The sorrows of the roulette table vanished into the limbo of forgetfulness; Mrs. Allonby found herself magically installed in a cosy nook outside the café, with a full view of the craggy head of the gorge, the Roman tower of Turbia outlined above it on the sunset-flushed sky, and in the foreground the enchanted Armida gardens, promenaders streaming in and out of avenues of dark exotic trees, gorgeous parterres, the gleam of white masonry between palm and olive boughs, and the tide of smart carriages and snorting motors rolling along the main road under dark-leaved boughs. The band played the Overture to Tannhäuser, and the Pilgrim's Chorus, overpowered again and again by the scream of warring violins, surged out solemn and triumphant again and yet again. Tea of the perfect quality a brief experience leads the traveller to expect in the better French restaurants, with dainty but appallingly rich cakes, was before her, though how procured it was impossible to conjecture, every table, chair, and waiter having been appropriated or promised two deep a moment before--unless, as appeared probable, M. Isidore exercised some mysterious influence over the harried waiters, who fled at his nod and contrived to produce, and perhaps manufacture on the instant, hitherto non-existent tea-tables and seats in suddenly improvised corners. Her bag had been replenished with small coin by the same enchanter, who gracefully accepted an invitation to share the tea, and spiced it with much useful local information and many bright and apposite remarks and condolences upon the unfortunate experiences in the Casino. "Fancy having tea in public with a hotel-manager at home," she reflected complacently, forgetting that it is quite as possible to be found out abroad as at home, and agreeably conscious of a slight flavour of impropriety, or at least unconventionality, in the adventure. Her spirits rose; she drew a pathetic picture of her anguish at the loss of the white serge costume that brought tears of laughter from M. Isidore's eyes. After two cups of tea and several cream buns in the sweet air, perfumed by a great bush covered with clusters of tea-roses overhanging this cosy corner, the Casino mischance acquired a new aspect--it became a positive joy; it was part of the game. After all, it was seeing life. It behoved the mother of Charlie to know life--_real_ life. This was very real. To leave off with a pile of winnings and buy the frock next day would have been too obvious and commonplace. But to win so splendidly and lose so fatally was to acquire a new thrill. The inconvenience of having lost more than a fortnight of the holiday by this financial mischance could be reserved for future consideration and--_reparation_.