e went to the Casino. For the fun of the thing I put
some money on the _Trente et Quarante_. I did nothing but win. It was
tiresome; I would rather have lost; I had to speak to the dealer, and
that, as you can fancy, was not to my liking. There was a great crowd.
One little old woman put money wherever I did. She won a lot, too. But
one man, whom I could not help noticing, backed red when I was on black,
and vice versa. He did it persistently, intentionally, and he lost every
time. Finally one of the croupiers told me that my stake was above the
maximum, and asked how much I would risk. I was tired of answering his
questions, and I turned away. A lackey followed me with a salver covered
with gold and notes--the money I had won. I didn't want it; I had not
even a pocket to put it in, and the purse which I held in my hand would
not have held a fraction of it. It was a nuisance. I turned it over to
Bunker, and presently we all went out on the terrace that overhangs the
sea. It was a perfect night. In the air was a caress, and from the
Mediterranean came a tonic. While I was enjoying it all, a beggar
ambled up on a crutch and begged a franc. I took from Bunker the money I
had won and gave him thirty thousand. You should have heard Bunker then.
I actually believe that if I had been his wife instead of his guest he
would have struck me. I suppose it was an absurd thing to do. But the
next time you are in search of a new sensation do something of the same
sort. The beggar became transfigured. He looked at the gold and notes,
and then at me. I do not think I shall ever forget the expression in his
face. Did you ever see a child asleep--a child to whom some wonderful
dream has come? It was at once infantile and radiant. And all the while
Bunker was abusing me like a pickpocket. The beggar gave me one look,
dropped on his knees, caught the hem of my skirt, kissed it, threw away
his crutch, and _ran_. I burst out laughing, and Bunker, in spite of his
rage, burst out laughing too. Fanny called us a pair of idiots, and said
that if I was as lavish as that it would be better and wiser, and far
more Christian, to keep my money for indigent and deserving Bostonese,
than to bestow it as a premium on Monacean vice and effrontery. Just as
she was working herself into big words and short sentences, the man whom
I had noticed at the tables came along. He had met her before, and now,
as he expressed it, he precipitated himself to renew the expr