A young fool—Envy and covetousness—Aphorisms—Insinuations—Confidences—Influencing the game—Honest men are sometimes rogues—Mushrooms and cheating—The Greek moralist—Example of cheating—Initiation—Maxims and manipulations—Temptation—The Belgian capitalist—The cartes biseautÉes—Easily won—An insolvent gambler—Comedy—The Greek in despair—An infamous scene—Dishonour—Ruin—The faithless trustee—Separation of the philosophers—A virtuous Greek—Golden hopes—A beard again—A demi-millionaire.

The Society of Philosophers generally made Calais the centre of their operations, for the reason that they were often summoned by Achille Chauvignac, who, as my readers may remember, had been the originator of the plot at St. Omer.

Chauvignac was especially indefatigable in such affairs, as, without running the slightest risk, he always shared largely in the profits of these transactions.

So unprincipled was he, that he continually selected his most intimate friends for his victims.

Each gambler was classed as to his means, and also, as to whether he was likely to allow himself to be plucked without remonstrance.

Thus, M. B— was valued at three thousand francs; M. P— at six thousand; M. C— was not worth much, being a bad player; but, at any rate, they put him down at a thousand francs.

The one who was considered the best, that is, the richest dupe, was M. F—, who was estimated at from fifteen to twenty thousand francs.

AndrÉas and Raymond had gone the round of all the clubs of Calais and Boulogne, but they dared not venture to St. Omer, for fear of being recognised. They sent, in their place, however, two clever sharpers, who originally came from Venice, which city was formerly supposed to be the cradle of roguery.

The Society of Philosophers would not certainly have placed the implicit confidence they did, in these two delegates, had it not been, that they were under the immediate surveillance of Chauvignac, who not only looked after them himself, but arranged a system of espionnage between the two Greeks, so that each of them was overlooked by his companion. His plan was, to address one of them privately thus:

"Do you know, I have not much confidence in your friend; I much fear he will impose on our society; just take a note of his winnings, and watch him. You shall not go unrewarded for this service."

He then went and said precisely the same thing to the other, so that without being aware of it, each Greek was watched by his comrade.

The harvest reaped by the society at St. Omer, was very productive, but the largest share went into the pocket of Chauvignac, who, as may be conceived, was not very particular in the just division of the money entrusted to him.

Whether it was in consequence of this affair, or from some trifling indiscretion on the part of the philosophers, the credit of Chauvignac seemed on the decline. Every one was astonished to see the money he spent,—a man who had literally nothing—and then his constant trips to Paris, without any obvious reason, and his intimacy with men whose characters were not unsullied—all these circumstances combined to make honest men rather shun his society.

Chauvignac was as clever as he was unprincipled; for the latter quality does not prevent a man from possessing talent; the best proof of which is, that a rogue is seldom a fool.

Chauvignac was sharp enough, soon to discover the discredit into which he had fallen, and knowing how prejudicial it would prove to his interests, he immediately set about thinking, how he could reestablish himself in the good graces of society.

Amongst the young fools who shared with him a life of dissipation, he had formed a small club, at the head of which was a young man named Olivier de X——, who was noted for his elegance and his eccentricities.

The family of this wild young fellow, was one of the oldest and most respectable in the country, and much looked-up to.

Chauvignac fixed on this young heir, as a means of regaining his place in the good opinion of his fellow-citizens.

He affected to be on terms of the greatest intimacy with him, when he met him in public places, and addressed him in a loud tone of voice, in the most familiar manner.

But, unfortunately, this apparent intimacy with Olivier, had just the contrary result to what Chauvignac had anticipated: the one lost position, but the other did not gain it.

Olivier began to be shunned, but Chauvignac fared no better. The latter, however, as soon as he perceived this, and he was not long in so doing, bethought himself of making Olivier's credit subservient to his views in another way. The parents of Olivier were not wealthy, and could do nothing for their son, so his excessive extravagance had brought him into difficulties and debt.

He regarded Chauvignac with envy and admiration; he saw him living like a prince, without any creditors to annoy him.

"How is it," said he to Chauvignac one day, "that you, who have no fortune, can gratify all your tastes and fancies, whilst I, who have some small means, am obliged to be economical, besides which, I am in debt?"

This query was precisely what Chauvignac had been waiting for. He remained, for some moments, without answering his questioner, intending to give more effect to his words; then, with a diabolical smile, he thus addressed him:

"Would you like to be as happy as I am?"

"Can you ask me?"

"All depends on yourself, to be even better off than I am."

"What must I do?" eagerly demanded Olivier.

Chauvignac thought his young neophyte sufficiently prepared, to receive what he had to impart.

"Listen to me," whispered he, in a mysterious voice. "You have doubtless heard the following proverb, old as the world itself: Men are divided into two classes, Dupers and Dupes. Come, speak frankly, to which of these categories would you like to belong?"

"Why you see, you are so abrupt in your question. You come on one so suddenly; it requires reflection."

"Agreed," observed this second Mephistophiles, "we will make the reflections together, and will study the subject, in some individuals of that great and motley crowd, which is termed 'society.'"

The two friends were, at that moment, standing at the door of one of the largest and best cafÉs in the town.

It was Sunday; the weather was fine, and crowds of pedestrians were lounging up and down before them.

"Look," said Chauvignac, "do you see that thin miserable man, with his head bowed down, and his clothes hanging in rags? He is an unfortunate fellow, who has worked all his life to pay off the debts left by his father. He is old: he has hardly bread to put in his mouth. You will observe no one takes any notice of him. Now, look at that stout man, so puffed up with pride and insolence; how pleased he seems with himself, as they say, like a peacock spreading his tail. He has been a merchant, and has made his money by fraud and cheating. He afterwards set up as a banker, and lent money at an usurious interest. He is now a millionnaire. See—he bows with a patronising air to all whom he meets. The first is a dupe, the second a duper."

"Or to speak more plainly," added Olivier, "the first is an honest man, the second a rogue."

"Be it so—I grant you that," continued the tempter, "but now I will give you another example, of which you will not be able to make the same observation.

"You, better than any one else, ought to know an intelligent, generous-hearted, and ambitious young man, who, for want of sufficient means, leads a life of privation and troubles, is overwhelmed with debt, and, if he thinks of playing to retrieve his fortunes, he is sure to lose. Near to him, at this moment, is one of his friends, who, without fixed income or expectations, possesses, nevertheless, a never ending fortune. This man always wins at play, and has not a caprice ungratified.

"The former of these is the dupe, the latter —— is ——"

Here Chauvignac paused, to allow Olivier to finish the phrase. "What is it you mean?" asked he, beginning to comprehend the purport of the conversation.

"What I mean, is this," replied Chauvignac with a sneer—"To prove to you, that the lucky gamester, whose good fortune you envy, belongs to a society of philosophers, and that these philosophers have certain and easy methods, of turning luck in their own favour."

"But," observed Olivier, his sense of right struggling for mastery in his mind. "To cheat at play is an act of dishonesty."

"On this point, my dear sir, we do not agree; you are in error, and I will prove it to you. First of all, tell me what you call cheating at play?"

"I call winning by underhand tricks, cheating."

"Very well; if that be the case, I will soon show you that the most honest man will not scruple to cheat.

"For instance, do we not daily see men of the strictest probity, seek to turn luck in their favour by various means. One, in placing himself at the table, will sit opposite the hinges, because he believes it to be a lucky spot. Again, if he wins, he will not count his money, fearing to turn his luck. Another believes in the influence of a certain coin, which he mixes with the rest of his money—but which he will never part with. Others, again, wear amulets, made of the dried heart of a black hen, the head of a beetle, or a bit of the cord with which a malefactor has been hung.G

"Just tell me what is the object of these mysterious influences, if it be not, as they say in the criminal courts, "gagner subrepticement le bien d'autrui en faisant tourner À son profit les bÉnÉfices d'une partie.

"In such cases, if the act is not committed, the intention is the same, and ought to be considered as if accomplished.

