The Enemies of Women (Los enemigos de la mujer)

A triple row of people formed around the table, jamming together to get a better view over adjoining shoulders.

Spadoni smiled, but finally the ironic curiosity fixed on his person began to make him nervous. Many of those who were gazing on him were important personages and had always inspired him with deep respect. Fortunately, he felt the Duchess at his back, seated there with an air of ownership, and watching him with a look of authority. If he made any mistake, the great lady was capable of striking him… Courage and forward march! The croupier, sitting opposite to collect and pay the bets, was shuffling the cards, before putting them in a small double box, from which the banker was to draw them. Poor banker! The crowd, considering his elevation something quite extraordinary, was ready to laugh no matter what happened. As he sat down in the presidential chair, the onlookers considered the pianist's embarrassment very amusing, and an unrestrained laughter greeted his appearance in the seat of authority. He asked the croupier a question in a low voice, and the same explosion of merriment was repeated. The women were the most demonstrative as they thought their ridicule might pass over Spadoni's head, and reach the woman who had placed him there. The musician's look of surprise at this unexplainable hilarity only served to prolong it to the point of a general uproar. They all laughed contagiously on seeing his comical inability to understand the situation. But a rough voice put an end to the merriment.

"Bank!"

It was the Greek. He had seated himself on Spadoni's right, with the angry look of a person who is conscious of an enormous injustice and feels it is necessary to remedy it. He could not tolerate the fact that this grotesque person should occupy the same place in which he had been admired every evening. Neither did he consider it admissible that a woman should mix in affairs that belong entirely to men. He had the same scandalized and astonished feeling of a person witnessing some disarrangement in the rhythmic order of Nature. The world was upside down: apprentices were trying to be masters; class distinctions were not being respected, such nonsense must be stopped once for all. "Cards!"

The Prince trembled. Alicia's fifteen thousand francs were in danger. That man was going to prevent the bank from continuing. If the Greek were to win, the entire capital bet by Alicia would vanish; if he lost, her money would be doubled. But he was sure to win. When a man as lucky as he dared do that!..

Spadoni was overwhelmed on hearing the great man's voice. Instinctively he turned his eyes in the direction of the Duchess, but withdrew them at once, still more overwhelmed by her motionless features and the hard look that seemed to strike his shoulder, as though he were to blame.

The double box, quite ready, was awaiting his reach. He dealt cards to the right and left, and then drew his own.

The Greek showed his cards, throwing them down on the board. "Eight." A murmur of approval arose around the table. The admirers of his good luck rejoiced as though it were a triumph of their own. From the opposite side he took cards which the croupier offered him, and showed them after a previous rapid examination of them. The murmur was now one of amazement. Eight again! He was going to win. It was almost impossible for the banker to make a higher point than that.

Spadoni, pale, his brow glazed with sweat, turned his cards over. The public greeted them with a suppressed exclamation: "Nine!"

The very ones who had laughed at him, considered this result quite natural. "Luck always protects the simple-minded."

And as the Greek handed over the fifteen thousand francs to the croupier, who acted as a depository for the bank, the pianist bowed modestly. A few superstitious gamblers considered that the Duchess had showed excellent judgment in confiding her fate to this simple fellow.

Alicia's eyes sought Michael in the triple oval of heads. She smiled at him slightly. Her features had lost the hard, fixed look with which she had faced the exciting moment. She felt entirely sure of her triumph. And anxious to amaze the onlookers by her imperturbable calm, she took a golden cigarette case and an ivory mouthpiece from her purse and began to smoke.

The pianist, after this first moment of success, played with a certain assurance. The Duchess, sitting motionless at his back, seemed to communicate her confidence to him. He dealt several times successfully, and as the money in the bank was considerably increased, the cupidity of the gamblers was aroused. Those who laughed at Spadoni's clumsiness, now frowned with aggressive interest, taking part in the playing. Thus as the capital increased, the stakes grew higher. Every one felt there was going to be a great and exciting game. The banker had forgotten the Duchess and his own humbleness. He imagined that what he was winning was his own; he believed he had discovered the secret mentioned by Novoa, which was going to win those fabulous sums, on which his imagination had played so often as he wrote dozens and dozens of zeros on a piece of paper. What a night! And to think that his friend, the scientist, was not there to witness his triumph!

