eleven o'clock
_ Bojou _ , dea ' boy . '' The tone and gesture were worldly , irreproachable ; but the voice trembled a little . The club on Rue Royale , renowned for its card-playing , had rarely seen so terrible a game as it saw that night . It began at eleven o'clock and was still in progress at five in the morning . Enormous sums lay on the green cloth , changed hands and direction , heaped up , scattered , reunited ; fortunes were swallowed up in that colossal game , and at its close the Nabob , who had started it to forget his fears in the caprices of luck , after extraordinary alternations , somersaults of fortune calculated to make a neophyte 's hair turn white , withdrew with winnings of five hundred thousand francs . They said five millions on the boulevard the next day , and every one cried shame , especially the _ Messager _ , which gave up three-quarters of its space to an article against certain adventurers who are tolerated in clubs , and who cause the ruin of the most respectable families . Alas !