on the red, I won,
left the stake, doubled, and won again. The heap of gold had increased
to a large size, and still remained to abide the chance of the card.
Again, again, and again, it was doubled. Seven times had the red card
been turned up, and seven times had my gold been doubled. Talbot, who
stood behind me, implored and begged me earnestly to leave off.

"What may be the consequence of one card against you? Trust no more to
fortune; be content with what you have got."

"That," muttered I, "Talbot, is of no use; I must have more."

Again came up the red, to the astonishment of the bystanders; and to
their still greater astonishment, my gold, which had increased to an
enormous heap, still remained on the table. Talbot again intreated me
not to tempt fortune foolishly.

"Folly," said I, "Talbot, has already been committed; and one more card
will do the business. It must be done."

The bankers knowing, after eight red cards had been turned up, how great
the chance was of regaining all their losses by a double or quits,
agreed to the ninth card. Talbot trembled like a leaf. The card was
turned; it came up red, and the bank was broken.

Here all play ceased for the night. The losers, of course, vented their
feelings in the most blasphemous execrations; while I quietly collected
all my winnings, and returned home in a _fiacre_, with Talbot, who took
the precaution of requesting the attendance of two _gendarmes_. These
were each rewarded with a Napoleon.

"Now, Talbot," said I, "I solemnly swear, as I hope to go to heaven,
never to play again." And this promise I have most religiously kept.
My good fortune was one instance in ten thousand, among those who have
been ruined in that house. The next morning I refunded all I had drawn
upon Eugenia, and all my father had supplied me with, and there still
remained a considerable residue.

Determined not to continue in this vortex of dissipation any longer,
where my resolution was hourly put to the test, Talbot and myself agreed
to travel down to Brest, an arsenal we were both desirous of seeing.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

_Pal_.
Thou art a traitor, Arcite, and a fellow
False as thy title to her. Friendship, blood,
And all the ties between us, I disclaim.
_Arc_.
You are mad.
_Pal_.
I must be,
Till thou art worthy, Arcite; it concerns me!
And, in this madness, if I hazard thee
And take thy life, I deal but truly.
_Arc_.