"Monsieur has lost?" he inquired mildly.
"What the devil is that to you?"
"Oh, I could find monsieur a ticket back to Paris, if he so desires."
"Cheaper than burying me here, eh? Well, you go along with you; I am not going to cut my throat this evening; nor to-morrow evening." And I made off toward the terrace.
I sat down on one of the seats, lit my last cigar, and tried to contemplate the mysterious beauty of a Mediterranean night. At this moment Monte Carlo seemed to me both a heaven and a hell. Unluckily, as I turned my head, I saw the glittering Temple of Fortune. I spat, cursing with renewed vigor. It was surprising how well I kept up this particular kind of monologue.
Where should I begin life anew? In the wheat country, in the cattle country, or in the mines? I had a good knowledge of minerals and the commercial value of each. It wasn't as if I had been brought up with a golden spoon. I knew how to work, though I had never done a stroke outside of Wall Street. If only I had not mortgaged the estate! Useless recrimination! Bah! I had three days at the hotel. I could eat, and sleep, and bathe.
The band stopped; and it was then that I became conscious of a sound like that of sobbing. Across the path I discovered the figure of a woman. She was weeping on her arms which were thrown over the back of the seat. The spot was secluded. Just then some yacht below sent up a rocket which burst above us in a warm glow—It was the young woman I had seen at the table. I arose to approach her, when I saw something glittering at her feet. It proved to be a solitary louis. I stooped and picked it up, joyful at the chance of having an excuse to speak to the girl.
"Mademoiselle, you have dropped a louis."