e is
nothing stronger save death. Fool and rogue, saint and sinner, here they
meet and mingle and change. To those who give Monte Carlo but a trifling
glance, toss a coin or two on the tables, and leave by the morrow's
train, it has no real significance; it is simply one of the sights of
Europe.

To this latter class belonged the two young men. They had no fortunes to
retrieve, no dishonesty to hide, no restitutions to make, no dancers to
clothe and house. It was but a mild flirtation. They saw the silken gown
outside rather than the rags beneath; they saw the smile rather than the
tortured mind behind it.

They dined sumptuously at the cafe de Paris. They wandered about the
splendid terraces on the sea-front, smoking. They had grown accustomed
to the many beautiful women, always alone, always with roving eyes.
Frequently Merrihew longed to chat with this one or that; and sometimes
he rebelled against his inability to speak the maddening tongue.
To-night, though the dinner had been excellent and the chambertin all
that could be desired, the two were inclined to be moody. So far fortune
had not smiled, she had frowned persistently. They found a vacant bench
and sat down.

"Ho-hum!" said Merrihew, dangling his monocle to which he had attached a
string.

"Heigh-ho!" replied Hillard.

"Curse those cigars!"

"With all my heart!"

They had searched Nice, and Monaco, and Mentone, but the women they
sought were not to be found. They decided, therefore, that the women had
gone on to Paris, and that there was now no hope of seeing them this
side of the Atlantic. They had not entered the Casino during the day;
they had been too busy quizzing hotel porters and concierges along the
Riviera.

"My system needs a tonic," said Merrihew.

"We'll hold the funeral after to-night's play. Of all the damfool games,
it's roulette."

"And I can prove it," Merrihew replied. "I have just fifty dollars
left." He took out the gold and toyed with it. "Can't you hear it?" he
asked.

"Hear what?"

"The swan-song of these tender napoleons!"

Merrihew had played the numbers, the dozens, the columns, the colors,
odd and even. Sometimes he would win a little, but a moment later the
relentless rake would drag it back to the bank. His chance to play the
good Samaritan to the derelicts of the American Comic Opera Company was
fast approaching the dim horizon of lost opportunities. Presently he
screwed the monocle into his eye and squinted