Yet they never worried.  Her lucky play attracted others who usually lost.  Once, a year before, a Frenchman who occupied a seat next to her daily for a month lost over a quarter of a million sterling, and one night threw himself under the Paris rapide at the long bridge over the Var.  But on hearing of it the next day from a croupier Mademoiselle merely shrugged her shoulders, and said: 

“I warned him to return to Paris.  The fool!  It is only what I expected.”

Hugh looked only once across at the mysterious woman whom Dorise had indicated, and then drew her away.  As a matter of fact he had no intention that mademoiselle should notice him.

“What do you know of her?” he asked in a casual way when they were on the other side of the great saloon.

“Well, a Frenchman I met in the hotel the day before yesterday told me all sorts of queer stories about her,” replied the girl.  “She’s apparently a most weird person, and she has uncanny good luck at the tables.  He said that she had won a large fortune during the last couple of years or so.”

Hugh made no remark as to the reason of his visit to the Riviera, for, indeed, he had arrived only the day previously, and she had welcomed him joyously.  Little did she dream that her lover had come out from London to see that woman who was declared to be so notorious.

“I noticed her playing this afternoon,” Hugh said a moment later in a quiet reflective tone.  “What do the gossips really say about her, Dorise?  All this is interesting.  But there are so many interesting people here.”

“Well, the man who told me about her was sitting with me outside the Cafe de Paris when she passed across the Place to the Casino.  That caused him to make the remarks.  He said that her past was obscure.  Some people say that she was a Danish opera singer, others declare that she was the daughter of a humble tobacconist in Marseilles, and others assert that she is English.  But all agree that she is a clever and very dangerous woman.”

“Why dangerous?” inquired Hugh in surprise.

“Ah!  That I don’t know.  The man who told me merely hinted at her past career, and added that she was quite a respectable person nowadays in her affluence.  But—­well——­” added the girl with a laugh, “I suppose people gossip about everyone in this place.”

“Who was your informant?” asked her lover, much interested.

“His name is Courtin.  I believe he is an official of one of the departments of the Ministry of Justice in Paris.  At least somebody said so yesterday.”

“Ah!  Then he probably knew more about her than he told you, I expect.”

“No doubt, for he warned my mother and myself against making her acquaintance,” said the girl.  “He said she was a most undesirable person.”

At that moment Lady Ranscomb and Walter Brock joined them, whereupon the former exclaimed to her daughter: