Eleven o'clock
Monsieur Robin lost and won without the quiver of an eyelash or a change of hue in the dull opacity of his complexion . Henry Denvil lost and won with the veins growing knotted and prominent in forehead and temple , and his color deepening from red to crimson . Madame Robin , cool and quiet , crocheted little threads of silk together into a golden mesh with a sharp and slender needle , and from time to time served the gentlemen with wine . Eleven o'clock . Some person tapped Henry Denvil on the shoulder . He glanced up impatiently , with bloodshot eyes . The landlord of the tavern gave him a telegram , while the official who had brought it waited at the door .