Carnival's reign was ended. Pierrot, clown and columbine, hand in hand,
had watched the flames consume him, and had danced around the dying
embers. His palace had been torn down, the decorations in his honour
had disappeared, the colours red and rose were no longer exhibited in
the shop windows, for Nice had assumed her normal aspect of aristocratic
dignity.
One afternoon a week afterwards, Liane reluctantly accompanied her
father and Zertho to Monte Carlo.
When at luncheon the visit had been suggested by the Prince, she at once
announced her intention of staying at home. Truth to tell, those great
gaming-rooms with their wildly excited throngs possessed for her too
many painful memories. At length, however, after much persuasion, she
was induced to dress and accompany them.
She chose a white costume, with a large white hat relieved by violets,
and a narrow belt of violet satin to match--a plain, fresh-looking gown
which suited her beauty admirably, and within an hour they had ascended
the steps of the great white Casino with its handsome facade, and
entered the long bureau to exchange their visiting-cards for one of the
pink cards of admission. The clerk at the counter, whose duty it is to
examine the dress of the visitors and their cards, at once recognising
the party, shook hands heartily with Brooker and the Prince, expressing
pleasure at seeing them again.
"Yes, we've returned, you see," the Captain answered jocularly. "Always
back to Monte Carlo, you know."
"Well, I wish messieurs all good fortune," laughed the stout,
round-faced man, "and also mademoiselle, of course," he added, bowing,
his face beaming with good humour, as instead of writing out formal
admission cards he handed them three of the special white tickets issued
by the Administration of the Cercle to its well-known habitues.
A gay cosmopolitan crowd in Paris-made gowns and well-cut suits, with
bulky purses in their hands, struggled behind, eager to obtain tickets,
therefore they at once deposited their sticks and sunshade, and passing
across the great atrium, thronged with well-dressed people, approached
the long polished doors guarded by attendants in bright livery of blue
and gold. Here again one of the men wished the Captain "Good day," the
door opened, and they found themselves once more, after many months,
inside the lofty well-remembered rooms where so many fortunes had been
lost and won.
Down the vista from the entrance could be seen room after room,
resplendent in gilt decorations, polished floors, ceiling of ornamental
glass, and many beautiful paintings by Feyen, Perrin, and Jundt; each
room filled with eager, anxious gamblers crowding around the oblong
roulette-tables. The continual hum of voices, the jingle of coin, the
rustle of notes, the click of the roulette-ball, and the monotonous
cries of the croupiers combined to produce a veritable Babel of noise,
while the heat on that bright sunny March afternoon seemed overpowering.
But those sitting around the tables, or standing behind, cared nothing
for the world outside, too absorbed were they in the chance of the red
or the black. The sun was excluded by blinds closely drawn, and the
long windows were all curtained in black or blue muslin, with handsome
patterns worked thereon, so that those walking upon the terrace by the
blue sunlit sea could obtain no glimpse of what was going on within.
The place was close, and there was about it that faint odour which it
ever retains, the combined smell of perspiration and perfume.
From the moment Liane placed foot upon the polished floor she regretted
that she had come. With that well-remembered scene before her a
thousand bitter memories instantly surged through her brain. She hated
herself. Around her as they approached the first table in the Moorish
room were the same types of people that she knew, alas! too well; the
flora of the Riviera, the world in which she had for years been
compelled to live. Among those sitting around were men, weary and
haggard-eyed, with those three deep lines across the brow which habitual
gamblers so quickly develop, and heavy-eyed women who had concealed
their paleness beneath their rouge. Of this class of frenzied humanity,
she reflected, she herself was. There had been a time not long ago when
she, too, had sat at the table prompting her father, sometimes flinging
on coin or notes for him, dragging in his winnings with the little ebony
rake, or keeping an account in her tiny memorandum book of the various
numbers as they turned up, so as to assist him in his speculations.
