the fifth time the luck turned, and the young marquis had the satisfaction of receiving back the scraps of paper on which he had scribbled the amount of his debts, together with twenty francs of winnings.

"That is not the way to play lansquenet, my friend," whispered Saint-Luc; but Léon, in answer to the good-natured warning, only shrugged his shoulders impatiently, and muttered, "Je sais ce que je fais," which, if true, was a statement little creditable to his understanding. He put up forty francs and lost them immediately. Then, for a time, he got no chance of losing or winning, and sat drumming on the table and fidgeting restlessly in his chair after the manner of inexperienced gamblers, who are seldom contented unless they can be in the thick of the fray.

The game did not at first prove an exciting one. There were no long deals, very little money changed hands, and at the end of an hour the only player upon whom Fortune seemed to have smiled at all was Saint-Luc, who had a little pile of gold before him; whereas Léon, whose few coins had long since vanished, had sent some three hundred francs worth of his signatures to different parts of the table, and was a little inclined to be querulous over his losses.

Poor Léon had not yet learnt that the first duty of a gambler is to preserve an aspect of equanimity, and that though men will bear with fools, and will even show marvellous patience with rogues, they will not tolerate one who bursts into lamentations over his bad luck. He offended in this way more than once in the course of the evening, but, perhaps, in consideration of his inexperience, he might have been allowed to escape unrebuked, had he not had the misfortune to fall foul of M. de Monceaux. That gentleman, who was no longer in his first youth, and had long since discovered that the pastimes of this world are but weariness and vexation of spirit, unless they can be made to conduce to its comforts, was accustomed in card-playing, as in all other pursuits, to regulate his conduct in accordance with certain well-defined principles. Throughout the evening he had been playing with more skill than good fortune, but he serenely bided his time, knowing that to him who waits

opportunity will surely arrive. Now it came to pass that Léon, in pursuance of his absurd system of doubling, had taken up the whole of the stake during a rather longer deal than usual. He was some distance away from the dealer, but none of the intervening players had cared to interfere with the young man after the first round, till some eight hundred francs were on the table. It was then that M. de Monceaux, having carefully calculated that the chances were now about ten to one in his favor, stepped in, and, in the exercise of his undoubted right as next player to the dealer, covered the whole sum, won it, and quietly swept it down.

"C'est trop fort!" exclaimed Léon, throwing himself back in his chair. And indeed it must be admitted that the incident was one which might have tried the patience of many an older man.

"I beg your pardon," said de Monceaux suavely, bending forward as he spoke, "you said something?"

Léon frowned, but made no reply.

Perhaps," continued de Monceaux, with increasing politeness, "M. le Marquis has not often played this game. Am I wrong in conjecturing from his manner that he believes me to have infringed some rule? In such a case he would do well to refer the matter to the committee of the club. Or if anything in my personal conduct should have displeased M. le Marquis, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to-"

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"Nonsense!" interposed Saint-Luc hastily. Nobody is complaining of you, de Monceaux; and we are all waiting for you to deal."

De Monceaux shrugged his shoulders, picked up the cards, won three times running, and then took down his gains.

"I trust M. le Marquis does not object to the deal passing," he remarked, as he handed the pack to his neighbor.

"I object to nothing," returned Léon, wrathfully; "but this I must say—'

He was cut short by a smart blow across his shins. Saint-Luc had opened his long legs like a pair of scissors and bestowed this gentle correction impartially on his right hand and on his left.

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Be quiet, Léon," he muttered; and then, turning to de Monceaux, Hold your tongue, you old fire-eater,

and don't quarrel with boys. If you must fight, come out with me to-morrow morning, and you shall see whether I am still as good a match for you as I used to be with the foils at Saint-Cyr." At this de Monceaux, who was a good-natured fellow enough, laughed and said, "No, thank you,' and so peace was restored.

