belief that somewhere, some while ago, he had already seen her.
And this belief grew and haunted him. He was still vaguely
puzzling his brains to fix the place when the croupier finished
his reckoning.

"There are two thousand louis in the bank," he cried. "Who will
take on the bank for two thousand louis?"

No one, however, was willing. A fresh bank was put up for sale,
and Wethermill, still sitting in the dealer's chair, bought it. He
spoke at once to an attendant, and the man slipped round the
table, and, forcing his way through the crowd, carried a message
to the girl in the black hat. She looked towards Wethermill and
smiled; and the smile made her face a miracle of tenderness. Then
she disappeared, and in a few moments Ricardo saw a way open in
the throng behind the banker, and she appeared again only a yard
or two away, just behind Wethermill. He turned, and taking her
hand into his, shook it chidingly.

"I couldn't let you play against me, Celia," he said, in English;
"my luck's too good tonight. So you shall be my partner instead.
I'll put in the capital and we'll share the winnings."

The girl's face flushed rosily. Her hand still lay clasped in his.
She made no effort to withdraw it.

"I couldn't do that," she exclaimed.

"Why not?" said he. "See!" and loosening her fingers he took from
them the five-louis note and tossed it over to the croupier to be