s or failure. It was the same old scene; the same old life that
one sees year after year in this chief cathedral of the gods of chance.
Men and women from both hemispheres stood or sat in the tense absorption
of eyes riveted on dancing ball and whirling disc. At my right was a
regally gowned woman whose delicate features were now as hard as agate
and whose eyes were avid. At my left was a saturnine Spaniard who smiled
indifferently, but who did not know his cigar had died to a stale
coldness. I was experiencing the sense of disillusionment which
invariably comes to me afresh when I enter the Casino of Monaco. I
always ascend the stairs of the palace which the principality-supporting
syndicate has provided for its patrons with a mild elation of
expectancy. I always take my place at the tables with the realization of
disappointment. The sparkle of jewels is there; sometimes the beauty is
there, but the spirit that rules is not a spirit of gaiety; and the
glitter of eyes makes me forget the diamonds. The cold lust of greed
flashes in the hard brightness of set faces.

Between the droning announcements of the croupier insidious thoughts
force themselves. I think of the management's efficient ambulance
services; of the exhaustive arrangements by which unknown patrons may be
promptly identified; and the sinister discoveries of the beach. These
things were in my mind now as the stack of gold pieces at my front
alternately piled and dwindled under a fitful sequence of petty losses
and gains.

I may have been at the table an hour when I began to have the insistent
feeling of someone in particular standing at my back. Of course, there
were many people behind me. Besides my own party was the crowd of idle
onlookers as well as others who were impatiently waiting to seize upon
vacant places about the board.

And yet, just then I could not turn my head. My system involved leaving
the winnings upon the table for three successive spins of the wheel. I
had played a group of numbers in the black, cautiously avoiding the
alluring perils of the greater odds, and twice my little pile of _louis
d'or_ had drawn in its prize money. On the third spin we stood to lose
the entire amount of our augmented stake or see our pile swell
commandingly. While I waited for the croupier to close the betting and
touch the button, I twisted my head backward, to determine whose
presence in the throng had so subtly announced itself to my
consciousness. But t