an when under the
blaze of the gas-jets. His eyes were still glassy and brilliant, but the
rims showed red, as if for want of sleep, and beneath the lower lids lay
sunken half-circles of black. He moved with his wonted precision, but
without that extreme gravity of manner which had characterized him the
night of the game. Looked at as a mere passer-by, he would have impressed
you as a rather debonair, overdressed habitue, who was enjoying his
morning stroll under the trees, without other purpose in life than the
breathing of the cool air and enjoyment of the attendant exercise. His
spider-ship had doubtless seen me when he entered the walk,--I was still
an untrapped fly,--and had picked out this particular flower-girl beside
me as a safe anchorage for one end of his web. I turned away my head; but
it was too late.

"Monsieur did not play last night?" the croupier asked deferentially.

"No; I did not know the game." Then an idea struck me. "Sit down; I want
to talk to you." He touched the edge of his hat with one finger, opened a
gold cigarette-case studded with jewels, offered me its contents, and took
the seat beside me.

"Pardon the abruptness of the inquiry, but who was the woman in black?" I
asked.

He looked at me curiously.

"Ah, you mean madame with the bag?"

"Yes."

"She was once the Baroness Frontignac."

"Was once! What is she now?"

"Now? Ah, that is quite a story." He stopped, shut the gold case with a
click, and leaned forward, flicking the pebbles with the point of his
cane. "If madame had had a larger bag she might have broken the bank. Is
it not so?"

"You know her, then?" I persisted.

"Monsieur, men of my profession know everybody. Sooner or later they all
come to us--when they are young, and their francs have wings; when they
are gray-haired and cautious; when they are old and foolish."

"But she did not look like a gambler," I replied stiffly.

He smiled his old cynical, treacherous smile.

"Monsieur is pleased to be very pronounced in his language. A gambler!
Monsieur no doubt means to say that madame has not the appearance of being
under the intoxication of the play." Then with a positive tone, still
flicking the pebbles, "The baroness played for love."

"Of the cards?" I asked persistently. I was determined to drive the nail
to the head.

The croupier looked at me fixedly, shrugged his shoulders, laughed between
his teeth, a little, hissing laugh that sounded like escaping st