"I will play it only on one condition."
"What is that?" she asked, rising. There was a bit of distrust in her
tones.
"That you shall--"
"Sir, you said you were honorable!"
"Let me complete the sentence," said I. "The condition is that you shall
stand beside me and tell me what to play."
She was silent.
"And share good fortune or bad."
"Good fortune or bad," she repeated. She hesitated for a moment; then
made a gesture. "What matters it now? I will go with you, and do as you
desire. I shall trust you. I believe you to be a gentleman. Come."
So together we returned to that fatal room and sought out the very
table where we had suffered our losses.
"How old are you?" she asked quietly.
"Twenty-nine."
"Play it, play it!" She flushed, and then grew as pale as the ivory ball
itself.
"Make your game, gentlemen!" cried the croupier. A phantom grin spread
over his face as he saw me. I laid the louis on 29. "The game is made!"
The ball whirred toward fortune or ruin.
I shut my eyes, and became conscious of a grip like iron on my arm. It
was the girl. Her lips were parted. You could see the whole iris, so
widely were her eyes opened. So I stared down at her, at the ringless
hand clinging to my arm. I simply would not look at the ball.
"Twenty-nine wins, black and odd!" sang out the croupier. He nodded at
me, smiling. The croupier is always gracious to those who win, strange
as this may seem.
I made as though to sweep in the winnings, but the pressure on my arm
stayed the movement.
"Leave it there, Mr. Chadwick; do not touch it!"
Ah, that blind Madonna! The number repeated, and the gold and bank notes
which were pushed in my direction seemed like a fortune to me. I turned
to her, expecting her to faint at the sight of this unprecedented luck.
No! her face was as calm as that of one of the marble Venuses. But her
hand was still tense upon my arm. As a matter of fact, my arm began to
ache, but I dared not call her attention to it.
"Wait!" she said. "Skip one."