Unlike these _declasse_ women, she hated play. The life was to her
detestable. She had, it was true, moved in their world, but, thanks to
her father's care, she had retained her goodness and purity, and had
never been of it. Well she knew the terrible tension each spin of that
little ivory roulette-ball caused among that eager crowd, an anxiety
which furrowed the brows, which caused the hands to tremble, and sapped
all youth and gaiety and life. She, although young and fair, had
witnessed life there in its every aspect. She had herself experienced
the terrible frenzy of excitement; she had felt the desperation of
abject despair. She had seen dozens, nay hundreds, come there rich and
respected, to depart broken and ruined; she had witnessed more than one
woman grow so desperate over her losses that she had fainted at the
table, and once beside her at that very table there had sat a man,
young, good-looking, and well-dressed, who lost and lost, and continued
to lose throughout the long, hot day, until with a low imprecation he at
length threw down his last hundred-franc note on the "impair." He lost,
then rose unsteadily from the table, while half-a-dozen others struggled
to obtain his place. An hour later she had risen and gone into the
garden to obtain air, but scarcely had she walked a dozen yards when two
attendants passed her by, carrying her fellow-gambler's lifeless form.
He had shot himself.
This tragic incident, by no means uncommon, though so frequently hushed
up, had so unnerved her that for many weeks her father could not induce
her to enter the Casino, but gradually, because with a gambler's belief
in talismans, he declared that when she accompanied him Fortune was
always on his side, she again went with him, to spend long, anxious,
breathless hours in the crowded place, where bright, happy girls staked
their five-franc pieces, just for the purpose of saying they had done
so, and rubbed shoulders with the most notorious of the _demi-monde_;
and where honest men, professional gamesters, blackmailers and
souteneurs all placed themselves on equal footing before the
green-covered shrine of their fickle goddess.
Monte Carlo resembles nothing. It is at the same time a paradise and a
hell, of hope and despair, of golden dreams and of hideous nightmares; a
place without laws, either physical or moral. Its surroundings are
delightful, nestling below the high bare Tete de Chien and the Mont de
la Justice, with the picturesque little town of Monaco perched upon its
bold prominent rock to the right, the green slopes of Cap Martin jutting
out into the sea on the left, and away far in the distance, yet clearly
defined, the purple Alps of Italy, while beyond the white-balustraded
terrace is a broad open expanse of clear blue sea. The centre of
elegance and corruption, of beauty and deformity, of wealth and vice, of
refinement and sin, it is in itself unique.
On every hand, within and without the little place, the view is superb.
In the fine square before the Casino the gardens are brilliant with
flowers and shady with palms; the cafes overflow with visitors, waltz
music sounds by night and day, and from noon till the early hours there
is life and movement everywhere. The game fascinates, and the climate
acts upon the organism of all who go there. The exquisitely beautiful
surroundings of the Casino exert a deleterious influence. They are
alluringly pleasant. Life seems so gay, happy and free amid that whirl
of voluptuousness, where vice is disguised in a form _tout a fait
charmante_, its banal influence so imperceptible, that the man who
ventures into the Principality determined not to risk a single louis
upon the _tapis-vert_ in almost every case finds himself overwhelmed by
that involuntary indolence which creeps upon all like an infernal
intoxication, drawn irresistibly to the tables, and too often to his
ruin. The daily life in Monaco presents a surprising picture of morals;
a truly extraordinary Paradise of the marvellous and the diabolical, of
the sublime and the terrible, of fair dreams and of hideous realities.
_Et le fruit defendu dont se nourrit la masse a d'autant plus de saveur
que le joli petit serpent auquel on doit sa decouverte a toutes les
allures mignonnes d'un demon tentateur extremement seduisant_.
To Erle Brooker, whose sole vice was that of gambling, the monotonous
invitation of the croupiers, and the jingle of louis as they were tossed
carelessly over to the winners, were as the sound of the hounds to the
old hunter, or the bugle to the retired soldier. All the old longing
for excitement and the hope for a run of luck came again upon him, and
although he had vowed he would never again play he soon felt his pulse
quicken and his good resolutions fading away. As, accompanied by Zertho
and Liane, he moved on from table to table, watching the play and
criticising it with the air of one with wide experience, the desire for
risking a few louis came irresistibly upon him. He remembered that
before leaving Nice he had placed ten one-hundred-franc notes in his
pocket. It was a sum small enough, in all conscience, to risk. He
recollected the time when, with Zertho standing behind him taking charge
of his winnings, he had won a hundred times that amount between mid-day
and midnight.
Of all that gay crowd Liane looked the prettiest and smartest. As she
cast a rapid glance around the various tables, many of the men and women
she recognised as professional fellow-gamblers, each with their little
piles of silver, gold and notes. One or two, well-dressed and more
prosperous, had, she knew, at one time been down to their very last
franc. The two men also singled out old acquaintances, men who passed
their days in these crowded rooms, nodded to them and remarked upon the
sudden prosperity of some and the unusual seediness of others.
