“Well! well! well! No point in counting it,” she waved her hands, “quick, quick, quick!”
“I’ll never stake on that cursed zéro, nor on red either,” she said as we approached the vauxhall.
This time I tried as hard as I could to persuade her to make smaller stakes, insisting that, with a turn of the chances, there would always be a moment for staking a big amount. But she was so impatient that, though she agreed at first, it was impossible to hold her back during the play. As soon as she began to win stakes of ten or twenty friedrichs d’or, “Well, there! Well, there!” she began nudging me, “well, there, we’ve won—if we’d staked four thousand instead of ten, we’d have won four thousand, and what now? It’s all you, all you!”
And vexed as I was, watching her play, I finally decided to keep quiet and give no more advice.
Suddenly des Grieux sprang over. The three of them were nearby; I noticed that Mlle Blanche and her mama were standing to one side, exchanging courtesies with the little prince. The general was obviously out of favor, almost in the doghouse. Blanche didn’t even want to look at him, though he fidgeted about her with all his might. Poor general! He turned pale, red, trembled, and even no longer followed grandmother’s play. Blanche and the little prince finally left; the general ran after them.
“Madame, madame,” des Grieux whispered to grandmother in a honeyed voice, having pushed his way close to her ear. “Madame, stake no go that way…no, no, no possible…” he spoke in distorted Russian, “no!”
“And how, then? Go on, teach me!” grandmother turned to him. Des Grieux suddenly began babbling rapidly in French, giving advice, fussing, saying one had to wait for the chance, started calculating some numbers…Grandmother understood nothing. He turned to me constantly, asking me to translate; jabbed his finger at the table, pointing, finally snatched a pencil and was beginning to work something out on paper. Grandmother finally lost patience.
“Well, away, away with you! it’s all rubbish! Madame, madame—and he doesn’t understand a thing himself. Away!”
“Mais, madame,” chirped des Grieux, and again he began nudging and pointing. He was all worked up.
“Well, stake once as he says,” grandmother told me, “let’s see; maybe it will really work.”
Des Grieux wanted only to distract her from big stakes: he suggested staking on numbers singly and in groups. I staked, at his direction, one friedrich d’or on each of the series of odd numbers from one to twelve, and five friedrichs d’or on groups of numbers between twelve and eighteen, and between eighteen and twenty-four: in all we staked sixteen friedrichs d’or.
The wheel spun. “Zéro,” cried the croupier. We lost everything.
“What a blockhead!” cried grandmother, turning to des Grieux. “Vile little Frenchman that you are! You and your fiendish advice! Away, away! He doesn’t understand a thing, and he pokes his nose into it anyway!”
Terribly offended, des Grieux shrugged his shoulders, gave grandmother a contemptuous look, and walked off. He felt ashamed now that he had gotten involved; he just couldn’t help it.
An hour later, despite all our efforts, we had lost everything.
“Home!” cried grandmother.
She didn’t say a word till we got to the avenue. In the avenue and already approaching the hotel, exclamations began to escape her.
“What a fool! what a great big fool! You old fool, you!”
We had only just entered the suite: “Bring me tea!” grandmother cried, “and get ready at once! We’re going!”
“Where would you be pleased to be going, dearie?” Marfa tried to ask.
“What business is that of yours? To your last, shoemaker! Potapych, pack up everything, all the luggage! We’re going back to Moscow! I’ve verspieled[47] away fifteen thousand roubles!”
“Fifteen thousand, dearie! My God!” cried Potapych, clasping his hands touchingly, probably hoping to oblige.
“Well, well, you fool! None of this sniveling! Silence! Get ready! The bill, quickly, quickly!”
“The next train leaves at half-past nine, grandmother,” I reported, to stop her furor.
“And what is it now?”
“Half-past seven.”
“How vexing! Well, never mind! Alexei Ivanovich, I haven’t a kopeck. Here are two more notes, run off to that place, exhange them for me. Otherwise I’ll have nothing for the road.”
I went. Half an hour later, on returning to the hotel, I found all our people at grandmother’s. Having learned that grandmother was leaving altogether for Moscow, they seemed to be even more struck than by her losses. Suppose that going away would save her fortune, but what would become of the general now? Who would pay des Grieux? Mlle Blanche certainly wouldn’t wait until grandmother died, and would probably slip away now with the little prince or somebody else. They were all standing in front of her, comforting her, trying to talk sense into her. Polina again was not there. Grandmother was shouting furiously at them.
“Leave me alone, you devils! What business is it of yours? Why is this goat-beard getting at me?” she shouted at des Grieux. “And you, you shank of a girl, what do you want?” she turned to Mlle Blanche. “What are you fussing about?”
“Diantre! ”[48] whispered Mlle Blanche, her eyes flashing with rage, but she suddenly burst out laughing and left.
“Elle vivra cent ans! ”[49] she cried to the general from the doorway.
“Ah, so you’re counting on my death?” grandmother screamed at the general. “Get out! Throw them all out, Alexei Ivanovich! Is it any of your business? I’ve blown my money, not yours!”
The general shrugged his shoulders, stooped, and left. Des Grieux followed.
“Call Praskovya,” grandmother told Marfa.
Five minutes later Marfa returned with Polina. All this time Polina had been sitting in her room with the children and, it seems, had purposely decided not to go out all day. Her face was serious, sad, and preoccupied.
“Praskovya,” grandmother began, “is it true, what I learned from someone today, that your fool of a stepfather supposedly wants to marry that silly French fidget—an actress, isn’t she, or something still worse? Tell me, is it true?”
“I don’t know for certain, grandmother,” Polina answered, “but from the words of Mlle Blanche herself, who finds concealment unnecessary, I conclude…”
“Enough!” grandmother interrupted energetically, “I understand everything! I always reckoned he was up to just that, and always considered him the emptiest and flightiest of men. He goes around swaggering that he’s a general (he got the rank after he retired as a colonel), and putting on airs. I know it all, my dear, how you sent telegram after telegram to Moscow—‘Will the old crone turn her toes up soon?’ They were waiting for the inheritance; without money, that mean wench—what’s her name?—de Cominges or something, wouldn’t even take him as a lackey, with false teeth at that. They say she has heaps of money herself, lends it on interest, having earned it in a nice way. I don’t blame you, Praskovya; it wasn’t you who sent the telegrams; nor do I want to remember old wrongs. I know what a nasty character you’ve got—a wasp! it swells when you sting, but I feel sorry for you, because I loved your late mother Katerina. Well, do you want to drop all this here and come with me? You’ve got nowhere to go; and it’s improper for you to be with them now. Wait!” grandmother interrupted Polina, who was about to begin a reply, “I haven’t finished yet. I won’t demand anything of you. My house in Moscow you know—it’s a palace, you can have a whole floor and not come down to see me for weeks, if you don’t fancy my character. Well, do you want to or not?”