"Between the above-mentioned actions and ours, the only difference is, that one depends on the mind, the other on the fingers. The moral result is the same.

"Of this you may be sure, that if these honest folks do not go further, it is because they dare not. I will even say more," continued Chauvignac, carried away by his own sophistry. "Take, for instance, one of these heroes of probity, and show him a method of always winning, with a certainty of never being detected, and see if he will not follow it. Believe me, I know a great deal more than I care to tell."

"All that," said Olivier, "proves, at most, that all honest men may not be able to resist temptation; but it does not go to prove, that cheating is not a crime. Besides, it is punishable by law."

"That's true," replied the cunning Chauvignac; "but again, we have no proof that the law is right. I maintain, that, far from being reprehensible, the art of turning aside ill-luck and bettering one's fortune, is a thing which ought to be encouraged."

Olivier could not help smiling.

"I am serious," added Chauvignac. "Yes! The art of winning at play is meritorious. And why? Because it is useful. If the Government had any sense, they would not only encourage cheating, but give a premium for it."

"Then I don't know what morality means."

"Only, because you have not studied pure philosophy, as I have. Hold—to make you understand it better, I will just give you an example.

"How often do we hear of deaths caused by eating mushrooms! Well, if people imagined that all mushrooms were poisonous, of course no one would venture to partake of them.

"It is the same with gambling; if people expected to lose every time they played, few would run the risk of trusting to their luck at cards, and play would become what it ought to be, a mere relaxation and amusement. "Thus the Greeks would have done more for morality, than all the moralists in the world.

"Therefore, I confess to you, that I, who would not rob any one of a pin, have not only no scruple in doing my best to control fate, but, in cheating, I think I carry out a principle, eminently useful to humanity.

"The art of cheating at play, is to me only high philosophy put in practice."

Young Olivier had listened with the most intense interest, to the eloquent pleading of his friend in favour of cheating, and it was easy to perceive, that his feelings of probity on the subject, were giving way before the subtle sophistry of the tempter, and that he already began to approve of some of the arguments he had heard in its favour.

Chauvignac perceived it, and wishing to continue his work of evil—

"Let us see," added he, in an insinuating manner, "what have we to weigh in your own case? On the one hand, wealth, pleasure, and enjoyment of every description; on the other hand, hard-hearted creditors, misery, and ruin."

"But," observed Olivier at length, quite carried away in spite of himself, "one might be discovered, and then—"

"How weak and childish you are!—Here, come into this cafÉ with me, and you shall see how easily these things are done.

"You see yonder big Benoit, with his small annuity. I am going to propose a game of piquet to him, and make him pay for a cup of coffee for each of us. 'Tis a pity he has not more to lose."

Benoit is accosted by these gentlemen. The game and the stake are accepted: the result is not long delayed. In two hands the game was over. Chauvignac and his friend left the cafÉ, and once in the street, the former put the finishing stroke to his unworthy maxims.

"There, it is not difficult, you observe," said he. "Oh! how delightful it is to be able to wrestle with fate, by fleecing a set of simpletons, whom that capricious Dame Fortune loves so often to favour."

"Does it take long to learn?" said Olivier, quite bewildered with all he had seen and heard.

"That depends upon circumstances," replied his perfidious friend; "it is with this art, as with the piano, one can soon give pleasure; it depends on the professor, and his method of teaching.

"But, as we are not far from where I live, come in; and whilst we smoke a cigar together, I'll explain a few things to you."

Olivier still rather hesitated to follow him.

"Oh! nonsense! it binds you to nothing; you can do just as you please. It is as well to know a little of everything, and at all events, if you do not like to practise the system yourself, it will put you on your guard when attacked. One never knows what may happen."

Chauvignac would certainly not have taken so much trouble about the matter, if he had not had in view some act of treachery towards his companion. The conversation ended by Olivier accepting the offer held out to him.

Behold them now, seated on a sofa, each with a cigar in his mouth, and Chauvignac with a pack of cards in his hand.

"Look! here is a hand, tell me if you see any signs of cheating in any of the cards?"

