to smile, as he explained that something else was necessary
before she would be allowed to enter the gambling-rooms. He pointed
toward three swing-doors at the far end of the hall, to the left.
Through two of these, people were going into a room beyond. Through the
middle one they were coming out into the atrium; and as the big doors
swung rapidly back and forth there were glimpses on the other side of a
vast space full of rich yellow light.

"Those messieurs stationed there would stop Mademoiselle, seeing she was
a stranger, and demand her ticket. It is better that she return to the
bureau, a room opposite the _vestiaire_ where she has left her cloak."

This was an anticlimax, after summoning courage for the plunge into
battle; but Mary returned whence she had come, to take her place behind
others who waited for tickets of admission. She listened intently to
what passed, so that she might know what to do; but it was disconcerting
when her turn came, to be asked for a visiting-card. The lately
emancipated Sister Rose possessed no such thing, and expected to be sent
away defeated. Yet a path out of the difficulty was quickly found by the
alert, frock-coated, black-necktied official behind the long desk. This
charming young woman, beautifully and expensively dressed, was not one
who deserved to be discouraged from entering the Casino. All she need do
was to give her full name and nationality, also her place of residence.
Gladly she obeyed; and holding in her hand a _carte du jour_ on which
she had written her own name, at last she had the right of entrance.

There was still one more mistake to make, however, and she promptly made
it, attempting to pass through the right-hand swing-door. But no! It was
for season-ticket holders. She must go to the left. The middle door was
for those coming out. A fat man, hurrying brusquely in before her, let
the swing-door slam in her face. "Le joueur n'a ni politesse, ni sexe,"
was a proverb of the "Rooms" which Mary Grant had never heard, but would
come to understand.

She was on the threshold of an enormous room, magnificently
proportioned, hung with lustrous chandeliers, and divided by an archway
into two sections. The farther part was much larger than that which she
had entered, and more sumptuous in decoration; but the whole was flooded
with a peculiar radiance which turned everything to gold. It was far
mellower than the light of the atrium, or the splendid rooms of the
hotel.