“So now I say,” went on Dunwody, “here is that same situation, twice in one lifetime!  It’s ominous, for somebody.  There is trouble in the air, for some or all of us.  But I say I offer you fair play, even, man to man.  I ask no questions.  I will not take any answers, any more than those two would have allowed any, that day on the train there, when they played, ten years or more ago.  That was a foreign woman.  So is this, I think.  She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.  I have looked her in the face.  I shall never see such another face again.  Man, I’m mad over her.  And you’ve just said you’d loose your hold on her, whatever it is—­for her sake.  By God! once my hold was on her, she never should get away—­again.”

“What do you propose?” asked the other hoarsely.

“I propose only to offer you that same game over again!” replied Dunwody.  “Man, what an uncanny thing this is!  But, remember one thing,—­no matter what comes, I shall never mention our meeting here.  I am not your keeper.”

“Sir,” broke out the other, “you embarrass me unspeakably.  You do not know the circumstances.  I can not tell—­”

“Pardon me, I make no taunts, and I have said I tell no tales.  But my word of honor, man,—­I will play you,—­two out of three, to see—­who takes her.”  His voice was low, tense, savage.

The younger man sat back in his chair.  One knowing his tempestuous nature might have expected anger, consternation, resentment, to remain on his face.  On the contrary, a sudden light seemed to come into his countenance.  Suddenly he stifled a smile!  He passed a hand across his brow, as though to assure himself.  It was not so much confidence or resolution as half deliberation which shone in his eye as he cast a glance upon the heap of money on the opposite side of the table.  Yet no sordid thought, no avarice was in his gaze.  It was the look of the fanatic, the knight errant, resolved upon deed of risk or sacrifice for sake of a woman’s wish; but with it was the amusement of a man who foresaw that difficulties lay ahead of him who essayed the role of jailer to Josephine, Countess St. Auban.  What now passed across his countenance, little by little, therefore, was relief, relaxation from a strain, a solution of some doubtful problem.  In brief, there seemed offered to him now the opportunity to terminate an errand which suddenly had grown distasteful to him and dangerous both to him and to his charge.  At one stroke he might secure for himself riddance of the company of an embarrassing companion who already had served notice of her intention to desert him; and might also keep silent this man, whom she had asked for aid.  As for him, she would take his measure quickly enough if he presumed in any way.  Would not the purpose of his journey have been accomplished, might not he himself return to his work, would not each of these three have been served to his or her own liking, should now the suggestion of this eager man be accepted?  If he won at the cards, why then—­if he lost—­but that he resolved not to do!  The greatest misfortune possible, to his perplexed soul, was that the cards should not be against him.  As he reflected upon these things, he hesitated.  It was but to gain time.