The novice examined the cards with great attention, but not being an adept in the art, failed to discover anything.

"You observe nothing in this hand of cards?" said Chauvignac. "They have, however, been subjected to a process that we call biseautage,H or having one end made narrower than the other. This system shows the player what cards he is to retain, and how to class them, in the order he requires for playing." Chauvignac, joining precept to example, showed his friend the way it was to be done.

"Now," added he, "to prove to you that this trick is not difficult, I will make you do it yourself. Let us sit down at this table, and suppose we are playing for a thousand francs."

Although Olivier had no great talent for sleight of hand, he succeeded in learning from his friend how to gain the whole of the five tricks, twice running, at ÉcartÉ.

"This trick," said Chauvignac to him, "is one of the first, as well as the most easy, in the art of cheating. In a little while, I shall teach you how to play with prepared cards, and you will, in time, I hope, become an accomplished philosopher."

Olivier made no reply, his mind was in a perfect state of chaos, from the thousand and one thoughts which filled it.

The tempter, judging his victim to be now sufficiently compromised, left him to the temptations which he had suggested to him. He made the excuse of having some visits to pay, and the two friends separated.

Two days afterwards the Professor went to see his pupil.

"Would you like to join me," asked he, "in a little tour of pleasure I am about to make?" "Your kind proposal is badly timed," replied Olivier. "I am not only without funds just now, but I am trying to obtain a thousand francs, to pay a cursed bill of exchange that I signed, and which falls due this very day."

"Is that all?" said Chauvignac, taking a banknote for the amount out of his pocket-book—"Here it is; but mind, you must return it to me to-morrow."

"You are deranged."

"Perhaps I am, but in my insanity, I am mad enough to offer you another thousand francs, to enable you to go and secure thirty thousand which are awaiting you."

"Pray explain yourself, or else you will turn my brain also!"

"Listen: if ever there was a desperate gambler, it is the Count de Vandermool, a rich Belgian capitalist, and who can well afford to lose a hundred thousand francs (4000l.). He is just now in Boulogne, and intends remaining there a week. We must bleed this millionnaire; nothing will be more easy, as a friend and colleague of mine from Paris, named Chaffard, is already acquainted with him, so all we have to do is to set to work at once.

"You are now one of us. That is well understood, is it not? In a short time you will be able to satisfy your creditors, and to give your mistress a Cashmere shawl."

"But you go too quick," said Olivier in a wavering tone. "Wait a bit, I have not yet said yes."

"I don't ask you to say 'yes' now, you shall say it at Boulogne—make haste, and go and pay your bill; we shall leave this in two hours. The post-horses are ordered, we shall start from my house—be punctual."

The same evening the two philosophers arrive at Boulogne. They alight at the HÔtel de L'Univers, which has been selected for them by their accomplice—by whom they are shortly welcomed.

He tells them they have no time to lose, as the Count has spoken of quitting Boulogne the following day.

The travellers swallow a hasty dinner, make some slight toilette, and bend their steps towards the apartment occupied by the Count, preceded by Chaffard, who introduces them as two friends of his, who have estates in the neighbourhood.

The Count de Vandermool is a man about fifty years of age, he has an open and pleasing countenance; on his breast hang several foreign decorations.

The new arrivals are received by him with the most flattering cordiality; he does more; he invites them to spend the evening with him.

The invitation, it is needless to say, is accepted. The conversation, at first animated, begins to flag a little. The Count proposes a game of cards, which proposal is also eagerly accepted by the three confederates.

Whilst the tables are being arranged, Chauvignac gave his young friend two packs of cards, biseautÉes, to be substituted for those which should be produced by the Count.

ÉcartÉ was the game fixed on, and Olivier was selected to play with the Belgian; the two others having pretended not to know the game, contented themselves by betting one against the other—as their interests were in common, it was of little consequence which won the bet.

Olivier was at first thunderstruck at the assertion of his two friends, that they did not know how to play, but from certain telegraphic signs they made to him, he discovered that it was to prevent suspicion, in case he should win.

