Well, this year passed slowly and sadly away, despite of the gaiety
around me; and, at the end of that time, I left my uncle to go to the
university; but I first lingered in London to make inquiries after
D----. I could learn no certain tidings of him, but heard that the most
probable place to find him was a certain gaming-house in K---- Street.
Thither I repaired forthwith. It was a haunt of no delicate and
luxurious order of vice; the chain attached to the threshold indicated
suspicion of the spies of justice; and a grim and sullen face peered
jealously upon me before I was suffered to ascend the filthy and noisome
staircase. But my search was destined to a brief end. At the head of the
_Rouge et Noir_ table, facing my eyes the moment I entered the evil
chamber, was the marked and working countenance of D----.
"He did not look up--no, not once, all the time he played; he won
largely--rose with a flushed face and trembling hand--descended the
stairs--stopped in a room below, where a table was spread with meats and
wine--took a large tumbler of Madeira, and left the house. I had waited
patiently--I had followed him with a noiseless step--I now drew my
breath hard, clenched my hands, as if to nerve myself for a contest--and
as he paused a moment under one of the lamps, seemingly in doubt whither
to go--I laid my hand on his shoulder, and uttered his name.
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