There was a card party at the house of Narumov, an officer of the Horse Guards. The long winter night passed imperceptibly; it was close to five in the morning when the company sat down to supper. Those who had won were eating with good appetite; the others sat lost in thought before their empty plates. But champagne was brought in, and the conversation grew lively, with everyone joining in.

"How did you do, Surin?" asked the host.

"Lost, as usual. You must admit I have no luck: I play a mirandole game always keep cool, never let anything confuse me, and yet I lose all the time!"

"Have you never been tempted? Have you never risked route? Your firmness amazes me."

"And what about Hermann?" said one of the guests, pointing at a young engineer. "He's never in his life had a card in his hand, never bent down a paroli, yet he will sit with us until five in the morning watching our game!"

"The game interests me very much," said Hermann, "but I am not in a position to sacrifice the necessary in the hope of gaining the superfluous."

"Hermann is a German: he's thrifiy, that's all," remarked Tomsky.

"If there's anybody I don't understand, it's my grandmother, Countess Anna Fedotovna."

"Why? How is that?" cried the guests. I cannot fathom," continued Tomsky, "why my grandmother never punts."

'Well, what's so surprising about it," said Narumov, "that an old lady of eighty doesn't punt?"

"So you don't know anything about her?"

"No, not a thing."

"Well, in that case, listen. I should mention, to begin with, that about sixty years ago my grandmother went to Paris, where she created quite a sensation. People ran after her, just to catch a glimpse of la Venus moscovite; Richelieu paid court to her, and grandmother asserts that he almost shot himself because of her cruelty."

"Ladies used to play pharaon in those days. On one occasion at the Court
my grandmother lost a very large sum, on word of honour, to the Duke of Orleans. After she arrived home, as she was peeling off her beauty spots and untying her hooped petticoat, she informed my grandfather of her loss and ordered him to pay."

"My late grandfather, as far as I remember, played the part of a butler to my grandmother. He feared her like fire; but when he heard about such a terrible loss, he flew into a rage, brought in the ledgers, demonstrated to her that in half a year they had spent half a million, pointed out that around Paris they did not possess the kind of estates they had around Moscow and Saratov, and absolutely refused to pay. Grandmother slapped him on the face and went to bed by herself as an indication of her displeasure."

"The next day she sent for her husband, hoping that the domestic punishment had had its effect on him, but she found him unshaken. For the first time in her life she went as far as to argue with him and offer him explanations; she thought she could awaken his conscience if she condescended to demonstrate to him that not all debts were alike, and that there was a difference between a duke and a cartwright. But all in vain! Grandfather had risen in rebellion. No, and no! Grandmother did not know what to do."

"She was on friendly terms with a very remarkable man. You have heard of Count Saint-Germain, the hero of so many miraculous, tales. You know he pretended to be the Wandering Jew, the inventor of the elixir of life and of the philosopher's stone, et cetera. He was ridiculed as a charlatan, and Casanova called him a spy in his Memoirs; be that as it may, despite his mysteriousness Saint-Germain was a man of highly respectable appearance and had excellent manners. To this day grandmother loves him with a passion and gets cross if she hears disrespectful talk about him. She knew that Saint- Germain had a large fortune at his disposal. She decided to turn to him for help and sent him a note asking him to call on her without delay."

"The old eccentric came at once and found her terribly upset. Depicting her husband's barbarity in the darkest colours to him, she concluded that she was placing all her hope in his friendship and kindness."

"Saint-Germain became thoughtful."

"I could accommodate you with the required sum,' he said, 'but I know you would not rest until you repaid me, and I wouldn't want to inflict new worries upon you. There is another way out: you can win the money back."

"'But my dear Count,' answered grandmother, I'm telling you we've run out of money altogether."

"It requires no money,' rejoined Saint-Germain. 'Pray, hear me out.' And he revealed to her a secret for which any of us would be willing to pay a high price..."

The young gamblers listened with doubled attention. Tomsky lit his pipe, took a puff, and continued.

"That same evening grandmother presented herself at Versailles, au jeu de la Reine. The Duke of Orleans was holding the bank; grandmother casually excused herself, spinning some little yarn, for not bringing what she owed, and set down to punt against the Duke. She chose three cards and bet on them in sequence: all three won sonica, and grandmother regained everything she had lost."

"Mere chance!" said one of the guests.

"A fairy tale!" remarked Hermann.

"Perhaps they were powdered cards," joined in a third.

"I don't think so," Tomsky replied in a serious tone.

"How now!" said Narumov. "You have a grandmother who can predict three winning cards in a row, and you have still not tried to snatch her cabalistic power in her?"

"The devil I haven't!" answered Tomsky. "She has four sons, including my father: all four are desperate gamblers, but she has not revealed her secret to any one of them, even though it would be handy for each - or for me, for that matter. But I'll tell you what my uncle Count Ivan Ilich has told me, and what he swears on his honour is true. The late Chaplitsky - the one who died in poverty, having squandered millions - once in his youth lost 300,000 to Zorich if I am not mistaken. He was in despair. Grandmother, though she usually viewed young people's pranks with severity, somehow took pity on Chiplitsky. She named him three cards with the instruction to play them one after the other, and she made him give his word of honour that he would never again play afterwards. Chaplitsky went back to his vanquisher; they sat down to play. Chaplitsky staked 30,000 on the first card and won sonica; he bent down a paroli, then a paroli-paix; he won back what he had lost, and even went away a winner..."

"But it's time to go to bed: it is already quarter to six."

Indeed it was already getting light: the young men emptied their glasses and left.