“No,” says the other, “I will not let it go so.”
“Why, old fellow, how can you think of such a thing as lowering yourself to have a row with Fedotka?”
“That is all very well; but there were strangers there, mind you.”
“Well, what of that?” says the prince; “strangers? Well, if you wish, I will go and make him ask your pardon.”
“No,” says the other.
And then they began to chatter in French, and I could not understand what it was they were talking about.
And what would you think of it? That very evening he and Fedotka ate supper together, and they became friends again.
Well and good. At other times again he would come alone.
“Well,” he would say, “do I play well?”
It’s our business, you know, to try to make everybody contented, and so I would say, “Yes, indeed;” and yet how could it be called good play, when he would poke about with his cue without any sense whatever?
And from that very evening when he took in with Fedotka, he began to play for money all the time. Formerly he didn’t care to play for stakes, either for a dinner or for champagne. Sometimes the prince would say—
“Let’s play for a bottle of champagne.”
“No,” he would say. “Let us rather have the wine by itself. Hollo there! bring a bottle!”
And now he began to play for money all the time; he used to spend his entire days in our establishment. He would either play with someone in