We strolled out into the bright afternoon sun finding the terrace comparatively empty, for the Casino draws most of the crowd during the middle and late afternoon. It was strange to leave these shaded, artificially lighted rooms with their swarms of well-dressed men and women sitting about or bending over tables all riveted on the one thrilling thing--the drop of the little white ball in a certain pocket--and come out into the glittering white world with its blazing sun, its visible blue sea, its cream-colored buildings and its waving palms. We went to several shops--one for sweets and one for flowers, _haut parisiennes_ in their atmosphere--and duly dispatched our purchases. Then we went to the post-office, plastered with instructions in various languages, and saw that the money was sent to Barfleur’s mother. Then we returned to the Casino and Barfleur went his way, while I wandered from board to board studying the crowd, risking an occasional louis, and finally managing to lose three pounds more than I had won. In despair I went to see what Scorp was doing. He had three or four stacks of gold coin in front of him at a certain table, all of five hundred dollars. He was risking these in small stacks of ten and fifteen louis and made no sign when he won or lost. On several occasions I thought he was certain to win a great sum, so lavishly were gold louis thrown him by the croupier, but on others I felt equally sure he was to be disposed of, so freely were his gold pieces scraped away from him. “How are you making out?” I asked. “I think I’ve lost eight hundred francs. If I should win this though, I’ll risk a bee-a.” “What’s a bee-a?” “A thousand franc note.” My poor little three louis seemed suddenly insignificant. A lady sitting next to him, a woman of perhaps fifty, with a cool, calculating face had perhaps as much as two thousand dollars in gold and notes piled up before her. All around the table were these piles of gold, silver and notes. It was a fascinating scene. “There, that ends me,” observed Scorp, all at once, his stock of gold on certain numbers disappearing with the rake of the croupier. “Now I’m done. We might walk out in the lobby and watch the crowd.” All his good gold so quietly raked in by the croupier was lingering painfully in my memory. I was beginning to see plainly that I would not make a good gambler. Such a loss distressed me. “How much did you lose?” I inquired. “Oh, a thousand francs,” he replied. We strolled up and down, Scorp commenting sarcastically on one type and another and yet with a genial tolerance which was amusing. I remember a charming-looking cocotte, a radiant type of brunette, with finely chiseled features, slim, delicate fingers, a dainty little foot, who, clad in a fetching costume of black and white silk which fitted her with all the airy grace of a bon-bon ribbon about its box, stood looking uncertainly about as if she expected to meet some one.