Often afterwards Saint-Luc wondered whether it was destiny or mere absence of mind that led him to begin his deal by putting up so large a stake as two hundred francs. He had hitherto taken little interest in the game, having altogether failed to find sufficient excitement therein to divert his thoughts from the channel in which they had so steadily run of late; and though the corporeal presence of the Vicomte de Saint-Luc had been visible at the card-table, pale, handsome, imperturbable, staking according to the dictates of prudence and winning moderately the man himself had been wandering sadly enough in distant places-under the stars at Fort Napoléon, in the garden of the Campagne de Mersac, through the empty rooms of his own deserted Norman chateau-who knows where? The little dispute between Léon and de Monceaux had brought him back to realities for a moment, but now he had drifted away again, and pushed up the ten gold pieces mechanically, forgetting, perhaps, that he was no longer in Paris, but in an Algerian club, where such sums were more or less of a phenomenon.

Léon immediately covered the stake. The occurrences of the last five minutes had not tended to soothe the irritability of that foolish young man, or to bring him to a calmer and wiser frame of mind. He was angry with himself, which was reasonable enough; he was very angry with de Monceaux, which was perhaps excusable; but it was certainly most unjust of him to be furious against Saint-Luc, who had just got him out of an awkward scrape. It must, however, be admitted that gratitude for such good offices is seldom forthcoming upon the spur of the moment. But lastly, and most foolishly of all, Léon was indignant with Luck; and it was with an insane determination to conquer that pitiless abstraction that he pushed a slip of paper representing two hundred

francs in front of Saint-Luc's ten napoleons, and lost it. Four hundred, then eight hundred, then sixteen hundred francs went the same way. Saint-Luc went on dealing, and Léon set his teeth and continued to stake.

The rest of the players, being thus debarred from taking any part in the game, looked on with calmness not unmixed with disgust.

When a man begins his deal by putting up two hundred francs, it is natural to expect that the greater part of the company may be able to secure some interest in the result, or, failing that, that they may at least have the consolation of witnessing an exciting contest between him and the adventurous gambler who has chosen to oppose him alone. But in the present instance there was no prospect of any such solace. It was evident enough that Saint-Luc did not choose to win his friend's money; that he would go on till he lost; that the original stake would be the only sum that would change hands, and that the turning up of card after card was, therefore, a pure waste of time.

"I will never sit down to a card-table with that young imbecile again," muttered de Monceaux to his neighbor. To which the other replied,

"Nor I-unless he likes to play with me alone."

Meanwhile Saint-Luc was having a run of good fortune such as had not been witnessed in that club for many a long day. Time after time the dealer's card came up victorious, and some languid interest began to be manifested in the large amount of money on the table, which had now reached no less a sum than fifty thousand francs odd. The figures might be nearly nominal, still more than one person present felt a thrill on seeing before him the palpable result of a two hundred francs' stake and nine successive wins. A few bets were exchanged as to how long the luck would hold; and when Léon, with hands that trembled a little, added another piece of paper to those already before the dealer, thus making up a total of over one hundred thousand francs, there was a general hush and expectancy, and all eyes were turned upon the dealer.

Saint-Lue, impassive and indifferent, took the pack in his hand and turned

up the first two cards-two tens. There was a general stir and hum, and somebody called out

The dealer takes down half the stakes.

"Not unless he likes, I think," said Saint-Luc, looking up. "I prefer to leave it as it is."

"You have no choice," said de Monceaux. "We made it a rule here long ago that where two cards of equal value were turned up, the dealer must either take down the whole stake and let the deal pass, or half of it, and continue to deal.

covered the dealer's stake, and, resting his head on his hand, awaited the end.

What that end would be no one could doubt. The appearance of another tie would have been little short of a miracle ; the dealer had already won eleven times in succession, and the chances against his doing so again were almost incalculable. Moreover, it was quite clear that he intended to go on till he should lose. Léon himself could not but perceive this ; yet his hands grew cold and his heart thumped as Saint-Luc proceeded to turn up the cards-a nine for himself and a two for his antagonist. With calm, almost cruel, deliberation, and in a profound silence, the Vicomte went on through the pack. Ten-king-three

Of course there was nothing more to be said. If you play in a club you must conform to its rules, however absurd. Saint-Luc, with a slightly clouded brow, withdrew paper to the amount of fiftyone thousand two hundred francs. The like amount remaining on the table was at once covered by Léon, whose agitation had now passed his powers of concealment. Come what might, he must now lose over two thousand pounds, and how to raise the money he scarcely knew.

