to the office of the telegraph; thence to Mr. Risque at Wisbaden:

"'The Southern exiles; doubtless the most immethodical men alive; but
the results prove they have the best system: no _Risque_, no winnings.'

"You will see, gentlemen," continued Mr. Plade, when the enthusiasm had
subsided, "that I place the toast in this envelope. It will go in two
minutes to Mr. Auburn Risque!"

The waiter started for the door; it was dashed open in his face, and
splattered, dirty, and travel-worn, Auburn Risque himself stood like an
apparition on the threshold.

"Perdition!" thundered Plade, staggered and pale-faced; "you were not to
break the bank till to-morrow."

The Colony, sober or inebriate, clustered about the door, and held to
each other that they might hear the explanation aright.

Auburn Risque straightened himself and glared upon all the besiegers,
till his pock-marked face grew white as leprosy, and every spot in his
secretive eye faded out in the glitter of his defiance.

"To-morrow?" he said, in a voice hard, passionless, inflectionless; "how
could one break the bank to-morrow, when all his money was gone
yesterday?"

"Gone!" repeated the Colony, in a breath rather than a voice, and
reeling as if a galvanic current had passed through the circle--"Gone!"

"Every sou," said Risque, sinking into a chair. "The bank gave me one
hundred francs to return to Paris; I risked twenty-five of it, hopeful
of better luck, and lost again. Then I had not enough money to get home,
and for forty kilometres of the way I have driven a _charette_. See!" he
cried, throwing open his coat; "I sold my vest at Compiegne last night,
for a morsel of supper."

"But you had won seven thousand one hundred francs!"

"I won more--more than eighteen thousand francs; but, enlarging my
stakes with my capital, one hour brought me down to a sou."

"The 'system' was a swindle," hissed Mr. Simp, looking up through red
eyes which throbbed like pulses. "What right had you to plunder us upon
your speculation?"

"The 'system' could not fail," answered the gamester, at bay; "it must
have been my manner of play. I think that, upon one run of luck, I gave
up my method."

"We do not know," cried Simp, tossing his hands wildly; "we may not
accuse, we may not be enraged--we are nothing now but profligates
without means, and beggars without hope!"

They sobbed together, bitterly and brokenly, till Freckle, not entirely
sober, shouted, "Good God, is i