ted from it by law
proceedings at his own brother's instance.

After all, is there a less pleasing thing in the world than a house of
pleasure? Singular question! Man is always at strife with himself. His
present woes give the lie to his hopes; yet he looks to a future which
is not his, to indemnify him for these present sufferings; setting upon
all his actions the seal of inconsequence and of the weakness of his
nature. We have nothing here below in full measure but misfortune.

There were several gamblers in the room already when the young man
entered. Three bald-headed seniors were lounging round the green table.
Imperturbable as diplomatists, those plaster-cast faces of theirs
betokened blunted sensibilities, and hearts which had long forgotten
how to throb, even when a woman's dowry was the stake. A young Italian,
olive-hued and dark-haired, sat at one end, with his elbows on the
table, seeming to listen to the presentiments of luck that dictate a
gambler's "Yes" or "No." The glow of fire and gold was on that southern
face. Some seven or eight onlookers stood by way of an audience,
awaiting a drama composed of the strokes of chance, the faces of the
actors, the circulation of coin, and the motion of the croupier's rake,
much as a silent, motionless crowd watches the headsman in the Place de
Greve. A tall, thin man, in a threadbare coat, held a card in one hand,
and a pin in the other, to mark the numbers of Red or Black. He seemed
a modern Tantalus, with all the pleasures of his epoch at his lips, a
hoardless miser drawing in imaginary gains, a sane species of lunatic
who consoles himself in his misery by chimerical dreams, a man who
touches peril and vice as a young priest handles the unconsecrated wafer
in the white mass.

One or two experts at the game, shrewd speculators, had placed
themselves opposite the bank, like old convicts who have lost all fear
of the hulks; they meant to try two or three coups, and then to depart
at once with the expected gains, on which they lived. Two elderly
waiters dawdled about with their arms folded, looking from time to time
into the garden from the windows, as if to show their insignificant
faces as a sign to passers-by.

The croupier and banker threw a ghastly and withering glance at the
punters, and cried, in a sharp voice, "Make your game!" as the young man
came in. The silence seemed to grow deeper as all heads turned curiously
towards the new arrival. Who would have th