Enchantée(103)

54


Lazare stood in the center of the room, drinking wine, alone. All the others had edged away from him, as if bad luck were catching. Under the costly silk of his rumpled coat, his shoulders slumped. Some of the powder from his wig had drifted, like snow, onto his jaw. All the light seemed to have gone out of him.

Camille’s fingers ached with sadness.

Séguin had laid out an extravagant spread of food for his guests but Lazare did not seem to see it. He picked up a miniature sandwich and, as he stared into the distance, put it in his mouth. He chewed it as if it were dust.

She didn’t know what to say, how to convince him to leave the palace with her. Would it make a difference for her to tell him who she was? Would he even listen?

He looked over as she approached. “You were clever not to play.” Taking a glass off the footman’s tray, he raised it. “To your good fortune.”

“I won’t drink to that. Not when the game ended as it did. And now that it’s over—”

“I was a fool to play on. I have been very unlucky of late, in every way.” He drained the wine, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Why don’t you go home, then? It’s never a good idea to stay when your luck is bad. It never changes as fast as one would like.”

He focused on her for the first time. In his eyes was desperate longing, a wish for her to understand. “I’m short on cash, for the balloon.” He made a choked sound that might have been a laugh.

She wanted to press him, ask what that laugh meant, but just then Lazare swayed on his feet. She reached out to steady him. “I’ll send for someone to call your carriage.”

“Not yet, Baroness. I’m going hunting.”

“Now?” she asked, uneasily. It had to be nearly midnight. No one would venture into the woods at this hour. “I don’t understand—what can you possibly hunt in the dark?”

“Foxes.” He lowered his voice. “I’ve set a trap and I’m sure I’ll catch one.”

He was making no sense. “Here?”

“Of course,” he said. “The palace is full of traps, did you not know?” Grabbing another glass of wine off the table, Lazare passed through the crowds and was gone.

She needed to go after him. She slipped behind a group of older bewigged and rouged men, their portly bellies straining the silk of their waistcoats. They were so involved in their conversation they hardly noticed her. The aristocrats were talking politics and discussing whether the nobles and the church could ever side with the commoners against the king. A heated debate broke out but Camille did not hear it.

For something had happened in the gaming room. Women were exclaiming in high voices, men booing loudly. She stood on her toes to see.

Lazare was leaving the faro table. Men clapped him on the back as he staggered away. Hadn’t he lost everything? Where had he gotten the money to keep playing? And then, Séguin was leading him to an alcove by a window, very close to where she was standing.

“What’s wrong, messieurs?” she said, coming forward.

Séguin gave her a small, resentful bow. “Nothing for you to worry about,” he said. “Now, Sablebois, don’t make a mountain out of a molehill. This is nothing. A minor setback.”

“Perhaps to you it’s nothing.”

“You lost all you had, you’re saying?” Was there a note of glee in Séguin’s voice? “What about your father?” he went on. “Couldn’t you appeal to him? Surely it’s no sum for such a man.”

Lazare seemed to grow bigger, taller. There was something ferocious in him Camille had never seen before. “You don’t know me at all if you think I’d ever go to my father with my debts.”

“Forget I said it.” Séguin extended a hand but Lazare shrugged it off. “I’ll write up an agreement so you can pay the debt off over time.”

“Don’t speak to me of debts. I’ll agree to nothing, Séguin, and you know it. You cheated.”

“Careful, Sablebois.”

“You are the one who should be careful, fox.” Lazare was breathing hard now, as if he’d been running. “At the end of the first game, I called the turn. No one had kept track of the cards, as is usually done to assure the players that the banker isn’t cheating. I wonder why. But it didn’t matter, because I have a very good memory for details.”

Séguin stood very still. Waiting. Lazare’s arms were straight at his sides, his hands hardened into fists.

“And I lost. Strange, non? Before I played in the next round, I examined the cards in the deck we’d played with. And do you know what I discovered? The card I’d bet on wasn’t even in the deck.” He jabbed his finger at Séguin. “I played one more time, to see what would happen. And you know what I discovered? You’re a cheat.”

“How dare you accuse me,” Séguin said coldly. “It’s obvious you’re only doing it to get out of your debts. And I understand why. Certainly your father the marquis would hate to hear of them.”

Lazare glanced behind him as if his father were there. “He will never hear of it because you will return my money to me. Chandon was the dealer, but it was your game.”

Séguin shrugged. “I’ll give you a letter to sign. You can pay me back with interest.”