and excited Charlotte to laughter by my wit.

Henceforth the Poles and the Tomatis only saw me at intervals. I was in
love with the fair marchioness, and everybody said it was very natural.
When a week had elapsed, Croce, finding that the pigeons would not come
to be plucked, despite the suppers he gave, went to the public room, and
lost continually. He was as used to loss as to gain, and his spirits were
unaltered; he was still gay, still ate well and drank better, and
caressed his victim, who had no suspicions of what was going on.

I loved her, but did not dare to reveal my passion, fearing lest it
should be unrequited; and I was afraid to tell her of Croce's losses lest
she should put down my action to some ulterior motive; in fine, I was
afraid to lose the trust she had already begun to place in me.

At the end of three weeks Conti, who had played with prudence and
success, left Croce and set out for Verona with his wife and servant. A
few days later Charlotte dismissed her maid, sending her back to Liege,
her native town.

Towards the middle of September all the Polish party left the Spa for
Paris, where I promised to rejoin them. I only stayed for Charlotte's
sake; I foresaw a catastrophe, and I would not abandon her. Every day
Croce lost heavily, and at last he was obliged to sell his jewellery.
Then came Charlotte's turn; she had to give up her watches, ear-rings,
her rings, and all the jewels she had. He lost everything, but this
wonderful girl was as affectionate as ever. To make a finish he despoiled
her of her lace and her best gowns, and then selling his own wardrobe he
went to his last fight with fortune, provided with two hundred Louis. He
played like a madman, without common-sense or prudence, and lost all.

His pockets were empty, and seeing me he beckoned to me, and I followed
him out of the Spa.

"My friend," he began, "I have two alternatives, I can kill myself this
instant or I can fly without returning to the house. I shall embrace the
latter and go to Warsaw on foot, and I leave my wife in your hands, for I
know you adore her. It must be your task to give her the dreadful news of
the pass to which I have come. Have a care of her, she is too good by far
for a poor wretch like me. Take her to Paris and I will write to you
there at your brother's address. I know you have money, but I would die
rather than accept a single louis from you. I have still two or three
pieces left, and I assure you t