Ulrica and Gerald came laughing across the leafy Place and joined us at our table. It was very pleasant there, with the band playing the latest waltzes, the gay promenaders strolling beneath the palms, the bright flowers, and the pigeons strutting in the roadway. Indeed, as one sat there it seemed hard to believe that this was actually the much-talked-of Monte Carlo--the plague spot of Europe. I don’t think that I ever saw Ulrica look so well as on that afternoon in her white serge dress, which she had had made in Paris; for white serge is, as you know, de rigueur at Monte in winter, with a white hat and white shoes. I was also in white, but it never suits me as it does her; yet one must be smart, even at the expense of one’s complexion. At Monte Carlo one must at least be respectable, even in one’s vices. “Come, let’s go back to the Rooms,” suggested Ulrica when she had finished her tea, flavored with orange-flower water, which is the mode at the Café de Paris. “Miss Rosselli won’t play any more,” said Reggie. “My dear Carmela,” cried Ulrica; “why, surely you’ve the pluck to follow your good fortune?” But I was obdurate, and although I accompanied the others I did not risk a single sou. The place was crowded and the atmosphere absolutely unbearable, as it always becomes about five o’clock. The Administration appear afraid of letting in a little air to cool the heads of the players, hence the rooms are hermetically sealed. As I wandered about with Reggie, he pointed out to me other well-known characters in the Rooms--the queer old fellow who carries a bag purse made of colored beads; the old hag with a mustache who always brings her own rake; the bright-eyed, dashing woman known to the croupiers as “The Golden Hand;” the thin, wizen-faced little hunchback who one night a few months before had broken the bank at the first roulette table on the left; men working so-called “systems” and women trying to snatch up other people’s winnings. Now and then my companion placed a louis upon a transversale or colonne and once or twice he won, but, declaring that he had no luck that day, he soon grew as tired of it as myself. Ulrica came up to us presently flushed with excitement. She had won three hundred francs at the table where she always played. Her favorite croupier was turning the wheel, and he always brought her luck. We both had won, and she declared it to be a happy augury for the future. While we were standing there the croupier’s voice sounded loud and clear “Zero!” with that long roll of the “r” which habitués of the Rooms know so well. “Zero!” cried Reggie. “By Jove! I must put something on,” and he dashed over to the table and handed the croupier a hundred-franc note, with a request to put it on the number 29. The game was made and the ball fell. “Vingt-neuf! Rouge, impair et passé!” “By Jove!” cried Gerald, “he’s won! Lucky devil! How extraordinary that after zero the number twenty-nine so invariably follows!”