Fennimore's shrill voice resounded through the din.

The moment they saw him the peals of laughter broke off suddenly, all signs of hilarity disappeared, everybody tried to put on a solemn and expectant look.

Could anything in the world be more aggravating?
Abellino dragged a chair to the table and sat down among them.

Why did they not go on laughing; why did they not continue their conversation?
Why did Fennimore make such efforts to put on a solemn face, when his mouth was regularly twitching?
The cards were dealt.
It was now Abellino's turn to keep the bank.
He began to lose.
Fennimore was sitting at the other end of the table, and he won continually; he doubled, trebled, quadrupled his stakes; he doubled them again, and still he won.

Abellino began to lose his _sang-froid_ and get flurried.