Madame de Ste. Amaranthe professed herself charmed to receive any friends of M. de Simoncourt; whereupon M. de Simoncourt’s friends were enchanted to be admitted to the privilege of Madame de Ste. Amaranthe’s acquaintance.  Madame de Ste. Amaranthe then informed us that she was the widow of a general officer who fell at Austerlitz, and the daughter of a rich West India planter whom she called her pere adore, and to whose supposititious memory she wiped away an imaginary tear with an embroidered pocket-handkerchief.  She then begged that we would make ourselves at home, and, gliding away, whispered something in De Simoncourt’s ear, to which he replied by a nod of intelligence.

“That harpy hopes to fleece us,” said Dalrymple, slipping his arm through mine and drawing me towards the roulette table.  “She has just told De Simoncourt to take us in hand.  I always suspected the fellow was a Greek.”

“A Greek?”

“Ay, in the figurative sense—­a gentleman who lives by dexterity at cards.”

“And shall you play?”

“By-and-by.  Not yet, because—­”

He checked himself, and looked anxiously round the room.

“Because what?”

“Tell me, Arbuthnot,” said he, paying no attention to my question; “do you mind playing?”

“I?  My dear fellow, I hardly know one card from another.”

“But have you any objection?”

“None whatever to the game; but a good deal to the penalty.  I don’t mind confessing to you that I ran into debt some months back, and that....”

“Nonsense, boy!” interrupted Dalrymple, with a kindly smile.  “Do you suppose I want you to gamble away your money?  No, no—­the fact is, that I am here for a purpose, and it will not do to let my purpose be suspected.  These Greeks want a pigeon.  Will you oblige me by being that pigeon, and by allowing me to pay for your plucking?”

I still hesitated.

“But you will be helping me,” urged he.  “If you don’t sit down, I must.”

“You would not lose so much,” I expostulated.

“Perhaps not, if I were cool and kept my eyes open; but to-night I am distrait, and should be as defenceless as yourself.”

“In that case I will play for you with pleasure.”

He slipped a little pocket-book into my hand.

“Never stake more than five francs at a time,” said he, “and you cannot ruin me.  The book contains a thousand.  You shall have more, if necessary; but I think that sum will last as long as I shall want you to keep playing.”

“A thousand francs!” I exclaimed.  “Why, that is forty pounds!”

“If it were four hundred, and it answered my purpose,” said Dalrymple, between his teeth, “I should hold it money well spent!”

At this moment De Simoncourt came up, and apologized for having left us so long.

“If you want mere amusement, Major Dalrymple,” said he, “I suppose you will prefer roulette to ecarte!”