Even the
voice of the croupier sounded as if it were strangely dulled and
thickened in the atmosphere of the room. I had entered the place
to laugh, but the spectacle before me was something to weep over.
I soon found it necessary to take refuge in excitement from the
depression of spirits which was fast stealing on me.
Unfortunately I sought the nearest excitement, by going to the
table and beginning to play. Still more unfortunately, as the
event will show, I won--won prodigiously; won incredibly; won at
such a rate that the regular players at the table crowded round
me; and staring at my stakes with hungry, superstitious eyes,
whispered to one another that the English stranger was going to
break the bank.
The game was _Rouge et Noir_. I had played at it in every city in
Europe, without, however, the care or the wish to study the
Theory of Chances--that philosopher's stone of all gamblers! And
a gambler, in the strict sense of the word, I had never been. I
was heart-whole from the corroding passion for play. My gaming
was a mere idle amusement. I never resorted to it by necessity,
because I never knew what it was to want money. I never practiced
it so incessantly as to lose more than I could afford, or to gain
more than I could coolly pocket without being thrown off my
balance by my good luck. In short, I had hitherto frequented
gambling-tables--just as I frequented ball-rooms and
opera-houses--because they amused me, and because I had nothing
better to do with my leisure hours.
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