For weeks I adhered to the programme traced out by my friend; but without finding the relief he had so confidently prognosticated.
The society of woman was absolutely distasteful to me. I had become almost a gynothrope.
I sought distraction in the company of men; and, I regret to add, men who played monté.
Play is but a sorry resource—though one of the commonest resorted to—for soothing the pangs of an unrequited passion. The coquette makes many a recruit for the gaming table. Homburg has seen its scores of frequenters—sent there by her arts—hanging over its tables with broken hearts—even when fortune seems smiling upon them!
I had no difficulty in discovering a place to practise the soul-absorbing passion. Professional gamblers travelled along with us—as if part of the regular staff of the army. Every division had its “dealer” of “faro” or “monté;” and almost the first canvas spread in an encampment was that which covered the tapis vert of a card table!
In the country it was a tent; in the city a grand saloon, with chandeliers and a set supper.
Our army gamblers usually superintended such places—having established temporary partnerships with the indigenous vultures who owned them.
The game usually played was that universal in Mexico—monté. It was the most convenient—permitting players of all kinds and classes, and equally favourable to the novice as to the skilled gambler. There is no skill required—not much knowledge of any sort. A “banquier,” a “croupier,” a piece of green baize, and a pack of Spanish cards—voilà tout!
There were two or three of these gambling saloons, or “monté banks,” in La Puebla. More likely there were twenty; but two or three were grand establishments—frequented by the Poblanos of the better class; where gold doblones might be seen upon the green cloth as common as silver dollars. They were attachments to the grand Cafés, or Exchanges, that in Mexican cities take the place of our clubs—serving as places of rendezvous for the haciendados, and higher class of commerciantes.