Free Monsieur Jonquelle by Melville Davisson Post Page B

detestable coward. He had spent a fortune and years figuringout a method to outwit Satan at one of his own devices; and, now that he had at last hit upon it, the Evil One had foully got him murdered before he could put it into effect.”
    The packet lying on the table had evidently been opened and discussed before I entered, for the silk cloth lay only loosely round it. The monk reached over and unfolded the cloth. Within it lay a great heap of hundred-franc notes and a letter with the seal broken.
    â€œThis man,” continued the monk, “was the most inveterate gambler in Europe. He lived in that anteroom of hell at Monte Carlo, and he was forever laboring to invent some system of play that would win against the devices of Satan there. At the time of this mad, shameful marriage he believed he had perfected such a system, and he had prepared this money with which to test it.” The monk stopped, looking down at the floor. “It was a fearful thing to see—this evil, impotent man in his frenzy! We bade him remember God and the saints; but he replied, cursing, that his concern was with Satan, who had played him false; and if he could think of anybody he could trust he would be avenged. But he could think of no one who would not take his money and betray him, as the devil had—for all he knew were in the devil’s service.”
    The old man tasted the wine and set it back on the table.
    â€œThen one night, as the end approached, we spoke to him of this young girl, and reminded him that this marriage would not be recognized in Russia—and that his estates would go to his family there; nor would it be recognized in France, there having been no civil ceremony. And we urged him to take some steps to provide for and establish the young Duchess Dimitri in her marital rights. The dying man was sitting in his bed bolstered up with pillows. At the mention of the Duchess Dimitri he burst out into a great bellow of exultation. He would beat Satan with her! And he had a dispatch box brought to him, took out this packet of notes and scrawled a letter. The letter and the money he charged me to deliver into her hands.… After that”—and the monk again looked down at the floor—“the grand duke died in great peace.”
    He remained silent for some moments, as though lost in thought over this strange event. Then he looked up and handed me the letter.
    â€œIt is the wish of the Duchess Dimitri that you should read it.”
    It was an impressive and medieval thing—this letter. In spite of the abominable way in which he had treated this woman he now addressed her in a manner stately and noble. It was a letterfrom the grand duke to the Grand Duchess Dimitri Volkonsky, setting out how treacherously he had been dealt with by the Evil One and begging her to avenge him according to the plan that he pointed out. It was written in the most formal manner, but in words simple and direct, as became a great noble addressing the great lady of his house.
    Then followed the directions. He was sending her one hundred thousand francs; this money was to be played at Monte Carlo according to a system he inclosed. This system would overcome the percentage in favor of the tables, insure the duchess an enormous fortune, and finally bankrupt the Casino. Thus the Evil One would be discomfited and the duke avenged. Then followed a brief description of a system of martingales, which even one but little acquainted with roulette could presently master.
    The monk indicated the packet.
    â€œMy son,” he said, “what shall the Duchess Dimitri do?”
    I was in no doubt.
    â€œPlay the money at Monte Carlo,” I said, “as the dead man has directed.”
    I was moved by worldly wisdom here. I knew that this woman would never take the money before me on the table, and there was no dowry for her except what might be gained by followingthis bizarre request. Besides that, the thing pressed upon her