"Shall we risk it again?" said Nancy, with flushed cheeks and galloping heart.
Aldo's lips were dry and pale; he could not speak. He nodded. And a third time they won. The croupier flattened the notes out on the table and knocked the little pile of gold lightly over with his rake. He counted, and paid five times the already quintupled stake.
Aldo bent forward and picked up a rake to draw in his winnings. A man sitting near the centre of the table put out his hand, and took the piled-up notes and gold.
"Ah, pardon!" cried Aldo, striking the rake down on the notes and holding them; "that is mine."
"Pardon! pardon! pardon!" said the man, laying his hand firmly on the notes. "C'est ma mise à moi! Voilà déjà trois coups que je l'y laisse——"
Aldo was incoherent with excitement, and Nancy joined in, very pale. "It is ours, monsieur."
"Ah, mais c'est par trop fort," cried the other, who was French, and had a loud voice. He pushed Aldo's rake aside, and took the money.
Aldo appealed to the croupiers, and to the people near him, and to the people opposite him. They shrugged their shoulders and raised their eyebrows. They had not seen, they did not know.
"Faites vos jeux, messieurs," said the croupier.
The ball whizzed; the game went on. Aldo, burning with rage, and Nancy pale and dazed, left the table.