A shower of rain came on, dispersing the few people who had cared to linger in the open air in this raw, chilly evening; and Horace, leaving the Place, went up the street, which, with its lights and shops, looked cheerfully by comparison, and, like the rest of the world, turned into the Redoute, more than usually full, for it was the race-week, and numbers of strangers had come into the town. The ball-room, where dancing was going on, was crowded; and Graham, who, attracted by the music, had looked in, had soon had enough of the heat and noise. In a few minutes he had made his way into the gambling salon, and had joined one of the silent groups standing round the tables. Meanwhile, Madelon, once more absorbed in the game, is meditating her grand _coup_. Hitherto she has been playing cautiously, her capital accumulating gradually, but surely, till she has quite a heap of gold and notes before her. It is already a fortune in her eyes, and she thinks, if she could only double this all at once, then indeed would the great task be accomplished; she might go then, she might write to Monsieur Horace, she would see him again--ah! what joy, what happiness! Should she venture? Surely it would be very rash to risk all that at once--and yet if she were to win--and she has been so lucky this evening-- her heart leaps up again--she hesitates a moment, then pushes the whole on to the black, reserving only one ten-franc piece, and sits pale, breathless, incapable of moving, during what seemed to her the longest minute in her life. It was only a minute--the croupier dealt the cards--"_Rouge perd, et couleur_," he cried, paid the smaller stakes, and then, counting out gold and notes, pushed over to her what was, in fact, a sufficiently large sum, and which, to her inexperienced eyes, seemed enormous. "Who is she?" asked one or two of the bystanders of each other. "She has been winning all the evening." They shrugged their shoulders; nobody knew. As for Madelon, she heard none of their remarks-- she had won, she might go now, go and find Monsieur Horace; and as this thought crossed her mind, she gathered up her winnings, thrust them into her bag, and rose to depart. As she turned round, she faced Monsieur Horace himself, who had been standing behind her chair, little dreaming whose play it was he had been watching. She recognised him in a moment, though he had grown thinner and browner since she had last seen him. "Monsieur Horace!-- Monsieur Horace!" she cried. He was still watching the game, but turned at the sound of her voice, and looked down on the excited little face before him. "Madelon!" he exclaimed--"Madelon here!--no, impossible! Madelon!" "Yes, yes," she said, half laughing, half crying at the same time, "I am Madelon. Ah! come this way--let me show you. I have something to show you this time--you will see, you will see!"