yet everything goes against me. I ask so little, yet always when I am
about to better myself, something terrible happens. Oh, Life, Life!
You’re hard on me ... you’re hurting me so....”
What was the use of struggling? She would let herself die. If only she
had some veronal she would take a fatal dose....
“But, no,” she cried, courage coming back to her. “I’ve fought all
along and I’ll die fighting. I’ll laugh to the end.... I will be the
victor....”
Worn out she sank into a troubled sleep.
When she woke it was to hear her little clock strike two. How long the
night was! Would the dawn never come? The dawn with the ambulance!
What was that about an ambulance? No, it was all a dream, an evil
dream--what the doctor had told her. She would sleep again. She was so
tired, so tired....
Was that something moving out in the hall? The house was very quiet.
What strange fancies she had. She must be going mad.... Was that fancy
again?--that noise outside? And there ... her door was opening very
softly. No, she was not mad. It was really moving. With straining eyes
she watched.... A dark form filled the doorway, and a man’s figure
slipped into the room. She stifled a scream of terror.
Her chamber was lit by a small night-lamp turned very low, but she knew
only too well that large yellow, hairless face. Popol! This was another
of these evil dreams. Then she heard him speak.
“Well, my pretty one, at last.”
He looked at her, his face full of gloating triumph. He locked the
door, and gave a chuckling laugh.
“Now I’ve got you, my chicken. Ha! Ha! no one gets away from Popol.
He’s sure, is Popol. Once he gets on the trail he never gives up. It’s
been a long trail, my beauty, but now....”
Suddenly his voice grew thick with fury.
“Now I’ll teach you who’s your master. You’ll be glad to kiss my dirty
boots before I’ve done with you. Ah, you needn’t squeal for help. No
one will hear you; I’ve planned well. I have taken the room next to
yours. Been there since Saturday. There are no other neighbours, and
the people in the flat below are in the country. You are absolutely at
my mercy,--in my power.”
He was in no hurry. From behind his ear he took a cigarette and lit it
at the little night-lamp. The girl watched him, fascinated as a bird
is by a snake. He enjoyed her terror, and prolonged it. Then passion
seized him. He gripped her by the arm. At last she found her voice.
“No, no,” she gasped. “Spare me. Have pity. I will give you all the
money I have. Here! Take this!”
From under her pillow she drew her purse and thrust it at him. He
snatched it with a laugh, looked inside, and put it carefully in his
pocket.
“That’s all right,” he jeered; “I expect you’ll make lots more for me
in days to come. Yes, I’ll have your money, and, by God, I’ll have you
too....”
With a leap he had her in his powerful grip and the struggle began. He
held her arms so that she could not move them, and pressed his coarse
lips to her face. At their touch madness seized her. She bit fiercely
into the flabby fold of his cheek. With a snarl of pain he released her.
“You little devil, I’ll kill you for this.”
Once more he sprang at her, held her down. She felt her strength leave
her. She could resist no more. She was fainting.... Then suddenly she
remembered....
“Stop!” she cried; “Stop for your own sake! Can’t you see I’m ill?
Can’t you see what is the matter?”
Something in her voice arrested him. He drew back. There was a long
tense pause. Slowly he turned up the light. Then ... he grew limp with
terror. He looked closely and shrank back.
“No, no,” he gasped hoarsely. “Not that?”
“Yes, that!” she screamed. “And now you’ll have it too. Oh, brute,
brute! You can kill me if you like. I have had my revenge. They’re
coming with the ambulance, coming even now. You hear, it’s the
_smallpox_, you dog! The smallpox....”
But Popol did not want to kill her. Gazing at her with horror-stricken
eyes he backed to the door.
“Yes,” she exulted, “You can kiss me now. It will make more sure, or
rather see.... I am coming to kiss you.”
She made a move as if to rise and follow him but he did not wait.
He reeled through the door, pulling it to behind him. She heard him
stumbling down the dark narrow stairs, blubbering like a child.
“Oh, it’s awful,” he cried. “I can’t stand it. I’m not a sound man. It
will kill me. It will kill me.”
And Popol was right. It did.
CHAPTER FIVE
PHANTOM FORTUNE
1.
As she shrank back into the remote corner of the first class
compartment, Margot sighed profoundly. She had been thinking of the
strange events of the past month and of the bewildering turn in her
fortunes.
When she had been released from the hospital, some three months before,
she was still very weak. During her illness a religious sisterhood had
nursed her with devotion; a famous physician had personally attended
her; a great Institute had exhausted its skill in her behalf. She was a
record case, they said,--not a trace of the disease showed. She wanted
to return to Folette’s and begin work at once, but Madame would not
hear of it. “No, my dear, you’re too shaky. You need a good long rest
in the country, two months at least. If you have no money I will lend
you some.”
So Margot borrowed five hundred francs and went to Barbizon. There in
a cottage on the edge of the forest, she slowly regained her strength.
Then she returned to Paris.
One afternoon, a few days before she had arranged to return to the
_modiste’s_, she decided she would like to visit the grave of the Mère
Tranquille. Once more she sought the little bar on the Rue du Belville.
As she entered she had a curious feeling that she had never been
away; the fat red-faced man was still reading a paper behind the zinc
counter. When she asked where her old friend was buried, he put down
his paper and stared at her.
“You don’t happen to be the girl who worked here?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Margot Leblanc?”
“The same, I assure you.”
The fat man brought down his fist with a thump on the counter.
“_Sapristi!_ Why, every one thinks you are dead. The lawyers sought you
high and low; you seemed to have vanished off the earth. Didn’t you
know the old woman left you a heritage?”
“No. Is it true?”
“Assuredly. Not much; but to a girl like you, it will be very welcome.
Here, I’ll give you the address of the lawyers and you can go and see
them at once.”
She lost no time. The result was that in due course she received her
legacy. After settling all expenses and paying every debt, she found
herself the possessor of a little over three thousand francs. Never
before had she owned anything like such an amount. To her it seemed
riches. At first she thought she would carry out her plan of taking a
little shop with Jeanne. But the winter was coming on, the cold, grey,
cruel winter; time enough for the little shop in the spring. A sudden
distaste for Paris possessed her. Then one day as she was passing the
window of a tourist agency she stopped to stare at a vivid poster
depicting a sea of turquoise blue, a terraced town that seemed carved
from ivory, a background of amethystine mountain, palms, pigeons,
gorgeous flowers. Underneath was the name--_Monte Carlo_. It came like
an inspiration; she would go there. With a sense of great daring she
packed her basket-valise, said good-bye to Madame Folette and Jeanne,
and took the train.
2.
As she sat alone in the corner of her compartment, these events passed
through her mind and she sighed deeply. She felt very lonely, rather
frightened. She blamed herself for having bought a first class ticket
at Marseilles, but the journey in the crowded second class from Paris
had so fatigued her that she had decided to be extravagant.
Even in her jaded state the scenery seemed to her to be of dreamlike
beauty. It was not until Nice had been reached that its too exorbitant
claims on her admiration began to weary her. They must be very close
now. It was long, that journey, especially when one has been so ill.
She must tidy up a bit. She rose and began to arrange her hair, that
stupid hair of which she had so much. It tumbled turbulently down and
she had to take out all her hair-pins and let it fall around her like
a golden shower. As she looked up apprehensively, she saw a young
man staring at her from the corridor. She was vexed. She caught the
mutinous tresses hurriedly and bunched them around her head. When she
had finished with her pins and combs, she looked around again. The
young man had gone.
She liked the _Pension_ which had been recommended to her, because
every one left her alone. The first day she gave to exploring the
gardens and getting her bearings; the second she presented herself
at the Casino and asked for a card. Fortunately, she had been warned
that on no account must she divulge the fact that she worked.
It is significant that a woman who earns her living honestly is
refused admission to the Casino while a prostitute is welcomed. The
administration knows that the small wage-earner brings little grist to
their mill, while the demi-mondaine plays their game. Margot filled in
her application with the usual phrase: “_Sans occupation_.”
Although she had made up her mind to gamble she was more than
prudent. For the first week she did nothing but watch the tables with
concentrated attention; then she bought a note-book with shiny covers
and began to take down numbers. She would stand by a table for two or
three hours, until her column of figures was quite a long one. Then,
finding a quiet seat in the Café de Paris, she would sip a cup of
chocolate and study them. She felt encouraged by the fact that a number
of women, with negligible capital, were undoubtedly making a living at
the Casino. Shabby, anxious creatures she saw them hovering like hawks
over the tables, waiting to get in on “a safe thing,” and going away
finally with a few pieces of gain. They had lived thus for years.
“Surely,” she thought, “with two thousand francs of capital, I can win
a louis a day.”
The next step was to make up her mind how she would play. She must
adopt a method, and concentrate on it. After long reflection she
decided that the most cautious way of playing was to stake on two
of the three dozens. In this way she would only have one dozen
against her. From the examination of her figures, and the columns of
permanencies published in a paper whose colour was the green of hope,
she found that the first dozen seemed to come a little less frequently
than the other two, and that it had a greater tendency to repeat. Here
was a hint for her. She would wait until the first dozen had asserted
itself strongly, then, as it were, retired exhausted. She would put
five francs on the second and five francs on the third dozen. She would
be covering thus twenty-four of the thirty-six numbers. If either
of her two dozens won, she would receive fifteen francs, a gain of
five francs. As soon as she had won four times, and had made a louis,
she would stop. She furthermore decided that she would always play
a flat stake, and would never make a progression. In the long run a
progression was always fatal. If she lost a louis on any one day, she
would stop for that day and not court disaster by trying to retrieve
her losses.
As she pressed through the crowd and put her first stake on the table,
she felt her heart beat wildly. She thought every one was watching her.
“Here is a new one,” she imagined them saying. “Another poor little
chicken come to be plucked. Look how her hand trembles as she puts her
two white counters on the table. One would imagine she was playing for
thousands.”
But after all every one was absorbed in the game, and no one paid any
attention to her. The ball spun around. She had won.
“Ah!” she thought, “it is always specially arranged that the beginner
wins.”
And she played again with more confidence. The player has the advantage
over the bank in that he may select his moment of play. (Unfortunately
he generally selects the wrong moment.) Margot waited for what seemed
to her a favourable moment and staked again. Again she won. Her second
and third coups were equally successful. She was strangely elated,
far more so than the extent of her gain really warranted. She had been
excited and anxious before, now a happy reaction set in. She changed
the white counters she had gained for a twenty franc bill, which she
regarded with a rare pleasure. How strange to make money so easily!
Playing as prudently as this it did not seem possible to lose. Just
think! if she had only played with louis-stakes instead of five franc
ones.... Or even with hundred franc placques.... A sudden vision of
fortune dazzled her. “If....” Ah! that pregnant “if” that gamblers use
in victory and defeat. The tragedy of that “if.” The virus was already
in her veins, and she went home to dream of whirring roulette wheels
and the smiles of fortune.
She awaited the second day with a passion of eagerness. But alas!
things did not go so well. When she had made three wins she had a loss.
With chagrin she watched her two pieces swept away. She was now only
one ahead. She won her next three coups, however, and retired with her
louis of gain.
The third day she had a hard fight. It was as if the Casino had said:
“Tut! Tut! we must not let this slip of a girl get our money so easily.
We must begin to baulk her a bit.”
She played all morning and afternoon, winning and losing, and winning
again. Try as she would, she could not get them to give her a louis.
At seven o’clock she retired from the fight, only a poor five francs
the winner. She was fearfully tired, her head ached, and the smile of
fortune seemed transformed into the wryest of grins.
The fourth day she had no trouble and her confidence came back. But
the fifth ... the first dozen came up seven times running and broke to
the third. By all the laws of average it was due to rest a bit and
allow the equilibrium to establish itself. It was, therefore, with a
confidence almost insolent, that the girl staked on the second and
third dozen. She was so sure of winning that she felt as if the money
were already in her hands, and did not even wait to watch the spinning
wheel. She had reached down to secure her winnings when to her surprise
she saw both her stakes being raked in. The number two had declared
itself.
