Half an hour later, Madelon, in the midst of the blaze of
light in the big gambling salon of the Redoute, is thinking of
nothing in the world but rouge-et-noir and the chances of the
game before her. For the first time she has ventured to push
her way through the crowd and take a seat at the table; and
for the moment she has forgotten her object, forgotten why she
is there even, in the excitement of watching whether black or
red will win. It matters little, it seems; whatever she stakes
on, comes up; her small capital is being doubled an trebled.
She had taken off her veil, which hitherto she had carefully
kept down, and the little flushed face, with the eager eyes
that sparkle with impatience at every pause in the game, is
noticed by several people round the table. Her invariable
luck, too, is remarked upon. "Stake for me, _mon enfant_,"
whispered a voice in her ear, and a little pile of five-franc
pieces was put in front of her. Madelon, hardly thinking of
what she did, staked the stranger's money along with her own
on the red. It won. "Thank you, my child; it is the first time
I have won to-night," said the voice again, as a long hand
covered with rings swept up the money.
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