I turned round and saw, nodding and smiling at me with inveterate civility, a tall man, dressed in a frogged and braided surtout.  If I had been in my senses, I should have considered him, personally, as being rather a suspicious specimen of an old soldier.  He had goggling bloodshot eyes, mangy moustaches, and a broken nose.  His voice betrayed a barrack-room intonation of the worst order, and he had the dirtiest pair of hands I ever saw—­even in France.  These little personal peculiarities exercised, however, no repelling influence on me.  In the mad excitement, the reckless triumph of that moment, I was ready to “fraternize” with anybody who encouraged me in my game.  I accepted the old soldier’s offered pinch of snuff; clapped him on the back, and swore he was the honestest fellow in the world—­the most glorious relic of the Grand Army that I had ever met with.  “Go on!” cried my military friend, snapping his fingers in ecstasy—­“Go on, and win!  Break the bank—­Mille tonnerres! my gallant English comrade, break the bank!”

And I did go on—­went on at such a rate, that in another quarter of an hour the croupier called out, “Gentlemen, the bank has discontinued for to-night.”  All the notes, and all the gold in that “bank” now lay in a heap under my hands; the whole floating capital of the gambling-house was waiting to pour into my pockets!

“Tie up the money in your pocket-handkerchief, my worthy sir,” said the old soldier, as I wildly plunged my hands into my heap of gold.  “Tie it up, as we used to tie up a bit of dinner in the Grand Army; your winnings are too heavy for any breeches-pockets that ever were sewed.  There! that’s it—­shovel them in, notes and all! Credie! what luck!  Stop! another napoleon on the floor!  Ah! sacre petit polisson de Napoleon! have I found thee at last?  Now then, sir—­two tight double knots each way with your honourable permission, and the money’s safe.  Feel it! feel it, fortunate sir! hard and round as a cannon-ball—­Ah, bah! if they had only fired such cannon-balls at us at Austerlitz—­nom d’une pipe! if they only had!  And now, as an ancient grenadier, as an ex-brave of the French army, what remains for me to do?  I ask what?  Simply this:  to entreat my valued English friend to drink a bottle of champagne with me, and toast the goddess Fortune in foaming goblets before we part!”

“Excellent ex-brave!  Convivial ancient grenadier!  Champagne by all means!  An English cheer for an old soldier!  Hurrah! hurrah!  Another English cheer for the goddess Fortune!  Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!”

“Bravo! the Englishman; the amiable, gracious Englishman, in whose veins circulates the vivacious blood of France!  Another glass? Ah, bah!—­the bottle is empty!  Never mind! Vive le vin! I, the old soldier, order another bottle, and half a pound of bonbons with it!”

“No, no, ex-brave; never—­ancient grenadier! Your bottle last time; my bottle this.  Behold it!  Toast away!  The French Army! the great Napoleon! the present company! the croupier! the honest croupier’s wife and daughters—­if he has any! the Ladies generally! everybody in the world!”