The wealthy Count would only play for bank-notes. "Metal," he said, "has not an agreeable odour in a drawing-room."

The young novice, at first confused by being a party to such a snare, neglected for a time to take advantage of the prepared cards, and following the dictates of his conscience, trusted to the chances of fortune.

The capricious goddess, far from being grateful for his trust, forsook him.

In two hands, the only thousand-franc note he possessed fell into the hands of his opponent.

Now it is, that, pressed on by the glances of Chauvignac, as well as anxious to regain his loss, Olivier essays some of the manoeuvres which his friend had taught him.

They were easy to execute, for the Count was so near-sighted, that his nose was almost buried in his cards.

Of course the luck now turned, and the bank-notes began to accumulate beside Olivier, who, elated with his success, was indefatigable in his work.

The Count Vandermool was a good-tempered player. His repeated losses did not make him lose his jovial good-humour.

To look at his happy countenance, you would certainly have thought he was the winner.

"I am not in a lucky vein," observed he, good-naturedly, taking a pinch of snuff from a superb gold snuff-box. "In this last trick, I vainly hoped to gain all, and I've got nothing."

Olivier was serious, his mind was not in a state to talk lightly. He continued to handle his cards with feverish eagerness.

Not wishing, however, to seem wanting in politeness towards so noble a host—"You are admirable to-night," said he to him with a faint smile.

"'Admirable,' do you say—Yes, yes, Monsieur Olivier, that's the word. I wish you joy. Go on; give me some cards!"

"It is useless to go on. Trump, and then trump. I cut, and it is the king of diamonds, which stands good—this gives me the five points."

"Ah! ill-luck has certainly fastened on me this evening," said the Count, "that makes eighty thousand francs I have lost; I see I shall soon make up the hundred thousand.

"I think it right to tell you, that I never go beyond that sum, and that if I am to lose it, I shall propose having some supper before I lose my last twenty thousand. Perhaps, that may change my luck; you certainly owe me this much."

The proposition to sup, met with general approbation.

Olivier, almost out of his wits with joy, at becoming the possessor of eighty thousand francs, could not resist the impulse he felt to testify his feelings of gratitude to Chauvignac. He drew him aside, and shook him warmly by the hand. The wretched man had no idea of the cruel deception which had been practised on him, and which had all been pre-arranged by his two comrades.

The rich Belgian capitalist, the respectable count, was no other than a clever Parisian sharper, whom Chauvignac had persuaded to come, for the express purpose of ruining the unfortunate young man, who never perceived, whilst his back was turned, that the count changed the two packs of clipped cards which they had hitherto used, for two packs biseautÉes in the contrary way.

During supper they drank but little, wishing to keep their heads clear. The meal, nevertheless, was very merry; and as soon as it was over, they recommenced playing.

"Now," said the Parisian sharper, seating himself at the table, "I wish to end this affair one way or other, quickly. Let us make the stake twenty thousand francs (800l.)."

Olivier, after having won so largely, could not but accept the proposition. It was only just towards his adversary. But, oh! cruel deception! the stake of twenty thousand francs, on which Olivier had so surely counted, passed into the hands of his opponent.

A stake of forty thousand francs shared the fate of its predecessor. Breathless, bewildered, and discouraged, Olivier knew not what to do. In vain he manipulated the cards; he got none but the lowest, whilst his adversary had all the trumps in his hand; and as it was Olivier who dealt them to him, he could not complain.

In his despair, he looked enquiringly at Chauvignac, who made signs to him to go on.

Distracted, and quite beside himself, the poor victim continued to stake enormous sums; and, in his turn, shortly owed his adversary a hundred thousand francs.

The pretended count then gave up playing, folded his arms, and thus addressed Olivier:

"M. Olivier de X——," said he, in a stern tone of voice, "you must be very well off, to stake such sums; but be careful, for, rich as you are, you must be aware, that if people lose a hundred thousand francs, they must also pay them, as I did.

"So now, just pay me the sum you have lost, and then we'll go on playing."