They were standing together closely watching the roulette at one of the
centre tables. People were crowding four deep around it, but mostly the
stakes were five-franc pieces, the minimum allowed.
"By Jove!" Zertho exclaimed at last, turning to the Captain. "See what
a run the red is having!"
"Fourteen times in succession, m'sieur," observed a man at their elbow,
consulting his card.
"It won't again. Watch," Brooker answered briefly, closely interested
in the game.
Next moment the ball was sent spinning around outside the revolving disc
of black and red; the croupier with sphinx-like countenance uttered his
monotonous cry, "_Rien ne va plus_!" and after breathless silence the
rattle told that the ivory had fallen. Brooker's prophecy proved
correct. The black had gained.
"Going to risk anything?" inquired Zertho, with a smile.
"No," interrupted Liane earnestly. "Dad will not. He has already
promised me."
The Captain, his hand trembling in his pocket, turned to his daughter
with a smile.
"Surely you won't deprive him of winning a few louis?" Zertho
exclaimed. "Be generous, just this once, dearest."
Smiling, she turned to her father with a glance of inquiry.
"I have promised," he observed quietly. "I do not break my pledge to
you, unless with your permission."
Already the people, eager to tempt Fortune, were placing their money on
the yellow lines upon the table, and while they spoke Zertho tossed a
couple of louis upon the simple chance of the black. The game was made,
black won, and he received back his stake with two louis in addition.
The sight of Zertho winning stirred Erle Brooker's blood. He had
watched the run of the table sufficiently to know from experience that
the chances were again in favour of the red, and with quick resolve he
threw upon the scarlet diamond two notes for one hundred francs apiece.
Liane made a sudden movement to stay his hand, but too late. Then, with
lips compressed she looked at him with bitter reproach, but uttered no
word. The little ivory ball had already been launched on it way.
"_Rien ne va plus_!" cried the croupier an instant later, and the ball
next second clicked into its socket.
Red won. The croupier tossed over to him two notes of the same value as
those he had staked, and he took them up with an amused smile at his
companions.
"Really, dad," cried Liane, pouting prettily, "it is too bad of you to
break your promise. I only came with you on one condition, namely, that
you wouldn't play."
"Well, I've won ten louis, so no great harm has been done," he answered.
"But there is harm," she protested firmly. "When once you come to the
tables you cannot, you know, leave until you've won, or lost everything.
I thought you had, for my sake, given it up."
They had drawn aside from the table, and were standing in the middle of
the handsome room.
"This is only in fun, Liane," Zertho assured her. "We are neither of us
any longer professionals. Our day is over."
"It is certainly not kind of you to invite my father to play like this,"
she exclaimed, turning upon him resentfully. "I have already told you
that I do not wish him to play."
"I have not invited him," Zertho declared with a laugh. "If he chooses
to follow the run I cannot well prevent it."
At that moment Brooker, who still kept his keen eyes riveted upon the
table, heard the croupier's voice, hesitated a moment, and taking two
rapid steps forward tossed upon the red diamond the four notes he had
just picked up.
Whirr-r! click! went the ball again, and the croupier's announcement a
few seconds later told him that he had won four hundred francs.
Liane, annoyed, flushed slightly, compressed her lips and turning from
them with a gesture of anger walked straight out from the great gilded
salons so hateful to her. As she passed, many turned and remarked how
beautiful she was. She knew that the mania which had caused her
father's downfall had returned, that this double success would cause him
to plunge still more deeply. Zertho smiled contemptuously at her fears,
and neither men went after her to induce her to return.
The Prince, on the contrary, shrugged his shoulders, and laughing
said,--
"She's annoyed. She'll return in a minute or two, when she knows you've
won. Now that she's gone I'm going to risk a little myself."
At that moment two players rose from their chairs, and the pair so
well-known to the croupiers and attendants "marked" their places. The
man sitting before the red and black disc which slowly revolved while
the players laid down their coin, gave both men a little nod of
recognition.
"_Messieurs, faites vos jeux_," cried the croupier.
"What's your fancy? The impair?" Zertho inquired of his companion in
the same tone as was his wont long ago.
"Of course," the other replied, selecting at the same moment three notes
from those in his hand, and tossing them over upon the marked square
indicated.
Once more sounded the monotonous cry, "_Rien ne va plus_!" The croupier
sat immovable as one joyless, hopeless, and impassionate, a veritable
machine raking in and paying out gold and silver and notes without
caring one jot whether the bank gained or lost. The ball was an instant
later sent on its way, and Brooker watching, saw it suddenly spring
about and fall.
Again he won.
With one elbow resting upon the table he gathered up his winnings with
that impassive manner which marks the professional gamester as one
apart. Whether he gained or lost Erle Brooker never made sign, except
sometimes when he lost more heavily than usual he would perhaps smile a
trifle bitterly. Already the furrows were showing in his brow, and his
deep-set eyes watched keenly the run of the game as time after time he
would hesitate, apparently reflecting, until the ball was already in
motion, and then toss his notes into the "manque" or "passe," the first
being the numbers 1 to 18, and the latter 19 to 36, or place them upon
the lines of the various numbered squares, whichever he deemed wisest
for the composite chances of a "sixain," a "carre," a "douzaine," or a
"colonne." Heedless of all around him, heedless of his old partner at
his side, the man who had once shared his losses and his winnings,
heedless of the pale delicate girl who was wandering about alone
somewhere outside, fearing lest he should lose the whole of the little
money they now had, he won and won, and still won.
Sometimes he lost. Twice in succession the bank gained six hundred
francs of his winnings; still nothing daunted, he continued, and found
that the knowledge he had gained of the game proved true, for he won
again and again, although sometimes doubling and even trebling his
stake.
The crowd of eager ones around the table now began to wait until he
selected the place whereon he should put down his stake, and commenced
to follow his play narrowly, playing when he played, and refraining when
he held back.
Zertho noticed this and whispered: "Your luck's changed, old chap. Why
not try bigger stakes?"
"I know what I'm about," the other snapped viciously, pulling towards
him a dozen notes from the "passe" opposite. "If you won't play
yourself keep count for me, and see that I get fully paid."
Zertho well knew that his old partner had now become oblivious to
everything. His mouth was hard-set, his eyes gleamed with a fierce
excitement he strove to suppress, and great beads of perspiration stood
upon his heavily-lined brow. A lady standing behind him, a tourist
evidently, reached over his head to stake her modest five-franc piece on
the red, whereupon he turned, and muttering something uncomplimentary
regarding "those women who ought to play for sous," withered her with a
look.
Somebody had handed Zertho one of the cards printed with parallel
columns under the letters "N" and "R," with a pencil wherewith to keep
count. He glanced up, and noticing all eyes directed upon them,
suddenly reflected that if any person came up who knew him as Prince
Zertho d'Auzac it would scarcely be dignified to be discovered counting
the gains and acting as clerk to a professional gamester.
But Brooker wanted money badly, and was winning; therefore he could not
disturb him. Both men were gamblers at heart, and the one feared to
move just as much as the other, lest the spell should be broken and the
luck change.
The good fortune attending the Captain's play seemed to the onlookers
little short of marvellous. With apparent unconcern he flung down his
notes, sometimes six or ten twisted carelessly together, and each time
there came back towards him upon the point of the croupier's rake his
own notes with a similar number of others.
Suddenly, having thrown four notes upon the "manque," he rested his hot
whirling brow upon his hand. The ball clicked into its little numbered
partition, the croupier announced that the number 20 had gained, and he
knew he had lost. The excited crowd sitting and standing around the
table exchanged smiles and glances, and at that moment the croupiers
changed.
Again the game was made, and the man upon whom everyone's eyes were
turned threw five hundred francs upon the simple chance of the red.
Black again won.
Once more he threw a similar sum upon the red. A third time black won.
He had lost fourteen hundred francs in three spins of the wheel!
It seemed that his luck had suddenly departed. It is often remarked by
professional gamesters that luck departs from the fortunate when the
croupiers are changed.
But the passion was now full upon him. His face was rigid; his mouth
tightly closed. He had spoken no word to Zertho, and had seemed hardly
to notice how much his companion had been gathering into his hands, or
to take the trouble to glance at the revolving roulette. The croupier's
voice was, for him, sufficient.
Now, each time that the tiny ball dropped into its socket he knew that
its click cost him four hundred francs. Time after time he lost, and
those who, half-an-hour before, had been carefully following his play
and winning heavily thereby, began to forsake him and trust in their own
discretion. In eighteen games only twice the red turned up, still with
the dogged pertinacity of the gamester he pinned his faith to the colour
upon which he had had his run of luck, and continued to stake his notes
in the expectation that the black must lose.
