One day, after a long discussion more than usually excited, M. Raymond, finding that he rather had the worst of the argument, thought to convince me by letting me a little into his confidence.
"Ah! Well, you say you have a horror of gambling, and will never play. Wait and see. I bet that in an hour you will be so wild about it, that I shall be obliged to restrain and guide you."
I made a gesture of denial.
"Pray listen to me;" added he; "only when you've heard what I have to tell, I must ask you to guard sacredly the secret I am about to confide to you.
"You probably share the generally received opinion, that I have a large fortune. I may say that I am rich, as my funds come from a source that is inexhaustible. At the same time, I do not mind confessing to you, that I have no other funds than my wits, or, in other words, my skill in play. I live by the profits I derive from the gambling-table. I could prove to you, that there is not a year that I do not make money at roulette, clearing at least twenty thousand francs (800l.). You naturally inquire how?—I am going to teach you.
"It has long been the custom to hold up to ridicule those, who, having little trust in fate, seek to make their fortunes by the aid of lucky combinations at play, more or less ingenious.
"Even if the result disappoint you day after day, ought you, therefore, to conclude that it is not to be obtained?
"I have every reason for believing the contrary, and, when you have heard what I have to say, you will agree with me on the subject.
"To make these explanations more intelligible, I ought, in the first place, to establish the following aphorism: 'That all games of chance present two kinds of chances perfectly distinct: those which belong to the player, and those which are inherent in the combinations of the game.'
"The chances in favour of the player are represented by two mysterious agents, known by the names of loss and gain, or perhaps by the more characteristic ones of good and ill-luck.