Lubimoff withdrew from the table. It hurt him to see Alicia's forced serenity, and her manner of smoking while she watched the progress of the gambling with feline eyes. Luck was going to change any moment. This mad continual winning could not go on. The Greek was making an effort to hide his anger, playing and losing like an ordinary bettor. He could not call "bank" until a second deal began after all the cards in the double box were exhausted. But he stuck to his original bet with the tenacity of a bull dog, convinced that sooner or later he would succeed in getting the better of this mockery of chance. He had more money than Alicia and her representative, he would be able to hold out against fate, and in the end could beat them.

The Prince went to the bar, passing the time by sipping two American mixed drinks, which were sweet and bitter at the same time, and heavy with alcohol. He wanted to become slightly intoxicated, in order to feel himself on the same level with the woman who was appealing so desperately to luck.

He found himself alone. The entire Club was huddled together in the baccarat room. Michael lamented the fact that Castro was not at the Sporting-Club. They would have been able to chat together as they had the afternoon that Alicia succeeded for the first time in clutching the golden wings of the Chimera. Perhaps his absence was due to an order from the "General". He himself had come there dragged by a woman!

A dull murmur came from the gambling room. Shortly afterwards he saw a few of the onlookers entering the café, and standing at the bar to drink. They were talking in tones of wonder and amazement. Hearing the name of the Greek repeated several times, Michael listened. The former had shouted "bank" at the beginning of a new hand, when the bank contained a hundred and forty thousand francs. No one but that lucky fellow was capable of such daring. He drew eight, but the pianist immediately showed his cards. Nine once more. And the croupier had swept the Greek's one hundred and forty thousand into the bank. What a night! And to think that that fool of a Spadoni was the man who was doing such wonders!

A few women passed the door of the bar with an ill-humored air, gesticulating among themselves. They appeared scandalized and annoyed by the Duchess de Delille's good fortune, in spite of the fact that none of them had lost a cent in the play. Such luck was unnatural; there must have been some cheating. They could not say in what the cheating consisted, but it existed undoubtedly.

Later they saw the Greek, followed by two admirers. His face was sweating, his shirt-bosom wrinkled, and his vest had worked up, showing his shirt between the gray silk points and his belt. He was shrugging his shoulders scornfully. The world was upside down: there was no such thing as logic any more. That was why the war was going so badly!

And the Greek walked away in the direction of the subterranean passage, to return to the Hôtel de Paris. He did not care to see any more of it: it was a night for lunatics!

Neither did the Prince care to be a witness, and he remained in his armchair, asking for another cocktail. In front of the door he could see passing those whom another's good luck had embittered, and were fleeing, and those who were arriving, attracted by the news of the event.

He remained alone, like a spectator who stays in the lobby of a theater and listens to the far-off pulsing thrills of the audience. Long intervals of silence passed. Later, there was a murmur, a sigh from the crowd, a buzz of exclamations circulating in low tones. Was Alicia still winning? Or was he going to see her appear like the Greek, shrugging her shoulders at the absurdity of fate?

He asked for still another glass; and gazing at the spirals of smoke from his cigar, he was falling asleep. Suddenly he sat up, imagining he had received a sharp blow on his shoulders. It was a mere illusion! He was alone. Gazing about him, he noticed the clock. It was two. He stood up and slowly walked toward the baccarat room.

The crowd had thinned out, but all those who had remained were taking a hand in the play. The enormous sum amassed by the Bank was a temptation. No need to fear that the winners would not be paid! Even the mere spectators who spend the night on their feet, sharing other people's emotion, were risking their money louis by louis, hoping that this burst of luck which wholly favored the bank, would change in favor of the crowd.

The first thing that Michael saw was an enormous heap of thousand franc notes, five thousand franc chips, and chips and bills of various amounts. It was a fortune. Then he noticed Alicia, sitting motionless in her seat, just as he had left her, with the expressionless face of a caryatid. Her eyes merely looked mechanically back and forth from that heap of wealth to the hands of the banker. She was smoking, smoking. On a tray which a lackey had placed reverently beside the victorious woman there was a pile of gold-tipped cigarette butts.

She seemed stupefied by her success, by the monotony of her constant luck.

