We ought to be grateful to the august sovereign of Monaco in that he enabled an enterprising individual to keep open for us in so brilliant a fashion the last public gambling-house in Europe.  The principality is but large enough to contain the court of the sovereign which is held in the little town of Monaco, and the establishment of the last of legitimate gamblers which is maintained at Monte Carlo.  If the report of the world does not malign the prince, he lives, as does the gambler, out of the spoil taken from the gamblers.  He is to be seen in his royal carriage going forth with his royal consort,—­and very royal he looks!  His little teacup of a kingdom,—­or rather a roll of French bread, for it is crusty and picturesque,—­is now surrounded by France.  There is Nice away to the west, and Mentone to the east, and the whole kingdom lies within the compass of a walk.  Mentone, in France, at any rate, is within five miles of the monarch’s residence.  How happy it is that there should be so blessed a spot left in tranquillity on the earth’s surface!

But on the present occasion Monte Carlo was not in all its grandeur, because of the heat of the weather.  Another month, and English lords, and English members of Parliament, and English barristers would be there,—­all men, for instance, who could afford to be indifferent as to their character for a month,—­and the place would be quite alive with music, cards, and dice.  At present men of business only flocked to its halls, eagerly intent on making money, though, alas! almost all doomed to lose it.  But our one friend with the long light locks was impatient for the fray.  The gambling-room had now been opened, and the servants of the table, less impatient than he, were slowly arranging their money and their cards.  Our friend had taken his seat, and was already resolving, with his eyes fixed on the table, where he would make his first plunge.  In his right hand was a bag of gold, and under his left hand were hidden the twelve napoleons with which he intended to commence.  On yesterday he had gone through his day’s work by twelve, though on one or two occasions he had plunged deeply.  It had seemed to this man as though a new heaven had been opened to him, as of late he had seen little of luck in this world.  The surmises made as to the low state of his funds when he entered the room had been partly true; but time had been when he was able to gamble in a more costly fashion even than here, and to play among those who had taken his winnings and losings simply as a matter of course.

And now the game had begun, and the twelve napoleons were duly deposited.  Again he won his stake, an omen for the day, and was exultant.  A second twelve and a third were put down, and on each occasion he won.  In the silly imagination of his heart he declared to himself that the calculation of all chances was as nothing against his run of luck.  Here was the spot on which it was destined that he