He waved his hand, and went out again, taking the dead doll with him. He hailed a carriage, and told the driver to drive quickly to the Condamine. He bought the doll with the real eyelashes for twenty-two francs—he made them knock off six francs—and returned with clatter of horses and cracking of whip to the hotel.
When Anne-Marie saw the doll, and when Nancy saw Anne-Marie's face, Aldo knew he was forgiven and reinstated.
"What have they given you back at the Casino?" asked Nancy.
"I don't know. I am to go again in two hours," said Aldo. "Let us have luncheon."
They had an excellent luncheon, for, confronted with a desperate situation in which the economizing of fifty centimes meant nothing, the ancestral shopkeeper in Aldo's veins bowed, and left room for the lazzarone, who ate his spaghetti to-day, and troubled not about the morrow.
"If they give you five or six thousand francs, I suppose we must not complain. We cannot expect to get back the entire eighteen thousand," said Nancy.
"No," said Aldo, with downcast eyelids. He knew something about viatiques, but he would not let this knowledge spoil their lunch. After all, the luncheon cost twelve francs. It must not be wasted.
"Did you see her?" asked Nancy, tying a table-napkin round the doll's neck at Anne-Marie's request.
"Whom?" said Aldo, with his mouth full.
"The—the prairie-chicken," said Nancy, to make him feel that he was quite forgiven.
"Oh yes; I saw her," said Aldo.
Nancy put down her knife and fork, and felt faint. "Well?"
Aldo cleared his throat, took a sip of wine, and said, "She is an old beast."
There was a pause, then he continued: "I made a clean breast of it. I told her who you were, and about Anne-Marie; and when I had finished she called me a—a—oh, some vulgar American name, and off she walked."
Nancy reached across the table and patted his hand. "That's right, Aldo."
"I told you," he said, nodding his head, "that that kind of woman cannot stand the idea of a fellow having a family."
"Perhaps," suggested Nancy, dimpling, "she could not stand the idea of the way the fellow treated his family."
"Well, never mind," said Aldo. "She's done with."
But she wasn't.
At four o'clock Aldo, Nancy, Anne-Marie, and the doll went out, and down to the square in front of the Casino. Nancy and the child sat on a bench facing the Casino, and Aldo went in to get the viatique. He came out a few minutes later looking flushed and angry.
"The canailles! The thieves! The robbers!"
"What is it?" said Nancy.
"They have given me one hundred and fifty francs!" and he held out the three fifty-franc notes contemptuously.
"A hundred—and—fifty francs!" gasped Nancy.
"Nancy, there is only one thing to do," said Aldo. "Go in and play them. Plank them down on a number, and if they go, let them go, and be done with."
"Do it," said Nancy, for nothing mattered.
"I can't," said Aldo. "I can't go in—not until this miserable dole is paid back. You must go. They will let you in. Go on."
Nancy rose, flushed and trembling. "What do I do? How do I play it?"
"Oh, anyhow. It makes no difference," said Aldo, with his face in his hands, suddenly realizing that they three possessed in the world one hundred and ninety francs, and a debt of one hundred and twenty-three. He turned to the child.
"Say a number, Anne-Marie! Any old number!"
Anne-Marie did not understand.
"You know your numbers, darling," said Nancy, "that grandmamma taught you."
"Oh, yeth," said Anne-Marie. "One, two, three, four."
"Stop. All right," said Aldo. "Nancy, go in and play—at any table you like—the quatre premiers and quatre en plein. That gives you zero, too. Go ahead! Les quatre premiers and quatre en plein. Remember. Tell the croupier to do it for you."
Nancy went straight in, and to the left, where the men sat who had laughed at her the night before. They recognized her, and gave her a card at once.
She went into the rooms. Chink, chink; chink, chink. She went to the table on the left. A red-haired croupier sat at the end of the table nearest her, and she went to him, and gave him one of the fifty-franc notes.
"Les quatre premiers et quatre en plein," she said.
But it was too late. "Rien ne va plus," said the man in the centre. "Trente-deux, noir, pair et passe."
The croupier handed her back the note. "You're lucky," he said. "You would have lost." She repeated her phrase, and he put the note on the top of his rake and passed it across the table. "Quatre premiers," he said, and the man in the middle placed it.
"Et quoi encore?" said the croupier, looking at Nancy.
"Quatre premiers et quatre en plein," repeated Nancy, mechanically.
"Combien à l'en plein?" said the man, holding out his hand.
Nancy gave him the second fifty-franc note, and he passed it up on his rake. "Quatre en plein."
"Quatre en plein. Tout va aux billets," said the man in the centre; and the ball whizzed round. Nancy's heart was thumping; it shook her; it beat like a drum. The little ball dropped, ran along awhile, stopped, clattered and clicked, and fell into a compartment.
"Trois."
Everybody looked at Nancy as she was paid, and she collected the gold and silver with clumsy hands. "Encore," she said, giving the croupier the remaining bill and some louis.
"Quoi?" said the croupier.
"Encore la même chose." The ball was running round.
"Mais ça y est," said the croupier, for the fifty-franc note that had won still lay at the corner of the top line.
"Mais non, mais non," said Nancy, who was very much confused, "premier quatre"—the man placed the note on the other note still lying there—"et quatre en plein." But for this last it was too late.
"Rien ne va plus. Zéro!"
"Voilà! ça y est!" said the croupier, returning the gold to her, and waiting with the rake on the table for the eight hundred francs to be paid.
What is the secret of luck? How shall it be forced? How explained? Whatever Nancy did, she won. Wherever her money lay there the ball went. When she thought she had enough—her hands were full, her place at the table was piled up with louis and silver and notes—and she was withdrawing her remaining stake and the gold paid on it with clumsy rake, she moved it away from the numbers, and left it on "pair" while she put down the rake. A minute was lost while a woman said something to her, and before she could take the money up the ball had fallen. "Vingt. Pair et passe." It was doubled.
When she at last tremblingly collected it all in her hands, and put gold and notes as best she could into her pocket, she rose, and could hardly see. Her cheeks were flaming. She passed out of the rooms, into the atrium, and down the steps. Aldo sat on the bench with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands and the doll in his arms. Anne-Marie was running up and down in front of him.
"Aldo," said Nancy, and sat down weakly at his side.
"Gone?" asked Aldo, raising a miserable face.
"No!" Nancy had a little hysterical laugh. She piled the money into his hands, then into her lap, while he counted it quickly, deftly. People passing looked at them, and smiled.
"Seven thousand eight hundred francs," said Aldo, very pale.
"Oh, but there is more;" and Nancy dived into her pocket again. There was over fourteen thousand francs.
"Come into the Café de Paris," said Aldo.
They drank coffee and crème de menthe, and Anne-Marie had strawberry ice and cakes. The band played "Sous la Feuillée."
"Oh what a lovely world it is!" said Nancy, with a little sob. "Oh, what a glorious place! I love it all! I love everybody!"
"I love evlybody," said Anne-Marie, taking a third cake with careful choice. Aldo and Nancy laughed.
The Englishman passed, and Nancy called him. She introduced him to Aldo, and Aldo thanked him for being kind to Nancy the evening before. Nancy told him about the fourteen thousand francs she had won, and they all laughed, and the band played, and the sun shone and went down.