“Faites votre jeu, le jeu est fait,” said the croupier, “trente deux.”
“You have lost, by Jove,” said Guy, in a low whisper, in which I could detect some trait of agitation.
“Trente et une,” added the croupier. “Rouge perd, et couleur.”
There was a regular buz of wonder through the room at my extraordinary luck, for thus, with every chance against me, I had won again.
As the croupier placed the billets de banque upon the table, I overheard the muttered commendations of an old veteran behind me, upon the coolness and judgment of my play; so much for fortune, thought I, my judgment consists in a perfect ignorance of the chances, and my coolness is merely a thorough indifference to success; whether it was now that the flattery had its effect upon me, or that the passion for play, so long dormant, had suddenly seized hold upon me, I know not, but my attention became from that moment rivetted upon the game, and I played every deal. Guy, who had been from the first betting with the indifferent success which I have so often observed to attend upon the calculations of old and experienced gamblers, now gave up, and employed himself merely in watching my game.
“Harry,” said he at last, “I am completely puzzled as to whether you are merely throwing down your louis at hazard, or are not the deepest player I have ever met with.”
“You shall see,” said I, as I stooped over towards the banker, and whispered, “how far is the betting permitted?”
“Fifteen thousand francs,” said the croupier, with a look of surprise.
“Then be it,” said I; “quinze mille francs, rouge.”
In a moment the rouge won, and the second deal I repeated the bet, and so continuing on with the like success; when I was preparing my rouleau for the fifth, the banquier rose, and saying—