s whole fortune on
the toss-up of a coin, but for that he must sell the house. Croisilles
therefore began by putting a notice upon the door, stating that his house
was for sale; then, while dreaming what he would do with the money that he
would get for it, he awaited a purchaser.

A week went by, then another; not a single purchaser applied. More and
more distressed, Croisilles spent these days with Jean, and despair was
taking possession of him once more, when a Jewish broker rang at the door.

"This house is for sale, sir, is it not? Are you the owner of it?"

"Yes, sir."

"And how much is it worth?"

"Thirty thousand francs, I believe; at least I have heard my father say
so."

The Jew visited all the rooms, went upstairs and down into the cellar,
knocking on the walls, counting the steps of the staircase, turning the
doors on their hinges and the keys in their locks, opening and closing the
windows; then, at last, after having thoroughly examined everything,
without saying a word and without making the slightest proposal, he bowed
to Croisilles and retired.

Croisilles, who for a whole hour had followed him with a palpitating
heart, as may be imagined, was not a little disappointed at this silent
retreat. He thought that perhaps the Jew had wished to give himself time
to reflect and that he would return presently. He waited a week for him,
not daring to go out for fear of missing his visit, and looking out of the
windows from morning till night. But it was in vain; the Jew did not
reappear. Jean, true to his unpleasant role of adviser, brought moral
pressure to bear to dissuade his master from selling his house in so hasty
a manner and for so extravagant a purpose. Dying of impatience, ennui, and
love, Croisilles one morning took his two hundred louis and went out,
determined to tempt fortune with this sum, since he could not have more.

The gaming-houses at that time were not public, and that refinement of
civilization which enables the first comer to ruin himself at all hours,
as soon as the wish enters his mind, had not yet been invented.

Scarcely was Croisilles in the street before he stopped, not knowing where
to go to stake his money. He looked at the houses of the neighborhood, and
eyed them, one after the other, striving to discover suspicious
appearances that might point out to him the object of his search. A
good-looking young man, splendidly dressed, happened to pass. Judging from
his mien, he w