"A million!" laughed Mitya.
"The Pan Captain has heard of Pan Podvysotsky, perhaps?"
"What Podvysotsky?"
"In Warsaw there was a bank and anyone comes and stakes against it.
Podvysotsky comes, sees a thousand gold pieces, stakes against the bank.
The banker says,
'Panie Podvysotsky, are you laying down the gold, or must we trust to your honour?'
'To my honour, panie,' says Podvysotsky.
'So much the better.'
The banker throws the dice. Podvysotsky wins.
'Take it, panie,' says the banker, and pulling out the drawer he gives him a million. 'Take it, panie, this is your gain.'
There was a million in the bank.
'I didn't know that,' says Podvysotsky.
'Panie Podvysotsky,' said the banker, 'you pledged your honour and we pledged ours.'
Podvysotsky took the million."
"That's not true," said Kalganov.
"Panie Kalganov, in gentlemanly society one doesn't say such things."
"As if a Polish gambler would give away a million!" cried Mitya, but checked himself at once. "Forgive me, panie, it's my fault again; he would, he would give away a million, for honour, for Polish honour.
You see how I talk Polish, ha ha!
Here, I stake ten roubles, the knave leads."
"And I put a rouble on the queen, the queen of hearts, the pretty little panienotchka* he! he!" laughed Maximov, pulling out his queen, and, as though trying to conceal it from everyone, he moved right up and crossed himself hurriedly under the table. Mitya won. The rouble won, too. * Little miss.
"A corner!" cried Mitya.
"I'll bet another rouble, a 'single' stake," Maximov muttered gleefully, hugely delighted at having won a rouble.
"Lost!" shouted Mitya. "A 'double' on the seven!"
The seven too was trumped.
"Stop!" cried Kalganov suddenly.
"Double! Double!" Mitya doubled his stakes, and each time he doubled the stake, the card he doubled was trumped by the Poles.
The rouble stakes kept winning.
"On the double!" shouted Mitya furiously.
"You've lost two hundred, panie.
Will you stake another hundred?" the Pole on the sofa inquired.
"What? Lost two hundred already?
Then another two hundred!
All doubles!" And pulling his money out of his pocket, Mitya was about to fling two hundred roubles on the queen, but Kalgonov covered it with his hand.
"That's enough!" he shouted in his ringing voice.
"What's the matter?" Mitya stared at him.
"That's enough! I don't want you to play anymore.
Don't!"
"Why?"
"Because I don't.
Hang it, come away. That's why.
I won't let you go on playing."
Mitya gazed at him in astonishment.
"Give it up, Mitya. He may be right. You've lost a lot as it is," said Grushenka, with a curious note in her voice.
Both the Poles rose from their seats with a deeply offended air.
"Are you joking, panie?" said the short man, looking severely at Kalganov.
"How dare you!" Pan Vrublevsky, too, growled at Kalganov.
"Don't dare to shout like that," cried Grushenka. "Ah, you turkey-cocks!"
Mitya looked at each of them in turn. But something in Grushenka's face suddenly struck him, and at the same instant something new flashed into his mind- a strange new thought!
"Pani Agrippina," the little Pole was beginning, crimson with anger, when Mitya suddenly went up to him and slapped him on the shoulder.