The score against him reached the fateful sum of forty-three thousand. Rostóv had just prepared a card, by bending the corner of which he meant to double the three thousand just put down to his score, when Dólokhov, slamming down the pack of cards, put it aside and began rapidly adding up the total of Rostóv’s debt, breaking the chalk as he marked the figures in his clear, bold hand.

“Supper, it’s time for supper! And here are the gypsies!”

Some swarthy men and women were really entering from the cold outside and saying something in their gypsy accents. Nikoláy understood that it was all over; but he said in an indifferent tone:

“Well, won’t you go on? I had a splendid card all ready,” as if it were the fun of the game which interested him most.

“It’s all up! I’m lost!” thought he. “Now a bullet through my brain⁠—that’s all that’s left me!” And at the same time he said in a cheerful voice: