While the table was prepared, Chauvignac gave his young friend
two packs of cards, to be substituted for those which should be
furnished by the count. Ecarte was to be the game, and Olivier
was to play, the two other associates having pretended to know
nothing about the game, and saying that they would content
themselves by betting with each other. Of course Olivier was
rather surprised at this declaration, but he soon understood by
certain signs from Chauvignac that this reservation was intended
to do away with the count's suspicions, in case of their success.

The count, enormously rich as he was, would only play for
bank-notes. 'Metal smells bad in a room,' he said. The novice,
at first confused at being a party to the intended roguery,
followed the dictates of his conscience and, neglecting the
advantages of his hands, trusted merely to chance. The result
was that the only thousand-franc bank-note he had was speedily
transferred to the count. At that moment Chauvignac gave him a
significant look, and this, together with the desire to retrieve
his loss, induced him to put into execution the culpable
manoeuvres which his friend had taught him. His work was of the
easiest; the count was so short-sighted that he had to keep his
nose almost upon the cards to see them. Chance now turned, as
might be expected, and thousand-franc bank-notes soon accumulated
in the hands of Olivier, who, intoxicated by this possession,
worked away with incredible ardour. Moreover, the count was not
in the least out of humour at losing so immensely; on the
contrary, he was quite jovial; indeed, from his looks he might
have been supposed to be the winner. At length, however, he said
with a smile, taking a pinch from his golden snuff-box--'I am