d that leads to the
Principality, or--alas!--too often to ruin.

When at Monty I never wore chauffeur's clothes, for the Count treated me
as his personal friend, and besides only by posing as a gentleman of
means could I obtain the entree to the Casino. So we put up the car at
the garage, and together ascended the red-carpeted steps of the Temple
of Fortune.

At the bureau she had no trouble to obtain her ticket, and a few moments
later we passed through the big swing-doors into the Rooms.

For a moment she stood in the great gilded salon as one stupefied. I
have noticed this effect often on young girls who see the roulette
tables and their crowds for the first time. Above the clink of coin, the
rustle of bank-notes, the click-click of the ivory ball upon the disc,
and the low hum of voices, there rose the monotonous voices of the
croupiers: "_Rien n'va plus!_" "_Quatre premier deux pieces!_" "_Zero!
un louis!_" "_Dernier douzaine un piece!_" "_Messieurs, faites vos
jeux!_"

The atmosphere was, as usual, stifling, and the combined odours of
perspiring humanity and Parisian perfumes nauseating, as it always is
after the fresh, flower-scented air outside.

My little companion passed from one table to another, regarding the
players and the play with keenest interest. Then she passed into the
_trente-et-quarante_ rooms, where at one of the tables she stood behind
a pretty, beautifully-attired Parisienne, watching her play and lose the
handful of golden coins her elderly cavalier had handed to her.

While we halted there an incident occurred which caused me considerable
thought.

In front of us, on the opposite side of the table, stood a tall,
thin-faced, elderly, clean-shaven man of sallow complexion, and very
smartly dressed. In his black cravat he wore a splendid diamond pin, and
on his finger, as he tossed a louis on the "noir," another fine gem
glistened. That man, though so essentially a gentleman from his exterior
appearance, was known to me as one of "us," as shrewd and clever an
adventurer as ever trod those polished boards. He was Henri Regnier,
known to his intimates as "Monsieur le President," because he had once,
by personating the President of the Chamber of Deputies, robbed the
Credit Lyonnais of one hundred thousand francs, and served five years at
Toulon for it.

And across at him the pretty Pierrette shot a quick look of recognition
and laughed. "The President" nodded slightly, and laughed back
i