The pianist was beginning to display a certain somnolence in his looks and in his voice. Mere winning seemed something insipid to him, after the flight of that admirable Greek. Similarly other famous gamblers had disappeared, as though not caring to authenticate by their presence such an absurd run of luck. The only real competitors were some English people from Beaulieu, whose automobiles were waiting below. This extraordinary game interested them, as though it were some unusual sport; they were anxious to fight against the Bank's good luck, with British tenacity, merely for the pleasure of overcoming it. The women, bony and distinguished looking, with very low necks and long trails to their gowns, ejaculated "oh!" in amazement, each time the croupier with his rake carried off their heavy bets, while the men drew from inner pockets of their Tuxedos, new handfuls of bills, greeting their defeat with metallic laughter.

In one blow Spadoni lost twenty thousand francs. Lubimoff had the fatal presentiment of a sailor who feels beneath his feet the shudder of the ship about to be torn open, of the soldier who feels instinctively the beginning of his rout.

Another blow; and the bank lost again.

Michael cautiously drew near the chair occupied by Alicia.

"It is two o'clock. It is time to go home," he murmured, whispering his words into her hair as he bent over her. "You are going to have a run of bad luck: I can feel it coming. Tell Spadoni to get up."

She raised her eyes and looked at him in surprise. She seemed intoxicated, unable to make out what he was saying, and showed her refusal by a slight shake of her head. She had faith in her own luck.

Fortune saw to it that her confidence was justified. The banker was winning again, carrying off all the sums placed on both sides of the table. But this did not convince the Prince. He continued to feel afraid, and his worry made him brutal.

He went over and stood at Spadoni's back, in order to drop a word to him discreetly, while looking in another direction. "You ought to stop at once. Call the game off. It's long after closing time anyhow."

The banker turned his face and looked up at him in order to see what sage was dropping these words of wisdom from on high. "Oh, your Highness!" This discovery was accompanied by a proud smile, evincing satisfaction that Prince Lubimoff should have witnessed the greatest deed of his life.

And he went on dealing.

Michael grew angry. This idiot, overwhelmed by his triumph, did not understand him, and if he did understand him, he was refusing to obey. The voice of the Prince, falling with a slow tremor, reached the ears of the man below. "Spadoni, you incredible fool of a pianist" – here two or three oaths in various languages. – If Spadoni did not obey him at once he would jerk him out of the chair with a thud, and give him a kick that would send him flying through the windows!

"The last deal!" said the banker.

And when he stopped dealing, many of the spectators breathed freely, satisfied and relieved by the end of a game that seemed to have been under an evil spell. Others gazed with astonishment and envy at the enormous heap of money in the bank, as the croupier put it in order, forming bundles of bills, and straightening the various colored chips in columns.

The sum ran from mouth to mouth: four hundred and ninety-four thousand francs! A little more and it would have been half a million. Rarely had such a rapid winning been seen.

Spadoni, as though he were the master of these riches, was putting them into a little wicker basket. He was trembling with emotion. He was going to walk through the crowd of onlookers carrying this treasure, just as on former nights he had seen his hero pass, with the air of a conqueror. In comparison with this what did he care for the applause he had received as a pianist!

But eager hands snatched the basket from him.

"No! let me! let me!" It was the Duchess; it was no longer necessary any more for her to claim indifference. That money was hers. She had become transfigured by coming out of her eager trance-like silence. Her eyes were shining with a triumphant gleam, her brow was pearled with sweat, her cheeks, which were intensely pale, quivered. Carrying the basket, with her arms held out before her, she slowly passed among the groups, with priestly majesty, walking in the direction of the cashier's cage.

Spadoni remained beside the Prince. He, too, was perspiring, and his features were pale with emotion.

"What a night, Your Highness! What a night!"

He looked proudly at every one, but smiled humbly at the owner of Villa Sirena. He must make the Prince forget his refusal of moments before, and the terrible threats which had been visited upon it.

A moment later Alicia returned to them, carrying a paper in her hand-bag.

The pianist's enthusiasm overflowed.

"Oh, Duchess! Divine Duchess!"

He kissed one of her bare arms, then a shoulder. Alicia smiled at this public homage. The poor pianist, no matter what he might do, could not compromise her.