“I don’t know that romantic is the word I should use,” said Valdobia, laughing; Ora had uttered some of her thoughts aloud; “but I think I know what you mean. The people that come here can afford to lose; their minds are almost as carefully composed as their costumes; they are both pleasantly reckless and frivolous; this is their real play-time; the world beyond these four walls is obliterated; if they lose they shrug their shoulders, and if they win they experience something like a real thrill; in short, being soaked in worldliness, it is their only chance to feel primitive--for gambling was practised by the most ancient tribes of which we have any knowledge. At the Casino most of those people are subconsciously wondering how they are going to pay their hotel bills and get out of Monte Carlo, calm as they manage to look; but here--well, here you see the quintessence of the world’s frivolity. No wonder it creates a heady atmosphere. Do you want to gamble?” “Of course I do.” “Well, put a louis on the red. I’ll follow your stakes. Perhaps we’ll bring each other luck.” They staked and won, staked and won again, seven times running without removing their winnings from the red. Then Valdobia said, “Don’t tempt fortune too far. The luck may turn to the green any moment. Suppose we try ours _en plein_.” He selected the number 39, and once more they won. Ora, her hands full of gold, turned to him with blazing eyes. Her cheeks were crimson. Valdobia laughed. “You mustn’t look so happy,” he said teasingly, “or these old stagers will know that you are what your friend calls a hayseed. Better change all this gold into notes.” “Notes? I want my gold. Paper never did mean anything to me.” “What a child you are--ah! I must leave you for a moment. The Duc----” he mentioned a prince of his royal house--“wishes to speak to me. Don’t try _en plein_ again. That rarely happens twice. Put a louis at a time on the red.” He left her. Ora deliberately placed not only her double handful of gold on the red, but pushed forward the pile that had accumulated before her. Red came up and doubled her winnings. She added to her already imposing hillock the gold shoved toward her, and, with a quick glance at Valdobia, who was deep in conversation with his prince, took a thousand franc note from her châtelaine bag and laid it on top of the gold. Once more she won, and met the sympathetic smiles of the croupiers, who in the Sporting Club, at least, are very human persons. She was about to add another thousand franc note, when Valdobia returned. He swept her gold and notes off the red just as _rien ne va plus_ sounded above the buzz of conversation behind the tables. “What on earth are you doing?” he asked angrily. “I don’t like to see a woman gamble like that.” Ora pouted and looked like a naughty child. “But I want to gamble. Give me my money. What have you to say about it?”