“Ah! that is a thing that rarely happens; as a rule he is perfectly cool, which is the principal thing at these tables, plays when the run is in his favour, and stops when it is against him; but occasionally he gets excited, and then of course the chances are that he loses everything like another.”

“What can he be doing here?” said Graham.

“Who knows?  Stopping a night or two on his way to Paris, or Brussels, perhaps, on the chance of finding some one here rich enough and imprudent enough to make it worth his while.  You do not play, Monsieur?”

“Never in that way,” answered the lad, laughing; “I can get through a game of whist decently enough, but I rarely touch cards at all.”

“Ah, then you are safe:  otherwise I would have said, avoid M. Linders; he has not the best reputation in the world, and he has a brother-in-law who generally travels with him, and is even a greater rogue than himself, but not so lucky—­so they say at least.”

“Do you know him, this famous gambler?  He does not look much like one,” says Graham.

“That is true; but he is a man of good birth and education, I believe, though he has turned out such a mauvais sujet, and it is part of his metier to get himself up in that style.  Yes, I know him a little, from meeting him here and elsewhere; he is always going about, sometimes en prince, sometimes in a more humble way—­but excuse me, dear Monsieur, Mademoiselle Cecile has begun to play, and I am engaged to Mademoiselle Sophie for this dance; she will never forgive me if I make her wait.”

The dancers whirled on; the room grew hotter and hotter.  M. Linders had disappeared, and Graham began to think that he too had had almost enough of it all, and that it would be pleasant to seek peace and coolness in the deserted moonlit courtyard.  He was watching for a pause in the waltz that would admit of his crossing the room, when his attention was attracted by the same little girl he had seen that morning in the garden.  She was still dressed in the shabby old frock and pinafore, and as she came creeping in, threading her way deftly amongst the young ladies in starched muslins and gay ribbons who were fluttering about, she made the effect of a little brown moth who had strayed into the midst of a swarm of brilliant butterflies.  No one took any notice of her, and she made her way up to the large round table which had been pushed into the far corner of the room, and near which Graham was standing.

“Do you want anything?” he asked, as he saw her raise herself on tiptoe, and stretch forward over the table.

“I want that,” she said, pointing to a miniature roulette board, which stood in the middle, beyond the reach of her small arm.