“Messieurs, faites vos jeux!” Advancing to the table, I stood there unnoticed in the crowd. Those who saw me enter undoubtedly believed me to be a gambler like themselves, for it appeared as though Madame’s guests were drawn from various classes of society. The atmosphere was stifling, but excited as I was I managed to remain cool and affect an interest in the game by tossing a louis upon the red. I won. Strange how carelessness at roulette invariably brings good fortune. I glanced about me, eager to discover Madame herself, but saw neither her nor the barber whom I had followed there. At the end of the room there were, however, a pair of long, sage-green curtains, and as one of the players rose from the table and passed between them I saw that another gaming-room lay beyond, and that in there they were playing baccarat, the bank being held by a superior-looking old gentleman with the crimson ribbon of the Legion d’Honneur in the lapel of his dining-jacket. Boldly I went forward into that room, and in an instant saw that I was not mistaken, for there, chatting to a circle of men and women at the opposite end of the salon, was the small, fair-haired woman whom I had seen in Ernest’s company at Monte Carlo. The man who had given me the stolen notes was standing in the crowd about her, and to them she was recounting the story of a pleasure trip from which she had apparently only just returned. A couple of new-comers, well-dressed men, entered, and walking straight to her shook her hand, expressing delight that she had returned to Paris to resume her entertainments. “I too am glad to return to all my friends, messieurs,” she laughed. “I really found Monte Carlo very dull after all.” “You were not fortunate? That is to be regretted.” “Ah!” she said, exhibiting her palms. “With such a maximum how can one hope to gain? It is impossible.” I stood watching the play. As far as I could see it was perfectly fair, but some of the players, keen-faced men, were evidently practised card-sharpers, swindlers, or men who lived on their wits. The amount of money constantly changing hands surprised me. As I stood there one young man, scarcely more than a lad, lost five thousand francs with the most perfect sang-froid. The women present were none of them young, but were mostly elderly and ugly, of that stamp so eternally prominent in the Principality of Monaco. The woman, when she turns gambler, always loses her personal beauty. It may be the vitiated atmosphere in which she exists, it may be the constant tension of the nerves, or it may, perchance, be the unceasing, all-consuming avarice, which I know not. All I am certain of is that no woman can play and at the same time remain fresh, youthful, and interesting.