"That's only fair, sir," muttered young Olivier; "I am willing to satisfy your demands, but you know that gambling debts ... my word...."

"Devil take it, sir," exclaimed the count, giving the table a violent blow with his fist. "What's that you say about your word? It well becomes you to talk of debts of honour. We'll play, if you please, another kind of game, and let us put things as they really are. M. Olivier de X——, you are a knave! Yes; a knave! The cards you have been using are clipped; and it is you who have brought them here."

"Sir, you insult me."

"You don't say so, sir," said the count, ironically.

"Sir, this is too much—I demand satisfaction for this—and that immediately. Do you hear, sir? let us go, and settle it at once."

"No, no, let us remain here, and settle this affair of honour. Stay, your two friends will be your witnesses, and I will send to some of my friends, to come and be mine."

Scarcely had the sharper uttered these words, than he got up, and rang violently.

His servant answered the bell.

"Go to the Procureur du Roi, and ask him to come here at once, on an affair of great importance; make haste, do you understand?"

"Pardon! sir, pardon! Do not ruin me," said the unhappy Olivier, in a tone of supplication. "I throw myself on your mercy."

"Étienne, mind you wait outside that door, and if, in ten minutes, you do not receive orders to the contrary you will do as I told you."

"Now then, sir," continued the count, turning to Olivier, "I will talk to you. These cards have been substituted by you in the place of those which I had provided. I insist upon your making these cards up in a packet, and sealing them with the ring on your finger, which bears your crest and coat of arms."

In vain Olivier looked from one to the other; neither Chauvignac nor Chaffard gave him any encouragement, but looked at him as much as to say, there was nothing for it but to do as he was desired.

Olivier obeyed.

As soon as the demand had been complied with, the pretended Belgian again attacked him. "Besides, this is not all, sir; I have fairly won my money, and you will give me a guarantee that it will be paid to me. You will give me bills at sight for the sum of one hundred thousand francs which you owe me."

The unhappy Olivier hesitating to comply with this demand, his implacable creditor rose and seized the bell.

"Oh! do not ring, sir—do not ring," said the young man, "I will sign the paper." And he signed it.

The villainous plot was consummated.

Olivier returned to his family, and humbly confessed all that he had done.

His old father, rather than bring disgrace on his child, paid the money, esteeming his son's honour beyond all price.

The Society of Philosophers had shared in this roguery, in the persons of Chaffard and the Belgian capitalist.

To Chaffard was delegated the arrangement of the money department; and so well did he manage the business, that, in a very short space of time, he had the satisfaction of receiving a hundred thousand francs, in exchange for the bills which he held.

Chauvignac, ever watchful for his own interest, immediately claimed his portion of the booty. Half the sum (as had been agreed on) was handed over to him, for having arranged the scheme and prepared the victim. The remaining fifty thousand francs were left in the hands of Chaffard, to be divided between the three philosophers.

But the cunning rascal finding himself in possession of funds sufficient to give him a year's enjoyment and luxury, and living, as he did, in fear from day to day of being arrested for his numerous misdeeds, instead of going to Paris, directed his steps to Brussels, to play in his turn (but in good earnest) the rÔle of a French capitalist.

In a moment of weakness, Chaffard had confided his project to Chauvignac, who immediately wrote, and told the two other philosophers of it.

Raymond, who was a philosopher in the true acceptation of the word, received the news with great coolness; he had learned to his cost that one must never depend on the honour of a rogue.

This fresh escapade of Chaffard did not surprise him; he had rather expected it.

With AndrÉas it was otherwise: furious at seeing himself the puppet of a man whom he regarded as his inferior, if not in bodily strength, at least in intelligence and sagacity, he swore that he would overtake the thief, and make him disgorge his ill-gotten gains.

Full of artifices and schemes, he started for Belgium; but, by way of precaution, he took with him, as a fellow-traveller and companion, a celebrated pugilist—a sort of herculean bull-dog, whom he intended to let loose at his antagonist, if occasion required.

