two servants lay asleep on the benches, and entered the only room which at that moment was occupied.

It was the room devoted, as in most clubs, to baccarat. Along the walls were to be seen roomy couches, whereon to repose from the excitement of play, and where, when the cards were adverse, the unlucky player could snatch a moment or two of sleep whilst waiting for a change of luck. In one corner was placed a table, at which a confidential servant sat, elevated, so to speak, to the dignity of cashier. His duty was to give the player, on demand, counters of all sorts, sizes, and colours, which were intended to represent certain amounts, from the highest to the lowest. Indeed, in all well conducted clubs, it is not customary to have the tables covered with gold or bank notes. These are represented by counters, or fish, in exchange for which, on the following day, as soon as each loser has paid his losses, the cashier hands over their money value. Gambling debts must be paid, not within forty-eight hours, as is generally understood, but really within a limit of sixty hours. This term passed, the member of the club who has lost his counters, if he has not handed in their corresponding value in money, is subject to a penalty which is termed "being posted" and consists in his name being written up on a board hung in the principal room of the club. This punishment is very rarely carried into effect. The unlucky gambler, who has lost more than he can pay, can generally count upon the forbearance of his creditor, and comes to some arrangement with him. If he does not succeed in doing that, his name, after being posted for a moment only, is rubbed out. He _ipso facto_ no longer belongs to the club, and his reputation is thereby seriously damaged.

These details are necessary in order to comprehend the scene which was on the point of being enacted between M. de Morin and the young doctor, called Delange, whom he had undertaken to secure as a travelling companion in the expedition.

A large oval table, covered with green cloth, and lighted by lamps hung from the ceiling, took up most of the space in the room we have attempted to describe. In the centre sat the player who held the bank for the time being. On either side of him, to the right or left, he dealt the cards to his fellow players, who were thus divided into two groups, or "sides," to use the recognized description. In front of him were several packs of cards which, when they had been once used, he threw into a sort of leathern bowl placed on the table.

As M. de Morin entered this baccarat room some half-a-score players were commencing another set, and by them his arrival was noisily welcomed.

"Holloa! de Morin, come along! Where do you spring from at this hour? A supper party, of course. Fearful depravity! Your family must be communicated with, and asked to interfere. A splendid game, my dear fellow. Not many of us, it is true, but all of the right sort. Come along and take a hand. Sit by me and bring me luck."

At such an hour a new-comer was a god-send, and the heartiness of the welcome given to M. de Morin had, in reality, nothing personal about it. The winners, anxious to get away with their winnings, but hesitating to leave lest their departure should be too noticeable, were delighted at the arrival of a recruit ready to take their place, and the losers, on the other hand, interested in prolonging the game so that they might have a chance of recouping themselves, were jubilant over the increase to their number, and with that superstition inherent in all gamblers, trusted that the new arrival would turn the tide of fortune in their favour.

M. de Morin, having by a glance satisfied himself that M. Delange, true to his habits, was seated at the baccarat table, secured a supply of counters to the amount of five thousand francs, and, as the bank was up and nobody seemed anxious for it, took it himself.