"You're getting reckless," Zertho whispered. "This isn't like you, old
fellow."
But his companion turned from him with angry gesture, and flung on his
money as before.
At that moment red won. The colour had changed. From Zertho's hand he
took the bundle of notes, still formidable, although his losses had been
so heavy, and counted them as quickly and accurately as a bank-teller.
There were eighty-three, each for one hundred francs.
For an instant he paused. Already the ball was on its way. His keen
eyes, gleaming with an unnatural fire, took in the table at a glance;
then withdrawing twenty-three of the notes, he screwed up the remainder
into a bundle and tossed it upon the scarlet diamond.
"Good heavens!" Zertho gasped. "Are you mad, Brooker?"
But the Captain paid no heed. His blotchy countenance, a trifle paler,
was as impassive as before, although he had staked six thousand francs,
the maximum allowed upon the simple chance.
"_Rien ne va plus_!" cried the croupier once more, and those crowding
around the table, witnessing the heavy stake, glanced quickly at the
reckless gamester, then craned their necks to watch the tiny ball.
Slowly, very slowly, it lost its impetus. The breathless seconds seemed
hours. All were on tiptoe of expectation, the least moved being the man
sitting with his chin resting upon his hand, his eyes fixed thoughtfully
upon the table before him; the man who had spent whole years of his life
amid that terrible whirl of frenzied greed and forlorn hope. Even the
croupiers, whose dark, impassive faces and white shirt-fronts had
haunted so many of the ruined ones, bent to watch the progress of the
ball.
Zertho, in his eagerness, rose from his chair to obtain a better view.
Whirr-r. Click! It fell at last, and scarcely had it touched the
number when the croupier's voice clearly and distinctly announced that
the red had gained. Then the crowd breathed once more.
Brooker raised his head in the direction of the croupier, and a slight
smile played about the corners of his hard-set mouth. A moment later
six notes for a thousand francs each were handed to him at the end of
the rake, while Zertho drew in the big bundle of small notes his
companion had staked. Brooker had re-won all the winnings he had lost.
He toyed with the bundle of sixty notes which Zertho handed to him until
the ball was again set spinning, when, as if with sudden resolution, he
tossed them once more upon the same spot.
A silent breathlessness followed, while he remained still motionless,
his chin sunk upon his breast. It was a reckless game he was playing,
and none knew it better than himself. Yet somehow that afternoon a
desperate frenzy had seized him, and having won, he played boldly, with
the certain knowledge that the bad luck which had hitherto followed him
had at last changed.
Again the disc, revolving in the opposite direction, sent the ball
hopping about as it struck it. Once more it fell.
The red again won, and he added six additional notes to the six already
in his hand.
"_Messieurs, faites vos jeux_!"
A third time was the game made, a third time he held in his hand in
indecision that bundle of notes, and a third time he tossed them upon
the scarlet diamond.
In an instant gold and notes were showered upon them from every hand
until they formed a formidable pile. The other players crowding around,
seeing his returning run of luck, once more followed his game.
A third time was the ball projected around the edge of the disc,
followed eagerly in its course by two hundred eyes; a third time the
croupier's voice was raised in warning that no more money was to be
placed upon the table, and a third time the ivory dropped with a sudden
click upon the red.
A third time came the six thousand francs handed upon the end of the
croupier's rake.
Brooker, taking the bundle of small notes and thrusting them all
together in his pocket, rose at once from the table with a smile at
those opposite him, the richer by a thousand pounds.
"Marvellous!" cried Zertho, as they moved away together across the
polished floor. "What a run you've had! Surely Liane can't be angry
now. Let's go into the gardens; she's certain to be awaiting us there."
And together they went to the cloakroom for their hats; then passed out
down the broad carpeted steps into the pretty place, where the shadows
were lengthening. The Monegasques and visitors were promenading in the
gardens; the orchestra before the crowded Cafe de Paris, with its
striped sun-blinds, was playing an overture of Mascagni's; and the cool,
bright, flower-scented air was refreshing after the heat and excitement
of the crowded rooms.
"At last!" Brooker exclaimed, as they descended the steps to seek
Liane. "At last my luck has changed!"