The day had been hard for many of the wealthy Limanians; some among
them, exhausted with the fatigues of the preceding night, were reposing
on the ground, wrapped in their _ponchos_.

Other players were seated before a large green table, divided into four
compartments by two lines, which intersected each other at the centre in
right angles; on each of these compartments were the first letters of
the words _azar_ and _suerte_, (chance and fate,) A and S.

At this moment, the parties of the _monte_ were animated; a mestizo was
pursuing the unfavorable chance with feverish ardor.

"Two thousand piasters!" exclaimed he.

The banker shook the dice, and the player burst into imprecations.

"Four thousand piasters!" said he, again. And he lost once more.

Martin Paz, protected by the obscurity of the saloon, could look the
player in the face, and he turned pale.

It was Andre Certa!

Near him, was standing the Jew Samuel.

"You have played enough, Senor Andre," said Samuel to him; "the luck is
not for you."

"What business is it of yours?" replied the mestizo, roughly.

Samuel bent down to his ear.

"If it is not my business, it is your business to break off these habits
during the days which precede your marriage."

"Eight thousand piasters!" resumed Andre Certa.

He lost again: the mestizo suppressed a curse and the banker
resumed--"Play on!"

Andre Certa, drawing from his pocket some bills, was about to have
hazarded a considerable sum; he had even deposited it on one of the
tables, and the banker, shaking his dice, was about to have decided its
fate, when a sign from Samuel stopped him short. The Jew bent again to
the ear of the mestizo, and said--

"If nothing remains to you to conclude our bargain, it shall be broken
off this evening!"

Andre Certa shrugged his shoulders, took up his money, and went out.

"Continue now," said Samuel to the banker; "you may ruin this gentleman
after his marriage."

The banker bowed submissively. The Jew Samuel was the founder and
proprietor of the games of Chorillos. Wherever there was a _real_ to be
made this man was to be met with.

He followed the mestizo; and finding him on the stone steps, said to
him--

"I have secrets of importance to communicate. Where can we converse in
safety?"

"Wherever you please," replied Certa, roughly.

"Senor, let not your passions ruin your prospects. I would neither
confide my secret to the most carefully closed chambers