_!' exclaimed a hoarse cracked voice just below me.
'What a series of black! Twenty-two, and only three red! And to be
unable to take advantage of it!'

"I looked down, and recognised the gray mustache, wrinkled features, and
snuffy black coat with a ribbon of the Legion of Honour, of an old
French colonel whom you may have seen limping in and out of the Cursaal,
and who ranks amongst the antiquities of Homburg. He served under
Napoleon, was shelved at the peace, and has lived since then on a
moderate annuity, of which one-fifth procures him the barest necessaries
of existence, whilst the other four parts are annually absorbed in the
vortex of rouge-et-noir. When gambling-houses were legal at Paris, _le
colonel rape_, the threadbare colonel, as he was called, was one of the
most punctual attendants at Frascati's and the Palais Royal. When they
were abolished, he commenced a wandering existence amongst the German
baths, and finally settled down at Homburg, giving it the preference, as
the only place where he could follow his darling pursuit alike in winter
and in summer. From the opening to the close of the play he is seen
seated at the table, a number of cards, ruled in red and black columns,
on the green cloth before him, in which he pricks with pins the progress
of the game. That evening he had been unfortunate, and had emptied his
pocket, but nevertheless continued puncturing cards with laudable
perseverance, of course discovering, like every penniless gambler, that,
had he money to stake, he should infallibly make a fortune; predicting
what colour would come out, and indulging, when he proved a true
prophet, in a little subdued blasphemy because he was unable to profit
by his acuteness.

"'Extraordinary run! to be sure,' repeated the veteran dicer.
'Twenty-two black, and only three red! There'll be a series of red now:
I feel there will, and when I don't play myself, I'm always right. I bet
this deal begins with seven red. Who bets a hundred francs to fifty it
does not?'

"Nobody accepted this sporting offer, or placed upon the colour which
the colonel's prophetic soul foresaw was to come out. The cards were now
shuffled and cut for dealing. The hell relapsed into silence.

"'_Faites le jeu, Messieurs!_' was repeated in the harsh business-like
tones of the presiding demon.

"'Red wins,' croaked the colonel. 'Seven times at the least.'

"Nearly all the players backed the black. By an idle impulse I threw
down