They made their way to the table at which Piers had tried his luck the previous night, waited for and finally secured a place. "You take it!" said Crowther. "I believe in your luck." Piers laughed. He staked five francs on the figure five and lost, doubled his stakes and lost again, trebled them and lost again. "This is getting serious," said Crowther. But still Piers laughed. "Damn it!" he said. "I will win to-night!" "Try another figure!" said Crowther. But Piers refused. He laid down twenty-five francs, and with that he won. It was the turning-point. From that moment it seemed he could not do wrong. Stake after stake he won, either with his own money, or Crowther's; and finally left the table in triumph with full pockets. A good many watched him enviously as he went. He refused to try his luck elsewhere, but went arrogantly away with his hand through Crowther's arm. "He'll come back to-morrow," observed a shrewd American. "And the next day, and the next. He's just the sort that helps to keep this establishment going. They'll pick him clean." But he was wrong. Though elated by victory, Piers was not drawn by the gambling vice. The thing amused him, but it did not greatly attract. He was by no means dazzled by the spoils he carried away. They went out to the gardens, and called for liqueurs. The woman who had spoken to Piers yet hovered about the doors. She cursed him through her painted lips as he passed, but he went by her like a prince, haughtily aloof, contemptuously regardless. They sat down in a comparatively quiet corner, whence they could watch the ever-shifting picture without being disturbed. A very peculiar mood possessed Piers. He was restless and uneasy in spite of his high spirits. For no definite reason he wanted to keep on the move. In deference to Crowther's wish, he controlled the desire, but it was an obvious effort. He seemed to find difficulty also in attending to Crowther's quiet remarks, and after a while Crowther ceased to make them. He finished his liqueur and sat smoking with his eyes on the dark, sensitive face that watched the passing crowd so indifferently, yet so persistently. Piers noticed his silence at last, and looked at him enquiringly. "Shall we go?" Crowther leaned slowly towards him. The place was public, but their privacy was complete. "Piers," he said, "may I take the privilege of an old friend?" "You may take anything you like so far as I am concerned," said Piers impetuously. Crowther smiled a little. "Thank you. Then I will go ahead. Are you engaged to be married?" "What?" said Piers. He looked momentarily startled; then laughed across the table with a freedom that was wholly unaffected. "Am I engaged, did you say? No, I'm not. But I'm going to be married for all that." "Ah!" said Crowther. "I thought I knew the signs."