and chaste above all others, seemed specially
designated. In a word, the Comte suffered during these periods as only a
gambler of the fourth generation is able to suffer.

At present the number twenty appeared to him to have properties no
other number had possessed, especially in the reappearance of the zero,
a figure which peculiarly attracted him by its symmetry. His despair was
consequently unlimited.

Ordinarily the news of the lottery arrived by an inspector of roads, who
passed through Keragouil a week or so after the announcement in the
press; for the Comte, having surrendered his ticket, was only troubled
lest he had won.

This time, to the upsetting of all history, an Englishman on a bicycle
trip brought him a newspaper, an article almost unknown to Keragouil,
where the shriek of the locomotive had yet to penetrate.

The Comte de Bonzag, opening the paper with the accustomed sinking of
the heart, was startled by the staring headlines:

RESULTS OF THE LOTTERY

A glance at the winners of the first and second prizes reassured him. He
drew a breath of satisfaction, saying gratefully; "Ah, what luck! God be
praised! I'll never do that again!"

Then, remembering with only an idle curiosity the one hundred and
forty-three mediocre prizes on the list, he returned to the perusal.
Suddenly the print swam before his eyes, and the great esplanade seemed
to rise. Number 77,707 had won the fourth prize of one hundred thousand
francs; number 200,013, a prize of ten thousand francs.

III

The emotion which overwhelmed Napoleon at Waterloo as he beheld his
triumphant squadrons go down into the sunken road was not a whit more
complete than the despair of the Comte de Bonzag when he realized that
the one hundred and ten thousand francs which the laws of probability
had finally produced was now the property of Francine, the cook.

One hundred and ten thousand francs! It was colossal! Five generations
of Bonzags had never touched as much as that. One hundred and ten
thousand francs meant the rehabilitation of the ancient name, the
restoration of the Chateau de Keragouil, half the year at Paris, in the
Cercle Royale, in the regions of art, and among the great minds that
were still young in the Quartier--and all that was in the possession of
a plump Gascony peasant, whose ideas of comfort and pleasure were
satisfied by one hundred and twenty francs a year.

"What am I going to do?" he cried, rising in an outbu