The place was crowded, and the atmosphere absolutely unbearable, as it always becomes about five o'clock. The Administration appear afraid of letting in a little air to cool the heads of the players, hence the Rooms are, as it were, hermetically sealed.
As I wandered about with Reggie, he pointed out to me other well-known characters in the Rooms—the queer old fellow who carries a bag-purse made of coloured beads; the old hag with a moustache who always brings her own rake; the bright-eyed, dashing woman known to the croupiers as "The Golden Hand"; the thin, wizen-faced little hunch-back, who one night a few months before had broken the bank at the first roulette table on the left; men working so-called "systems," and women trying to snatch up other people's winnings. Now and then my companion placed a louis upon a transversale or colonne, and once or twice he won; but declaring that he had no luck that day, he soon grew as tired of it as myself.
Ulrica came up to us flushed with excitement. She had won three hundred francs at the table where she always played. Her favourite croupier was turning the wheel, and he always brought her luck. We had both won, and she declared it to be a happy augury for the future.
While we were standing there the croupier's voice sounded loud and clear "Zero!" with that long roll of the "r" which habitués of the Rooms know so well.
"Zero!" cried Reggie. "By Jove! I must put something on," and hurrying toward the table he handed the croupier a hundred-franc note, with a request to put it on the number 29.
The game was made and the ball fell.
"Vingt-neuf! Rouge, impair et passe!"
"By Jove!" cried Gerald. "He's won! Lucky devil! How extraordinary that after zero the number 29 so frequently follows!"
The croupier handed Reggie three thousand-franc notes and quite a handful of gold. Then the lucky player moved his original stake on to the little square marked 36.
Again he won, and again and again. The three thousand-franc notes he had just received he placed upon the middle dozen. The number 18 turned up, and the croupier handed him six thousand francs—the maximum paid by the bank on a single coup. Every eye around that table watched him narrowly. People began to follow his play, placing their money beside his, and time after time he won, making only a few unimportant losses.