Saint-Luc turned up the next two cards-two sevens! Léon might have used any language he pleased about his luck now without fear of shocking any one's sense of propriety. The sympa thies of the whole company were with him, and found vent in a subdued murmur which circled round the table. It was indeed a more cruel blow than any man could have anticipated that he should not only lose his money twice running through an altogether exceptional coincidence, but that he should lose it to a man who had plainly shown that he did not desire to win it. Léon, however, held his peace. He had defied luck, and had got thoroughly beaten; the shock had stunned and sobered him at the same time. One thing only remained for him to do. He once more

body in the distance slammed a door, and Saint-Luc paused for a moment, and looked over his shoulder. Then he continued as slowly as before. Eightsix-ace-seven-four-nine! For the twelfth time the stake had fallen to the dealer.

"And I who never, in the course of a long and eventful career, have won so much as six times running!" exclaimed de Monceaux, naturally indignant at such a waste of Fortune's best gifts. "Mon cher," he added, turning to Saint-Luc, "I propose to you that we start to-morrow for Monaco. I will get a week's leave from my general; I will watch your play and humbly follow it, and I will return here rich enough to offer the best dinner that Algiers can produce to all the company."

But Saint-Luc paid no attention to him. He glanced round the table, looked rather oddly for an instant at Léon's pale face and flashing eyes, and then, gathering together the accumulation of paper before him, delivered up the cards to his neighbor, remarking calmly, as he leant back in his chair, "The deal passes.'

The reader may, perhaps, at some time have happened to watch two dogs playing at fighting-snapping, snarling, showing glistening fangs, and rolling one another over in the dust, but all the time with an evident tacit understanding that there was no real quarrel between them. And then he may have seen one of them, with a swift, sudden change from play into grim earnest, fasten upon the

other and kill him then and there, before ever the poor brute has had time to understand what is happening to him. Greyhounds, collies, and other sharpnosed dogs will do so sometimes. Anyone who has witnessed such a little tragedy, and recollects what his feelings were at the time towards the murderer, may form an idea of the light in which Saint-Luc's unexpected action caused him to be regarded by those who sat at the table with him. No one spoke-indeed, there was nothing to be said; what had been done was strictly in accordance with the rules of the game, but there was not a man present who did not feel that the poor young marquis had been not only cruelly treated by his friend, but morally defrauded. Who could suppose that he would have gone on staking in the mad way he had done if he had not shared the general conviction that his enormous losses were not meant to be serious? And the fact that Saint-Luc had actually won over four thousand pounds already made his conduct the more inexcusable. In the first glow of their generous sympathy and indignation, these young fellows would willingly have placed their purses at the disposition of the victim, though, to be sure, that would have helped but little, for not one of them could have paid a twentieth part of what he owed.

Léon, in this trying crisis of his life, bore himself with a dignity and fortitude which at once blotted out the memory of his previous petulance. He rose slowly, and stood for a moment, resting his hands upon the table and looking round, him. To his dying day Léon will remember that scene. The great airy room, with its polished floor and its lace curtains swaying in the night breeze; the green card-table flooded with soft light from above, the gold-laced staffuniforms and the pale blue jackets of the Chasseurs d'Afrique, the circle of curious, startled, upturned faces, de Monceaux frowning a little and twisting his waxed moustache, Saint-Luc staring steadily before him, with a countenance devoid of any expression whatever-all these, together with a dozen other petty details, make up a picture which Léon can summon up at will, and which has often revisited him when he would have been very glad to forget it. He remem

bers, too, the odd feeling of unreality which took hold of him, the half doubt as to his own identity, his wonder at finding his voice so clear and steady and under control.

he

"I think I will go away now,' said. "I have lost a good deal of money-rather more than I can afford. I shall be able to pay everybody to-morrow, except M. de Saint-Luc, whom I shall have to ask for a little time.' In truth the poor lad hardly knew what he was saying, but felt only that something must be said, and that he must not disgrace himself. He paused-then bowing, added, Good-night, messieurs, and walked across the room and out of the house.

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Those who were left sat in silence till his echoing footsteps died away in the distance, and then de Monceaux remarked, "That young man will go and drown himself."

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No, he will not," answered SaintLuc, with a quiet smile. "He is a brave fellow, and will turn out well yet. "Parbleu !—if you have left him the means, he may," returned de Monceaux, rather roughly, for he was disgusted at his friend's cynicism.

