“But it was all in vain, my grandfather still remained obdurate.  But the matter did not rest there.  My grandmother did not know what to do.  She had shortly before become acquainted with a very remarkable man.  You have heard of Count St. Germain, about whom so many marvelous stories are told.  You know that he represented himself as the Wandering Jew, as the discoverer of the elixir of life, of the philosopher’s stone, and so forth.  Some laughed at him as a charlatan; but Casnova, in his memoirs, says that he was a spy.  But be that as it may, St. Germain, in spite of the mystery surrounding him, was a very fascinating person, and was much sought after in the best circles of society.  Even to this day my grandmother retains an affectionate recollection of him, and becomes quite angry if anyone speaks disrespectfully of him.  My grandmother knew that St. Germain had large sums of money at his disposal.

“She resolved to have recourse to him, and she wrote a letter to him asking him to come to her without delay.  The queer old man immediately waited upon her, and found her overwhelmed with grief.  She described to him in the blackest colors the barbarity of her husband, and ended by declaring that her whole hope depended upon his friendship and amiability.

“St. Germain reflected.

“‘I could advance you the sum you want,’ said he, ’but I know that you would not rest easy until you had paid me back, and I should not like to bring fresh troubles upon you.  But there is another way of getting out of your difficulty:  you can win back your money.’

“‘But, my dear Count,’ replied my grandmother, ’I tell you that I haven’t any money left!’

“‘Money is not necessary,’ replied St. Germain, ’be pleased to listen to me.’

“Then he revealed to her a secret, for which each of us would give a good deal.”

The young officers listened with increased attention.  Tomsky lit his pipe, puffed away for a moment, and then continued: 

“That same evening my grandmother went to Versailles to the jeu de la reine.  The Duke of Orleans kept the bank; my grandmother excused herself in an offhanded manner for not having yet paid her debt by inventing some little story, and then began to play against him.  She chose three cards and played them one after the other; all three won sonika,[1] and my grandmother recovered every farthing that she lost.”

“Mere chance!” said one of the guests.

“A tale!” observed Hermann.

“Perhaps they were marked cards!” said a third.

“I do not think so,” replied Tomsky, gravely.

“What!” said Naroumoff, “you have a grandmother who knows how to hit upon three lucky cards in succession, and you have never yet succeeded in getting the secret of it out of her?”