damp, steaming crowd—the painted ladies, the unspeakable men—gathered round the tables in the hot gambling-rooms. He looked at these poor human pawns with more curiosity than at the moves they elected to make upon the green cloth; the nervous fingers following the eager, hungry eyes, to rake in a few francs, or, when these were swept away into the great central vortex, sending more to follow them, after sundry prickings of a card. By-and-by he was tapped on the shoulder by a fellow-countryman.
"Why, what are you doing here, Baring? Come here for a plunge, eh?"
"No; I never play. I am over from Mentone, just to have a look round, as it is a wet day. Humanity always interests me to watch. Any notorieties you can point out?"
"There is 'Casse-noisette' opposite, in the pink hat, sitting down and playing like the devil. But you have seen her before? And she is not much to look at, after all. She must have lost ten thousand francs this afternoon, if she has lost a penny. It has all gone into the pockets of that fellow with a black beard—he must be a Jew, I take it—who has been having a tremendous coup. If he goes on like this, he'll break the bank."
"I can't see him, for all those confounded big hats and plumes. Who is he?"
"Don't know. He only came yesterday, I am told. Played last night, and carried away twenty thousand francs, and has been winning all this afternoon again. He is as cool as a cucumber. It's great sport to watch all the women making up to him. There is a break in the crowd. You can see him now."
