nt rattling of cheques and chinking of
dollars.

It is all a game of chance. "Skill" has naught to do with the game of
faro; and you might suppose, as many do, that the chances are exactly
equal for the dealer and his opponents. Such, however, is not the case;
a peculiar arrangement of the cards produces a percentage in favour of
the former, else there would be no faro bank; and although a rare run of
ill-fortune may go against the dealer for a time, if he can only hold
out long enough, he is "bound to beat you" in the end.

A similar percentage will be against you in all games of chance--"faro,"
"monte," or "craps," wherever you bet against a "banker." Of course the
banker will not deny this, but answers you, that that _small_ percentage
is to "pay for the game." It usually does, and well.

Such is faro--the game at which I had resolved to empty my purse, or win
the price of my betrothed.

CHAPTER FIFTY SIX.

THE FARO BANK.

We entered the saloon. The game _voila_!

At one end was the table--the bank. We could see neither bank nor
dealer; both were hidden by the double ring of bettors, who encircled
the table--one line seated, the other standing behind. There were
women, too, mingled in the crowd--seated and standing in every
attitude--gay and beautiful women, decked out in the finery of fashion,
but with a certain _braverie_ of manner that betokened their unfortunate
character.

D'Hauteville had guessed aright--the game was at its height. The look
and attitudes of the betters--their arms constantly in motion, placing
their stakes--the incessant rattling of the ivory cheques, and the
clinking together of dollars--all told that the game was progressing
briskly.

A grand chandelier, suspended above the table, cast its brilliant light
over the play and the players.

Near the middle of the saloon stood a large table, amply furnished with
"refreshments." Cold fowls, ham and tongue, chicken salad, and
lobsters, cut-glass decanters tilled with wine, brandy, and other
liquors, garnished this table. Some of the plates and glasses bore the
traces of having been already used, while others were clean and ready
for anyone who chose to play knife and fork a while. It was, in fact, a
"free lunch," or rather supper--free to any guest who chose to partake
of it. Such is the custom of an American gambling-house.

The rich viands did not tempt either my companion or myself. We passed
the table without halt