Next time it would come right, and again she staked on the second and
third dozen. She waited almost listlessly. To her dismay she saw her
stakes swept off a second time. There must be a mistake.... No, the
ball was resting in the slot marked twelve.
She sat down on one of the leather-padded lounges. It was not the
money she had lost that worried her, but the fact that her system had
proven untrustworthy. She hated to be beaten like that. A mixture
of resentment and anger dominated her,--a mood most dangerous to a
gambler. She rose, and going back to the table put one louis on the
second dozen and another on the third. She won. She had regained all
that she had lost.
She did not play any more that day. She went to the Café de Paris, and,
having ordered a jug of chocolate, sat down to think. It was evident
that to gain four straight wins every day, was too great a strain on
her system. Well, then, instead of playing four coups with five francs
each time, why not play a single coup with a louis for the stake? In
this way she would not tire herself out with long play, nor exhaust her
luck. Accordingly the next day she began playing on these lines.
For a time all went well. She found that with average luck she won
three times out of four. Then a spell of bad luck set in, and in spite
of the care with which she played she found her gains were reduced to
two out of three. This left her no profit. She must do something to
raise her average. She thought the matter over. If she had to have a
certain proportion of losses, why not let them be fictitious ones? Why
not let her losses be made with imaginary stakes and her gains with
real ones? She made up her mind that, playing with her usual care, she
would wait until she had lost twice in her head, before playing on the
table a third time for a win. It needed lots of patience; often she had
to wait for two hours before her chance came, but with this method she
won three times out of four. However to develop a system in theory and
put it into practice are two very different things. To play a system
one must be as emotionless as a machine; systems make no allowance for
human passion and impulse, and this she soon found to her cost.
It happened one day that, when she went to the Rooms in the afternoon,
she staked as usual a louis on the second and another on the third
dozen, after having watched the wheel for awhile. The number eleven
came up. Now according to her system she should have called her day
a loss and gone home. But on this particular afternoon her mood was
mutinous. She determined to try again. She re-staked in the same
fashion, and the eleven repeated. She was furious with herself for
being so weak and foolish. It would take her four days to regain her
losses. It was too tedious, too discouraging. Well, it could not be
helped now. She walked to the door, but just as she reached it she
hesitated. Her irritation grew. No, she would _not_ let them beat her.
Going back to the table she fumbled in her bag and drew forth two
notes of a hundred francs each. She handed them to the croupier.
“Second and third dozen, please.”
She was strangely calm now, but she could not bear to see the ball
spin. She turned and went to another table, pretending to watch the
play there. She forbade herself to look back, then when she heard
the ball drop, she glanced round. The croupiers were cleaning up the
tables, but the rake swung clear of the hundred francs she had put on
the middle dozen. She had won.
Again she snatched victory from defeat. She had retrieved her losses
and had a louis to boot. But strange to say she felt no elation. She
had been reckless and risked two hundred francs. It must not happen
again, she told herself.
It was soon evident that if her average wins were three out of four,
with a stake of two louis, and she made only one coup, her gains
would only aggregate five francs a day. That would never do. After
much reflection and analysis of her figures, she decided to play with
placques of a hundred francs each. In this way she would gain a hundred
francs every four days; and even, if she allowed five francs for a
possible zero every time she played, she would still make her louis a
day. This was the plan she finally adopted. Her system, in short, was
to play only a flat stake, never a progression. She played only one
coup a day, stopping if she lost, and took two fictitious losses before
actually playing on the table. She played a hundred francs on the
second, and a hundred francs on the third dozen after an exhausted run
of the first dozen. She put five francs on zero.
It was very much like hard work, and needed both patience and judgment,
but it was possible for her to go on playing this system for six
months without mishap, and in the end just about even up.
3.
One day as she was eating a hurried luncheon she noticed a young man
reading by the window. His hair was ash blonde, brushed glossily back,
his face thin, sensitive, and browned by the sun. When he smiled at
Terese, the waitress, his teeth were milk-white, and very regular.
His eyes should have been blue, but were of a dark, velvety brown. An
extraordinary good-looking boy, she thought, with an air of refinement,
of race. He looked up and caught her eye; immediately she looked down.
