"He deserves to win, too," resumed the last speaker, "for I never saw a man play more boldly."

"So much for boldness," cried the other; "he has just risked a fifth time on the red and lost. See if it be not two hundred 'Naps.'"

The defeat did not dishearten him, for again Dalton covered the board with gold. As if that moment had been the turning-point of his destiny, his losses now began, and with all the rapidity of his previous gains.

At first he bore the reverse calmly and patiently; after a while a slight gesture of impatience, a half-muttered exclamation would escape him; but when loss followed loss unceasingly, and one immense stake disappeared after another, Dalton's fingers trembled, and his cheeks shook like one in ague. His straining bloodshot eyes were fixed on the play with the intensity of pa.s.sion, and a convulsive shudder would shake his ma.s.sive frame at each new tidings of loss. "Am I never to have luck again? Is it only to lead me on that I won? Can this go on forever?"

were the low-muttered words which now he syllabled with difficulty, for already his utterance was thick, and his swollen tongue and flattened cheeks seemed threatened with paralysis.

His last stake was swept away before him, and Dalton, unable to speak, stretched forth his arms across the table to arrest the banker's hand.

"A hundred 'Naps,' on the red," cried he, wildly; "no--two hundred--neck or nothing, I 'll go five--d' ye hear me?--five hundred on the red!"

A short conversation in whispers ensued between the croupiers, after which one of them spoke a few words to Dalton in a low voice.

"You never said so when I was losing," cried Peter, savagely. "I heard nothing about the rules of the tables _then_."

"The stake is above our limit, sir; above the limit laid down by law,"

said the chief banker, mildly.

"I don't care for your laws. I lost my money, and I 'll have my revenge."

"You can make half de stakes in my name, saar," said a long-moustached and not over-clean-looking personage beside Dalton's chair.

"That will do----thank you," cried Dalton. "Bet two hundred and fifty for me and I'll stake the rest."

A moment more, and the low voice of the croupier proclaimed that red had lost!

"What does he say--why won't he speak plainly?" cried Dalton, in a voice of pa.s.sionate energy.

"You lose de stake," muttered the man behind him.

"Of course I do; what other luck could I have? Lose--lose--lose!"

said he to himself, in a low, moaning voice. "There they go--the fools!----betting away as fresh as ever. Why won't they take warning by _me?_ beggared, rained as it has left me. May I never! if the red isn't winning every time now!" And, as he spoke, his eyes followed a great heap of gold which some fortunate gambler just drew in before him. "How much did he win, then?" cried Dalton; but none replied to a question so contrary to every etiquette of the table.

"He never counts it," muttered Peter, as he continued to gaze on the lucky player with a kind of envious admiration. "They say it's best not to count one's winnings. I don't know what's best; I believe 't is only the devil knows--for it was _he_ invented the game.--Red, again, the winner!"

"Why you no back de red?" whispered the man behind his chair.

Dalton started, and was about to give an angry reply, but corrected himself, and merely stared stupidly at him.

"You win eleven hundred Napoleons if you do go on," said the other, showing in proof of his a.s.sertion the card on which he had marked all the chances.

"And where 's the money?" cried Dalton, as, with a hissing utterance, he spoke, and he pointed to the table before him. "Have I Coutts's bank at my back, or is all Lombard Street in my pocket? 'T is easy to say, go on! Red again, by Jingo!"

"I tell you dat!" said the other, gravely.

Dalton turned round in his chair, and stared steadfastly at the speaker.

His mind was in that state of wild confusion when every conception, however vague and fanciful, a.s.sumes a certain degree of reality, and superst.i.tions take on them all the force of warnings. What if his prompter were the devil himself! was it not exactly what he had often heard of? He never saw him there before, and certainly appearances were not much against the hypothesis. He was tall and spare, with a high, narrow forehead, and a pair of most treacherous-looking black eyes, that seemed to let nothing escape their vigilance. Unabashed by or indifferent to Dalton's scrutiny, he went on with his chronicle of the game, noting down the chances, and only muttering a few words to himself.

"Nine times red," said he, as he counted the scores.

"Will it go ten?" asked Dalton, with a purposelike energy that showed his faith in the oracle; but the other never heeded the question.

"Back de red, I say; back de red dis time," whispered he in Dalton's ear.

"Don't you see that I have no money?" said Dalton, angrily.

"Dey will lend on your name; ask for a hundred Naps. Be quick, be quick."

Dalton stooped across the table, and whispered the croupier, who returned a look of doubt and uncertainty. Peter grew more pressing, and the other bent over, and spoke to his colleague. This time the request was not met with a smile and a bland bow, and Dalton watched with angry impatience all the signs of hesitation and deliberation between them.

"Say your banker is closed,--that you must have de moneys," whispered the dark man.

"Must I wait till the bank is open to-morrow morning," said Dalton, "or do you mean to give me this trifle?"

"Our rules are strictly opposed to the practice of lending, Count,"

whispered the croupier at his side; "we have already transgressed them in your favor, and--"

"Oh, don't inconvenience the Count," interposed his colleague. "How much is it?"

"Say two hundred,--two!" muttered the unknown.

"Two hundred Naps.," cried Dalton, resolutely.

"This will make five hundred and forty to-night, Count."

"And if it was five thousand," said Peter, running his fingers through the gold with ecstasy, "what matter? There goes fifty on the red."

"Ah, you play too rash," whispered the dark man.

"What business is it of yours? am I your ward?" cried Dalton, pa.s.sionately, for the stake was lost in the instant. "Bed, again fifty.

May I never! if I don't believe 'tis _you_ brings me the bad luck," said Dalton, darting a savage glance at the other, whose impa.s.sive face never betrayed the slightest emotion.

"I no wish to disturb your game, saar," was the meek reply of the dark man; and with a bow of meek humility he backed through the crowd and disappeared.

In a moment Dalton felt shocked at his own rudeness, and would have given worlds to have recalled his words, or even apologized for them; but other thoughts soon supplanted these, and again his whole heart was in the game.

"You did n't bet last time," remarked some one near him, "and your favorite color won."

"No, I was looking about me. I was thinking of something else," replied he; and he sat fingering the gold pieces as though unwilling to part with them.

The game went on; luck came and went; the gold glittered and clinked; the same endless "refrain"----"Faites votre jeu, Messieurs," followed by the same sing-song phrases, continued to roll on, and Dalton sat, now counting his money, and piling up the pieces into tens or twenties; or, with his head resting on his hand, deep in serious thought. Twice he placed a heavy stake upon the table, and recalled it at the very moment of the game's beginning. Every gesture and action showed the terrible struggle between hope and fear that went on within him. A red spot glowed on one cheek, while the other was pale as death, and his lips from time to time were moved with a short spasmodic jerk, as if some sudden pain shot through him. At last, with a great effort, he pushed all the gold into the centre of the table, and cried out, but in a voice so strange and inarticulate that the words could not be distinguished.

"You said 'rouge,' Count, I think?" asked the croupier.

"I fancy the gentleman said 'noir,'" remarked a bystander.

"Let him declare for himself," observed another.

"But the game has already begun," said the banker.