" said Dalton, angrily.

"Dey will lend on your name; ask for a hundred Naps. Be quick, be
quick."

Dalton stooped across the table, and whispered the croupier, who
returned a look of doubt and uncertainty. Peter grew more pressing, and
the other bent over, and spoke to his colleague. This time the request
was not met with a smile and a bland bow, and Dalton watched with angry
impatience all the signs of hesitation and deliberation between them.

"Say your banker is closed,--that you must have de moneys," whispered
the dark man.

"Must I wait till the bank is open to-morrow morning," said Dalton, "or
do you mean to give me this trifle?"

"Our rules are strictly opposed to the practice of lending, Count,"
whispered the croupier at his side; "we have already transgressed them
in your favor, and--"

"Oh, don't inconvenience the Count," interposed his colleague. "How much
is it?"

"Say two hundred,--two!" muttered the unknown.

"Two hundred Naps.," cried Dalton, resolutely.

"This will make five hundred and forty to-night, Count."

"And if it was five thousand," said Peter, running his fingers through
the gold with ecstasy, "what matter? There goes fifty on the red."

"Ah, you play too rash," whispered the dark man.

"What business is it of yours? am I your ward?" cried Dalton,
passionately, for the stake was lost in the instant. "Bed, again fifty.
May I never! if I don't believe 'tis _you_ brings me the bad luck," said
Dalton, darting a savage glance at the other, whose impassive face never
betrayed the slightest emotion.

"I no wish to disturb your game, saar," was the meek reply of the dark
man; and with a bow of meek humility he backed through the crowd and
disappeared.

In a moment Dalton felt shocked at his own rudeness, and would have
given worlds to have recalled his words, or even apologized for them;
but other thoughts soon supplanted these, and again his whole heart was
in the game.

"You did n't bet last time," remarked some one near him, "and your
favorite color won."

"No, I was looking about me. I was thinking of something else," replied
he; and he sat fingering the gold pieces as though unwilling to part
with them.

The game went on; luck came and went; the gold glittered and clinked;
the same endless "refrain"----"Faites votre jeu, Messieurs," followed
by the same sing-song phrases, continued to roll on, and Dalton sat, now
counting his money, and piling up the pieces into tens or twe