Once separated from the man, whom he had every reason to regard as his bad angel, Raymond felt no longer sufficient strength to follow the dangerous profession, into which he had been so fatally enticed. The constant dangers by which he was surrounded, a last spark of conscience, and a return of better feelings, made him determine to quit for ever the discreditable career which he was following.

Possessed of twenty thousand francs, he had sufficient funds to keep him for awhile, and give him time to find some employment, which would enable him to live honourably. But after some months, led on by his old love of gambling in general and roulette in particular, he visited the various spas and watering-places, where those engines of ruin, gambling tables, are to be found, and where he undertook his famous crusade against the banks and their "croupiers."

We know the result of the calculations and computations of Voisin Raymond,—the inevitable fate of all gamesters who count on benefiting by the favours of fortune.

It took Raymond some days to narrate to me the above story, as, when the clock struck the hour for beginning to play, he immediately quitted me, and thought of nothing but his hypothetical combinations.

He was trying a new system, about which, by-the-bye, he would never tell me a word, but I had little doubt that it would prove as fallacious as the former one, and leave him nothing but his own bright dreams as his reward.

When I quitted Baden, he was penniless, and I had to add to the loan I had already made him.

Since his conversion, I had had good proof, that he preferred suffering the most severe privations, rather than have recourse to his skill in sharping; and this it was which made me advance him a larger sum.

When we parted, I left Raymond overjoyed with the hopes of being able to repay me all he owed, in a very short space of time, and even of being able to break the bank with the money I had lent him.

These golden visions, alas! were never destined to be realised. Soon afterwards, I went to Paris to resume my "sÉances," and whilst there, I received a letter from Raymond, making a last appeal to my generosity, to enable him to live until he got a situation he was trying for.

Wishing to prevent a recurrence of similar appeals, I did not answer his letter, but wrote to one of my friends at Strasbourg, to send the wretched man fifty francs, without telling him the name of his benefactor.

A whole year passed without my hearing any more of Raymond. I thought it very probable he had died of want, when one day, on returning home in a cab, I could not drive up to my own door, as an elegant brougham, which had just driven up, was standing opposite to it.

I therefore got out, and what was my astonishment, at recognising in my visitor, Voisin Raymond, extremely well dressed, and sporting all his beard, as in the former happy roulette days, except that it was not quite so long.

I almost hesitated to address him, so great was my surprise; I thought I must be the victim of an illusion.

"Ah!" exclaimed Raymond (making use of precisely the same words he did at our first meeting at Baden), "how a beard changes a man! especially when that man is transformed into a demi-millionnaire!"

"Come in quickly," said I to Raymond, "I am curious to know, to what lucky chance you owe your present prosperity."

My visitor followed me without uttering a word, and even after our entrance into the drawing-room, still remained silent.

I was the first to speak.

"How is it, my friend, that your great good luck has never been mentioned in the newspapers? You know, that when the bank loses, they make a point of giving the fact publicity through the press, in hopes of alluring fresh players?"

Still no reply from Raymond; but, after a protracted silence of several moments, he said:

"I am doing my best to find some means of prolonging your error; not finding any, I decide to tell you the truth.

"You doubtless remember, that when I commenced the history of my life, out of respect for one of the members of my family, I concealed my name. It was out of regard to my brother, who held a high appointment in the magistracy.

"This brother, who, thank God! knew nothing of my doings, except that I had run through my fortune, died three months since, without leaving a will. I am his sole heir, and have come into twenty-five thousand francs a year.

"This is how I have managed to become a rich man.

"I have entirely renounced gambling," continued Raymond. "I am rich enough for all I require, and have no ambition to become more wealthy.

"I could now, however," added he, with an air of triumph, "break every one of the banks, if I liked; and what a glorious vengeance I could take for all my former ill-luck! Fortunately, my heart is too full of happiness to leave any room for vengeance."

Raymond took up his abode in the Marais, where he lived respected. I lost sight of him, when I went to reside in the country; but three years afterwards, I had occasion to come to Paris, and learned that my friend had died, and left all his fortune to various charitable institutions in the capital.