A match was now produced out of Trenta's pocket. The candles were
lighted, and the casements closed. The party then sat down to whist.

The marchesa was always specially irritable when at cards. The
previous conversation had not improved her temper. Moreover, the count
was her partner, and a worse one could hardly be conceived. Twice
he did not even take up the cards dealt to him, but sat immovable,
staring at the print of the Empress Eugénie in the Spanish dress on
the green wall opposite. Called to order peremptorily by the marchesa,
he took up his cards, shuffled them, then laid them down again on
the table, his eyes wandering off to the chair hitherto occupied by
Enrica.

This was intolerable. The marchesa showed him that she thought so. He
apologized. He did take up his cards, and for a few deals attended
to the game. Again becoming abstracted, he forgot what were trumps,
losing thereby several tricks. Finally, he revoked. Both the marchesa
and the cavaliere rebuked him very sharply. Again he apologized, tried
to collect his thoughts, but still played abominably.

Meanwhile, Trenta and Baldassare kept up a perpetual wrangle. The
cavaliere was cool, sardonic, smiling, and provoking--Baldassare hot
and flushed with a concentration of rage he dared not express.
The cavaliere, thanks to his court education, was an admirable
whist-player. His frequent observations to his young friend were
excellent as instruction, but were conveyed in somewhat contemptuous
language. Baldassare, having been told by the cavaliere that playing
a good hand at whist was as necessary to his future social success as
dancing, was much chagrined.