Nothing seemed so strange to our inexperienced Madelon, as that everything should be unchanged; only yesterday she had been sitting quietly in the convent garden, with long years separating her from the old life—­and now it seemed but yesterday that she had been here.  She went straight up to the rouge-et-noir table.  She was familiar with both it and roulette, but of the two games rouge-et-noir was that which M. Linders had always most affected; and without thinking much about it, Madelon had fixed upon it as the one at which she would try her fortune.  It was still early, and the tables had not long been opened, yet there was already a crowd two or three deep round them; and Madelon, hovering on the outside, had to wait some time for an opening that would enable her to approach near enough to lay down her money.  It seemed so natural to be standing there watching the play—­the expectant silence, the clink of the coin, the monotonous drone of the croupier, were all so familiar, that for a minute she quite forgot that she had any special object in view; and then, with one of those starts of realization with which from time to time she seemed to waken up out of some confused dream, she remembered why she was there, and what she had to do.  It was only then, that on taking out her purse with its cherished contents, so as to be ready when her turn should come, it flashed across her mind that she had intended to ask Madame Bertrand to change the two ten-franc pieces that formed her capital, into pieces of five francs, which would have given her two chances more.  Well—­it could not be helped now, and, after all, had she not more than enough? “Dix francs, et je ferai fortune—­dix francs, et je ferai fortune—­” The old words seemed to set themselves to a tune in Madelon’s head, chiming in with the croupier’s perpetual “Rouge gagne et la couleur,” “Rouge perd et la couleur,” whilst the two precious coins grew warm in the little hand that was clasped so tightly over them.  She had half relapsed into her dreamy state, when a woman who had been standing in front of her came pushing through the crowd.  Madelon instinctively stepped forward to take her place, and roused up on finding that she was near enough to the table to lay down her money.  The croupier was counting out the cards for the next stakes.  Madelon waited till that turn was over, and then, leaning across the back of the chair before her, threw one of her little gold pieces on the table.

It was on the red she had staked.  There was a pause as the other players made their game; Madelon’s languid pulses began to flutter with a sudden interest, increasing to breathless excitement as the croupier began to deal out the cards. “Rouge perd et la couleur,” and the poor little piece was swept away.  Madelon’s heart sank with a sudden pang, and then it beat faster, and her cheeks flushed, as, with a quick impulse, without a moment’s hesitation, she threw her remaining ten francs on to the same spot.  Another pause—­another deal. “Rouge perd et la couleur!” She had lost again, and her last chance was gone.