The gentleman was altogether a disreputable-looking personage, and they who had seen him win his money,—­Frenchmen and Italians for the most part,—­had declared among themselves that his luck had been most miraculous.  It was observed that he had a companion with him, who stuck close to his elbow, and it was asserted that this companion continually urged him to leave the room.  But as long as the croupier remained at the table he remained, and continued to play through the day with almost invariable luck.  It was surmised among the gamblers there that he had not entered the room with above twenty or thirty pieces in his pocket, and that he had taken away with him, when the place was closed, six hundred napoleons.  “Look there; he has come again to give it all back to Madame Blanc, with interest,” said a Frenchman to an Italian.

“Yes; and he will end by blowing his brains out within a week.  He is just the man to do it.”

“These Englishmen always rush at their fate like mad bulls,” said the Frenchman.  “They get less distraction for their money than any one.”

“Che va piano va sano,” said the Italian, jingling the four napoleons in his pocket, which had been six on yesterday morning.  Then they sauntered up to the Englishman, and both of them touched their hats to him.  The Englishman just acknowledged the compliment, and walked off with his companion, who was still whispering something into his ear.

“It is a gendarme who is with him, I think,” said the Frenchman, “only the man does not walk erect.”

Who does not know the outside hall of the magnificent gambling-house at Monte Carlo, with all the golden splendor of its music-room within?  Who does not know the lofty roof and lounging seats, with its luxuries of liveried servants, its wealth of newspapers, and every appanage of costly comfort which can be added to it?  And its music within,—­who does not know that there are to be heard sounds in a greater perfection of orchestral melody than are to be procured by money and trouble combined in the great capitals of Europe?  Think of the trouble endured by those unhappy fathers of families who indulge their wives and daughters at the Philharmonic and St. James’s Hall!  Think of the horrors of our theatres, with their hot gas, and narrow passages, and difficulties of entrance, and almost impossibility of escape!  And for all this money has to be paid,—­high prices,—­and the day has to be fixed long beforehand, so that the tickets may be secured, and the daily feast,—­papa’s too often solitary enjoyment,—­has to be turned into a painful early fast.  And when at last the thing has been done, and the torment endured, the sounds heard have not always been good of their kind, for the money has not sufficed to purchase the aid of a crowd of the best musicians.  But at Monte Carlo you walk in with your wife in her morning costume, and seating yourself luxuriously in one of those soft stalls which are there prepared for you, you give