It was already dark. A pair of tallow candles shed a feeble light upon a table near the window on which were some glasses of Alsatian wine and at which the three were passing away the time throwing dice. The faces of the players were flushed with the excitement of the game and their varying luck rather than by the effects of the wine, of which each could carry a heavy load. They disputed several times, gave vent to curses, and gesticulated as if they were about to fly at each others’ throat, but their quarrels invariably ended in words, not blows. Jörgel at first had won many times the ten shillings he owed Conrad, but he also frequently lost, and at last his losses increased so fast that his debt was very large. He cursed the caprices of the fickle goddess of fortune but consoled himself with the thought that these losses were trifling compared with the treasures he would soon acquire. “Ha! ha!” he roared, “there will soon be such a game as Zurich has never seen before.”