She had seen him before, she fancied, but where? Then she remembered
the young man who had stared at her in the train. It was strange she
should meet him again.
She saw him often afterwards in the gardens, walking hatless, with
his head held high. He never went to the Casino, and seemed very gay
and happy. It was easy to see he was well off, and had not a care in
the world. Once he passed her as she was on her way to her room, but
shyness came over her and she did not glance at him. He looked so
proud; he must be at least the son of an English lord. Why then should
she, daughter of a French head-waiter and an English bar-maid, be even
on bowing terms with him?
Then something happened that quite drove him out of her thoughts. For
ten days she had been playing her system without even a loss, gaining
nearly a thousand francs. Her winnings so far had more than paid her
modest expenses. When she entered the Casino on Christmas morning she
had four bills of a thousand francs each in her bag. She had also
a letter from Jeanne. Jeanne knew of such a nice little shop on the
Boulevard Raspail. It would be empty by the January term and, if Margot
was willing, they would each put in two thousand francs and take it.
Jeanne wanted an answer at once. Margot was very happy. She would tell
Jeanne to take the shop, and she herself would return to Paris shortly
after the beginning of the new year. She was sorry to think of leaving
Monte Carlo, and to give up roulette; the keen shifts and stresses of
the game intrigued her and she loved that moment of emotion just before
the ball dropped. Then the thought came to her: Why not experience
a moment of more intense emotion than she had ever known? She had a
thousand francs of the bank’s money that she did not absolutely need.
Why not risk it? If she could win with bills of a hundred, why not
with notes of a thousand? She watched the table until the opportunity
came. She placed five hundred francs on the second dozen, and five
hundred on the third, then with an air of unconcern fell to regarding
one of the pictures on the wall. It was a painting of Watteau-like
delicacy, representing autumn; falling leaves, gallants and ladies of
the court....
“_Rien ne va plus._”
Would the ball never drop? She heard it knocking about among the
diamond-shaped brass projections. Then silence, and ... zero.
Oh, what a fool she had been! For the first time in weeks she had
forgotten to cover zero. And for the first time in weeks she had
encountered it. She hated the calm croupier who raked in her thousand
francs. There was something so ruthless, so inexorable in the way he
did it. A dull rage filled her. She seemed to be impelled by something
stronger than herself. She took from her bag a second note of a
thousand francs and played it as before. No, she would not stake on
zero. The chances of it repeating were a thousand to one.... _Zero!_
again!
It could not be possible! As she saw another thousand swept away she
felt physically sick. She sat down on a lounge, dazed, stunned. The
impassive croupiers seemed suddenly to become mocking satyrs, the
great guilded hall, pitiless, cruel. She watched a little hunch-backed
croupier spin the wheel by its brass handle; he flipped the ivory
sphere in the other direction in a careless, casual manner. The girl
started up. It was as if she were an automaton, moved by some force
outside of her will. Taking a third thousand franc bill from her bag,
she staked it in the same way as before. No use to stake on zero this
time. The chance of its coming up a third time was a million to one.
She saw the ball go scuttling among the brass knobs; she heard a great
murmur from the gazing crowd; all eyes turned admiringly to the little
hunchback who tried to look as if he had done it on purpose.... ZERO!
She walked away. A bitter recklessness had seized her. She took out her
remaining thousand franc bill. She would risk it anywhere, anyhow. A
red haired man was coming in at the door. That was an inspiration. She
would play on the red and leave it for a _paroli_. She went over to the
nearest croupier and handed him her bill.
“Rouge, please.”
But the croupier misunderstood. He put the bill on black, looking at
her for approval. After all, what did it matter? Let it remain on
black. She nodded and black it was. Once more the ball whizzed dizzily
round and dropped into its slot. Rouge.
She had lost. In less than four minutes she had lost four thousand
francs. She pulled down her veil and walked out of the gambling rooms.
Her legs were weak under her and she felt faint. She sat down on a
bench in the atrium. It could not be true! She must have dreamt it. She
opened her hand-bag of shabby black leather and searched feverishly.
All she found was about thirty francs.
She was broke.
CHAPTER SIX
DERELICT
1.