he Casino, and get what they call a viatique--money
to go away with. So she did ask, though it was a great ordeal to make
up her mind to do it; and they gave my mother a thousand francs. Then,
you know, she had no right to play in the Rooms again; she was supposed
to pay her hotel bill, and leave Monte Carlo. But she gave half the
money to a woman she had met in the Rooms, and asked her to put it on
six numbers she had dreamed about; she was sure that this time she would
win."

"And did she?"

"No. The money was lost. We hadn't enough left to settle our account at
the hotel, or to get away from the place, even if there were anywhere to
go--when one has no pennies. So my mother begged me to slip into the
Rooms, with what was left, and try to get something back. I had been
trying when you saw me, with our last louis. Now you know why it seemed
so good to see a man I knew, a face I could trust. Now you know why I,
who had had such misfortunes, was glad at least to bring you luck."

"It's my turn to bring you some, I think," began the man she could
trust; but she stopped him by putting up her plump little white hand.

"If you mean with money, no," she said, with soft decision that was
pretty and sad to hear. "If you mean with advice, yes. If you could only
get me something to do! You see, they will be turning us out of our
hotel to-morrow. They've let us keep our rooms on, up to now, but for
two days they've not given us anything to eat. Of course, it can't go on
like this. If it hadn't been for you, I think when I went back to tell
my mother that the last louis of the viatique was gone, we would have
killed ourselves."

"Great Heaven, you must promise me not to do that," the young man
implored.

"I will promise, now, for you have saved me by--caring a little. You do
care, really, don't you?"

"I wouldn't have blood in my veins, if I didn't. But--about something
for you to do--I must think."

"Are you staying here for some time?" asked the girl.

"I haven't made up my mind."

"I asked because I--I suppose you don't need a secretary, do you? I can
write such a good English hand; and I know French and Italian as well as
I do German, and your own language. If I could be of use, I would work
so hard for you."

"I dare say I shall be needing a secretary after Christmas, indeed, I'm
sure I shall," insisted the young man, more and more earnest in his
desire to do good. "I have dozens of letters to write every day, an