Like all gamblers, the frequenters of the turf are distrustful and
inclined to be quarrelsome. No one is above their suspicions when
they lose nor above their wrath when they are duped. And this
Domingo affair united all the losers against Valorsay; they formed
a little battalion of enemies who were no doubt powerless for the
time being, but who were ready to take a startling revenge
whenever a good opportunity presented itself. Naturally enough,
M. Wilkie sided with the marquis, whom he had heard his friend, M.
de Coralth, speak of on several occasions. "Accuse the dear
marquis!" he exclaimed. "It's contemptible, outrageous. Why,
only last evening he said to me, 'My good friend, Domingo's defeat
cost me two thousand louis!'" M. de Valorsay had said nothing of
the kind, for the very good reason that he did not even know
Wilkie by sight; still, no one paid much heed to the assertion,
whereat Wilkie felt vexed, and resolved to turn his attention to
his jockey.

The latter was a lazy, worthless fellow, who had been dismissed
from every stable he had previously served in, and who swindled
and robbed the young gentlemen who employed him without either
limit or shame. Although he made them pay him a very high salary--
something like eight thousand francs a year--on the plea that it
was most repugnant to his feelings to act as a groom, trainer, and
jockey at the same time, he regularly every month presented them
with fabulous bills from the grain merchant, the veterinary
surgeon, and the harness-maker. In addition, he regularly sold
Pompier's oats in order to obtain liquor, and in fact the poor
animal was so nearly starved that he could scarcely stand on his
legs. The jockey ascribed the horse's extreme thinness to a