The eager excited throng around the table looked across at her with envy.  But her handsome countenance was quite expressionless.  She simply thrust the counters into the big gold-chain purse at her side, glanced at the white-gloved fingers which were soiled by handling the counters, and then counting out twenty-five, each representing a louis, gave them to the croupier, exclaiming: 

“Zero-trois!”

Next moment a dozen persons followed her play, staking their cent-sous and louis upon the spot where she had asked the croupier at the end of the table to place her stake.

“Messieurs!  Faites vos jeux!” came the strident cry again.

Then a few seconds later the croupier cried: 

“Rien ne vas plus!”

The red and black wheel was already spinning, and the little ivory ball sent by the croupier’s hand in the opposite direction was clicking quickly over the numbered spaces.

Six hundred or more eyes of men and women, fevered by the gambling mania, watched the result.  Slowly it lost its impetus, and after spinning about unevenly it made a final jump and fell with a loud click.

“Zer-r-o!” cried the croupier.

And a moment later Mademoiselle had pushed before her at the end of the croupier’s rake another pile of counters, while all those who had followed the remarkable woman’s play were also paid.

“Mademoiselle is in good form to-day,” remarked one ugly old Frenchwoman who had been a well-known figure at the tables for the past ten years, and who played carefully and lived by gambling.  She was one of those queer, mysterious old creatures who enter the Rooms each morning as soon as they are open, secure the best seats, occupy them all the luncheon hour pretending to play, and then sell them to wealthy gamblers for a consideration—­two or three louis—­perhaps—­and then at once go to their ease in their own obscure abode.

The public who go to Monte know little of its strange mysteries, or of the odd people who pick up livings there in all sorts of queer ways.

“Ah!” exclaimed a man who overheard her.  “Mademoiselle has wonderful luck!  She won seventy-five thousand francs at the Cercle Prive last night.  She won en plein five times running. Dieu! Such luck!  And it never causes her the slightest excitement.”

“The lady must be very rich!” remarked an American woman sitting next to the old Frenchwoman, and who knew French well.

“Rich!  Of course!  She must have won several million francs from the Administration.  They don’t like to see her here.  But I suppose her success attracts others to play.  The gambling fever is as infectious as the influenza,” declared the old Frenchwoman.  “Everyone tries to discover who she is, and where she came from five years ago.  But nobody has yet found out.  Even Monsieur Bernard, the chief of the Surveillance, does not know,” she went on in a whisper.  “He is a friend of mine, and I asked him one day.  She came from Paris, he told me.  She may be American, she may be Belgian, or she may be English.  She speaks English and French so well that nobody can tell her true nationality.”