Saint-Luc turned in his chair, so as to face the aide-de-camp, and looked him full in the eyes. A little time ago,' he said, "you were ready to kill young de Mersac because he did not seem satisfied with your manner of playing. Do you want to quarrel with me now for following your example?"

"I seek no quarrels and refuse none, replied de Monceaux, curtly. "For the moment I am going home to bed; I have had enough of play for one night." And so saying, he rose, buckled on his sword, and strode away.

Perhaps he was not sorry to escape without further words. Had it been a question of challenging any other man than Saint-Luc, he might have been less placable, but he knew that he might as well stand up against a mitrailleuse as against that notorious duellist. And, after all, it was not his business to fight other men's battles. His departure was the signal for a general move, and presently Saint-Luc found himself the sole tenant of the club.

Léon, meanwhile, had wandered out into the street, with no very distinct idea

as to where he was or what he intended to do. After a time he found himself sitting on one of the benches in the empty Place du Gouvernement, and, taking out a pencil and a bit of paper, began to add up his losses. The calculation did not take long. To de Monceaux and one or two other players he owed some small sums amounting in all to something over fifty pounds, and to Saint-Luc exactly two hundred and fiftyfive thousand eight hundred francs. For a long time he sat staring stupidly at the figures, and struggling in vain to realise the magnitude of the catastrophe that had occurred; then, all of a sudden, the true nature of his position seemed to flash across him with horrible distinctness. He was very nearly ruined. Every invested penny he had in the world would not realise the required amount. He had sold out a large portion of his patrimony since he had come of age, acting under good advice in so doing, and expending the ready money thus acquired in the purchase of fresh land and in farm improvements. Within the last few months he had bought a great many costly agricultural machines, which would, he was convinced, make him a richer man in the long run, though it was only too certain that, if sold at the present time, they would not fetch half their value. Upon the whole, it would cost him a great deal more than ten thousand pounds to pay Saint-Luc. Nor was there anyone to whom he could apply for temporary aid. The Duchess had only a life-interest in her income, M. de Fontvieille had long since sunk his small fortune in an annuity, and Jeanne's share of her father's estate was, of course, held in trust for her. What was to be done? Léon could see nothing for it but that he must sell his house and part of his lands for what they would fetch, and retire to that lonely farm on the Metidja plain of which mention has already been made. Jeanne, he thought, might live, till her marriage, with the Duchess, who would now have to seek a new home. It was all very hard, poor Léon could not help thinking. A man makes a fool of himself during one brief half-hour, and is crippled for the rest of his life. Surely the punishment is out of all proportion to the offence! And not the least part

of his misery was the anticipation of the story he would have to relate at home in the course of a few hours. How should he ever bring himself to tell what must be told? Could he call his sister, who had devoted her whole life to him, and the kindly, worldly, fussy old woman who had treated him with all a mother's fondness, if not with quite a mother's discretion, and who had spoilt, admired, and idolised him from his cradle-could he face them, and say, " My good people, I am very sorry, but you will have to leave your old home, and the familiar rooms, and the garden, and the orchard, and the woods that you loved, and look out for some much less spacious habitation. I lost a small fortune at lansquenet last night, and now I have got to sell house and land, and make a fresh start. As for you, you will be a little pinched; you will have to economise here and there, and do without some of the small luxuries which you have come to consider as necessaries. I shall not be able to live with you myself-"

"My God! I can't do it !'' broke off poor Léon aloud.

And then, for a moment, some such thought as that which had occurred to de Monceaux did cross his mind. Yonder lay the sea, calm, silent, and grey with the first glimmer of dawn. It would be easy enough to take a boat and row out beyond the breakwater, after sunrise, and bathe. The best of swimmers may be seized with cramp-there would be no scandal. But here common sense stepped in, and pointed out that in this direction lay no hope of honorable escape. It was certain that Saint Luc must be paid; and Léon, even if he avoided the grief and shame of meeting those dearest to him again, must leave them, as a legacy, some record of his debt. He tried to summon up all his courage, and said to himself that since he was obliged to do what he would rather die than do, he would at least go through it without flinching. He would tell his story in as few words as possible, he thought, and get it over. There would be no use in weeping, or execrating his folly, or entreating for pardon. They would understand better than he could express to them how miserable he was. Yes, he would tell Jeanne first and