Sometimes I see a comic incident—the table laden with gold and covered with billets, and the croupier touching each with the magic rake, repeating aloud the sums staked. "L'or va au rouleau!" (This always in a growl, as who should say, "We have you.") "Vin-sang louis au bilyet!" (This in a mournful manner of expostulation, as who should say, "Why not all the bilyet?") And "Mœtyez à la masse!" (This very sharp and short, like the click of a trigger before firing.) An humble fellow has laid down his double Frederick, a good stake, but modest, seeming more than it is among the surrounding magnificence. The dealer is about to begin, when, in a fit of compunction, the man calls out, "Moitié à la masse!" and causes a perfect roar in the gallery. Yet these men had their hundred and two hundred louis, their "maximoom" even, depending on the deal. So they laughed and went to play, when the guillotine was at its hardest work.
The gardens are getting dull enough; I grow tired of the regularity of the music, coming at that one hour. Yet there are people who stay here the whole winter.
A letter from my pet, lying on the table, waiting for me. Very long and full of news. I shall paste it in this place.
"My own dearest Alfred,—God in his infinite mercy be thanked and praised, for the delightful news each one of your dear letters brings us. Such unhoped-for blessing from Homburg, and, indeed, shall I confess it, when I parted from you, I had a horrid, miserable, presentiment, that it was to be the last time I was ever to see that dear face again. I did not let you know the agonies I was suffering. For it was for your own dear health, though I had not the least hope that it would be benefited. But thank God that it is so. Now I shall say no more, on that.
"How charming, how amusing, how interesting is your diary, dearest Alfred! I have read no novel that comes near to it for interest. So acute, so full of observation, such a knowledge of human character. It brings the whole scene before me; these dreadful people, and that terrible play, and what a picture! it comes back on me at nights in dreams, and I see their distorted faces, and the agonies of the poor creatures. And to think of these wicked, cruel, creatures fattening on the innocent! Such life and character, it is too graphic. That figure of the tight-laced man walking about is a portrait, and so is that of that cold-blooded Mr. D'Eyncourt. I have read it over two or three times to our little darlings, at least the portions they are likely to understand, and they laughed so. Mr. ——, our dear friend and benefactor, was greatly amused, and said in a joking way, we should see you turning gambler yourself, you were so violent against them. He took their part and said they were no more than a registered—just like any of our railway or banking-companies, who took the money of widows and orphans, and there was nothing said about it.
"Oh, how strange, how wonderful your meeting Grainger. Poor Grainger! I suppose I may call him now. Indeed I feel for him, and you can tell him so from me, for I have much to reproach myself about him. I was very foolish then and thought that amusing myself with gentlemen was the most entertaining thing in the world, as you said once to me, 'having a number of the scalps hanging at my waist.' Do tell him I hope he has quite forgiven me.
"Dearest, I write the above for you to
show to Grainger. Do not, I conjure you,
offend him in any way, for I know, which
you cannot know, he never has forgiven
me, or never will forgive me. I saw enough
of him to know that he is vindictive; and
indeed he threatened, the very last interview,
that he would live to punish you, and
me, through you. This, indeed, is making
me most uneasy, and I do wish he was not
there, or you away. But there is only ten
days more, thank Heaven; so be very kind
to him, or if you see that is no good, keep
him at a distance."
My poor little Dora! What a wonderful head it has, peopled with nightmares. Let me point out to her the inconsistency of her previous little advice:
"Be very kind to him, and keep him at a distance." She must send me a recipe for this mysterious double duty; for, for the life, I don't know how to begin it. There is a smack of the country town in it; but I am afraid for the world its little advice is not of the soundest. Dearest, affection is your strong point, outside that charmed circle, I am afraid—but I won't say any more.
"Mr. B—— joins me in this warning. He says that everything that you have written about Grainger bears out what I fear. The man is trying to get an influence over you for ends of his own. He says it is transparently clear, and is going to write to you himself to be on your guard. He
